The Quest for Immortality - Chapter 1168 (Patreon)

Chapter 1168: Danzhu

“Born with a Dao heart, diligent in cultivation, free of distractions.”

“His innate Dao foundation is flawless and his roots run deep.”

“At ten he reached Foundation Establishment. At twenty, he formed a top-grade Golden Core. Now, with only thirty-three years of cultivation, he’s just one step from mid-stage Golden Core—a once-in-a-millennium prodigy of the Danque tribe…”

Mo Hua was secretly stunned.

What kind of genius was this…

He formed his Core at twenty, and without even needing to consolidate his foundation—Heaven itself chased after him with ladles of favor.

As expected, the world is never short of geniuses.

So long as there are enough people, a few monsters will always emerge—those born under heaven and earth’s fortune, blessed beyond reason.

“It’s just… why does this Young Master Danzhu weigh on me so much? Don’t tell me the person I’m supposed to find is this freakish prodigy who formed his Core at twenty?”

“Did I hear that right…”

“I’m still only at Foundation Establishment. And I’m supposed to teach a Golden Core?”

Mo Hua couldn’t help second-guessing himself.

But the tug of karma was rarely wrong.

Someone this dazzling—whether or not he was the “disciple” Mo Hua was to teach—was worth meeting.

The problem was that Danzhu was the Young Master of the Danque tribe, the chieftain’s youngest and most favored son.

He usually stayed in the main encampment, surrounded by guards; getting close was nearly impossible.

Mo Hua quietly asked around about Danzhu’s movements.

Fortunately, because this prodigy’s talent was sky-high, his name rang far and wide, and he was beloved within the tribe. People often spoke of him, so information wasn’t hard to find.

According to the Danque cultivators, mid-month every month the Young Master would visit the minor tribes under his domain—outer tribes and in-law tribes—to observe their conditions and offer comfort to the clan’s cultivators.

Because of this, the people adored him.

That, too, was an opportunity.

After learning which small tribes fell under Danzhu’s care, Mo Hua went ahead of time, stayed a few days, and blended in until his face was familiar.

Danzhu’s fiefdoms weren’t many.

Those holdings had been granted by his father—the Danque chieftain—so the boy could learn to manage a tribe from a young age.

The small tribes there were simple and honest.

Mo Hua slipped in without trouble.

Then he kept collecting information while he waited.

About ten days later, surrounded by several Danque elder-guards, a barbarian youth in luxurious flame-colored plumes entered the tribe.

Every cultivator along the way saluted him, calling out:

“Young Master.”

Mo Hua didn’t rush out. Hidden at a distance, he peered through the crowd to study this Young Master Danzhu.

First, Danzhu wasn’t tall.

That endeared him to Mo Hua immediately.

Likely his cultivation aptitude had been too good: reaching Foundation and forming his Core too early had extended his lifespan too fast; his “childhood” lingered, so his height had lagged.

Strictly speaking, he wasn’t short, but next to the generally tall and burly tribal cultivators, he looked “small.”

Mo Hua nodded.

People who aren’t tall often have quicker minds and better comprehension.

Apart from that, though Danzhu had cultivated for thirty-three years, he still looked very young.

Measured against a Golden Core’s lifespan, thirty-three was truly youthful.

His face was indeed handsome, with an exotic air; even his pupils were like emeralds—like a divine bird.

With this face and this talent, no wonder he was the most favored Young Master.

Mo Hua watched a while longer and found that the youth went from place to place, visiting elders and comforting children. A slave who’d committed a capital offense was spared at his word. All the while his expression stayed compassionate, his eyes filled with sympathy. He truly examined the lives of the people under his care; it wasn’t some “performance” to burnish his image.

Mo Hua was a little surprised.

He hadn’t expected that someone so close to “perfect” could exist—stunningly talented, kind-hearted, even his Dao heart seemed clear.

Just a bit… “simple.”

Mo Hua’s desire to befriend him grew.

But how to approach him?

Mo Hua himself was a “ghost without papers,” of unknown origin.

He couldn’t very well walk up and say:

“I’m a witch-priest here to guide your cultivation. Become my disciple. I’ll teach you—guaranteed results…”

The Young Master might be kind, but he wasn’t a fool.

Even if he didn’t beat Mo Hua up, the Golden Core elder-guards by his side wouldn’t let Mo Hua off easy.

Mo Hua shook his head.

More awkward still: he was only at Foundation Establishment. How could he bluff a peerless prodigy who formed his Core at twenty?

He sighed, grumbling inwardly:

“How am I still stuck at Foundation…”

But things were as they were; fretting wouldn’t help.

He lifted his gaze to Danzhu again, weighing how to “trick”—no, how to get acquainted.

He thought of many ideas, but none would fly.

Forget Danzhu—he doubted he could fool the Golden Core guards.

He considered sneaking past at night and using the Heart-Demon Seed to send a dream, but that was no good either.

Danzhu’s lodgings were heavily guarded at night.

Time was short: he had only two days.

After two days, once Danzhu finished his tour he would return to the Danque main encampment.

Miss this and it’d be another month; time was precious, and who knew what might change a month later?

He had to make a plan soon.

Mo Hua schemed for two more days, still without a good idea.

On the second day, with Danzhu due to leave by dusk, Mo Hua grew anxious.

After a long think, recalling Danzhu’s kindness and concern for his people, a thought struck.

When no one was watching, Mo Hua slipped to a nearby mountaintop and blasted down a small cliff.

Earth and stone crashed from the heights, crushing many tribal houses.

Luckily, Mo Hua timed it during a tribal assembly when no one was home, and he controlled the array precisely.

No one was hurt, but the impact was significant.

Several nearby small tribes were rattled, fearing the cliff would collapse again and bury them alive.

Word naturally reached Danzhu.

Worried, he hurried to the small tribe.

He first checked the damaged houses to make sure there were no casualties, then relaxed.

He immediately ordered people to build temporary shelters for those who’d lost their homes.

Still uneasy, he personally led two elder-guards up the mountain to find out why a perfectly fine cliff would collapse.

After some scrambling, the three reached the summit.

The two elder-guards searched a while and reported, “Young Master, it looks like weathering—natural collapse.”

Danzhu asked, “Any signs of human interference?”

“Hard to say…” one elder-guard replied. “Nothing obvious, but whether someone worked in secret is hard to check—too much rock came down…”

The other elder mused, “At least no one was hurt. Besides… who would be bored enough to blow up a mountain for fun…”

After a moment’s thought, Danzhu nodded slightly. “Check again and make sure the tribes are safe. Tell them to be careful from now on.”

“These ordinary tribesmen aren’t strong. The least mishap can cost lives. Don’t be careless.”

“Yes, Young Master!” the two Golden Core elders said.

Afterward, Danzhu instructed the minor chieftains and elders to handle every matter—resettlement and removing hazards alike.

Construction is hard; destruction is easy.

Mo Hua’s small sabotage kept them busy for most of the day.

When night fell, Danzhu prepared to depart, but the elder-guards dissuaded him.

“Young Master, it’s too late. Demonic beasts stir at night; the road is dangerous. Please rest here for the night.”

Danzhu refused. “Cultivators do not fear hardship. The night is long.”

Then some tribesmen who’d benefited from his kindness came to thank him.

They praised his benevolence, calling him the Danque tribe’s hope, and earnestly invited him to stay one night so they could do their duty as hosts and show their support.

Danzhu couldn’t refuse and stayed the night.

Night fell; the small tribe lit bonfires and held a feast for Danzhu.

A group of rosy-cheeked girls sang and danced before him.

Someone presented a platter of especially delicious roasted demonic-beast meat, said to be a gift from a passing friend, and asked Danzhu to try it.

The merriment lasted until midnight.

Danzhu lodged in the tribe’s central longhouse.

The longhouse was large and sturdy. Around it, temporary tribal arrays for warning and defense had been set.

Two squads of brave warriors patrolled nearby.

At the door stood two Golden Core elder-guards.

Security was tight.

But compared to specially built posts and marching encampments, this was already “simple.”

To an array expert like Mo Hua, it was full of holes.

“Here’s my chance…”

Under cover of night, using the Stealth Technique, Mo Hua slipped past the patrols and reached the door.

Outside, the two elder-guards were grilling meat and chatting.

Sound-dampening arrays isolated the longhouse. Voices could not pass through—meant to ensure the Young Master’s practice and rest.

But that also meant outside sounds could not reach inside.

The two elder-guards chatted as they roasted meat.

Mo Hua didn’t rush in. Out of habit—and curiosity—he eavesdropped first.

Golden Core beginners couldn’t sense him with divine sense.

And their voices wouldn’t carry inside.

So they spoke without much reserve, though they kept their voices low so as not to disturb the Young Master.

“…I wonder when we’ll reach the end of this guard duty…”

A burly, wolf-skin-clad elder-guard chewed tough jerky, sounding bored.

The other said, “Being Golden Core and serving as guard to Young Master Danzhu is already a great honor. What more do you want?”

“It’s not that I dislike serving him. I truly serve him with all my heart. A Young Master like him—so young, so gifted, so kind—is rare. It’s just…”

“Just what?”

“Just that… the Young Master…” The burly elder-guard lowered his voice even more. “His heart is too good… and that means trouble.”

The other elder’s expression grew grave.

Danzhu was the youngest, handsome, eyes like a Vermilion Bird, preternaturally gifted, and thus greatly favored.

But for that very reason, he’d been protected too well.

And his heart was too kind.

That was the real problem.

“The Danque’s levies are heavy,” the burly elder-guard said. “But in Young Master Danzhu’s fiefs, the levies are light. He pleaded with the Chieftain on their behalf, and the Chieftain indulged him.”

“But that isn’t the norm, and it isn’t proper.”

“If there’s no levy, the tribes below are happy. But the Young Master? He gets no benefit and saves no capital.”

“Without a war chest, how will he compete with the First Young Master and the Third Young Master in the future?”

The other elder shook his head. “His status is special. The First and Third dote on him as older brothers; there’s no need to fight…”

“How could it be that simple…” the burly elder said, face solemn.

“The Great Chieftain has four children. Young Master Danzhu is the fourth. Aside from the Second Miss who serves in the Royal Court, there remain the First and the Third. Both have cultivated over a century, in their prime—no ordinary men.”

“When power isn’t at stake, they naturally dote on him as brothers.”

“But once the chieftaincy is in question, what room is there for brotherly love?”

“Our Danque is a third-rank great tribe, with nearly a million under its banners.”

“Before the Old Ancestor falls and the tribe declines, we could even join the Great Wilderness Royal Court and offer a Vermilion Bird totem.”

“Before the chieftaincy of such a tribe, what is brotherhood worth?”

“Hush—” the other elder tugged at him. “Keep it down. Walls have ears.”

The burly one snorted. “Just you and me. Not even a ghost around. Who’d be listening?”

Perched on the beam, Mo Hua nodded.

The big man gnawed meat, sighed, and went on:

“I’m not being paranoid. You and I are the Young Master’s close attendants—tied to him in the same boat.”

“If he prospers, we prosper.”

“If he…” He sighed. “Neither of us will end well.”

“His talent is unmatched, and he is kind. He has great prestige; the people love him,” the other elder said.

“I told you—that ‘kindness’ is the problem. Mercy doesn’t command soldiers. The Young Master is too merciful.”

“Too much kindness invites calamity…”

“And prestige? Being loved?” The burly man gave a cold little laugh. “People are ignorant—and practical. Whoever gives them benefits, they ‘love.’ Stop giving, or give a little less, and they turn on you.”

“Right now his prestige is too high. That’s both good and bad. It’s like a sharp dagger—slip even a little, and it might pierce his heart.”

“In his position, you don’t win by being kinder. You win by being dirtier.”

“How could someone as pure as the Young Master be dirty?”

“You and I share his honor and his ruin. How can we not worry?”

The burly elder’s face was clouded.

The other elder’s heart felt heavy, too.

They fell silent; only the bonfire crackled softly.

With the whispers spent, Mo Hua slipped through the door into the longhouse.

Inside, the arrays were as good as useless to him.

He passed through them and stepped into a wide space simply furnished—beast heads and hides hung on walls and lay on floors in the tribe’s style.

Young Master Danzhu lay on a fur couch in the center, sleeping in his clothes, breath even—truly asleep.

In his hand he still clutched a roll of leather.

Before him lay a map of the Danque tribe, marked and scribbled all over, messy with notes.

It looked like he’d been pondering some matter, exhausting his mind until his divine sense grew weary and he drifted off without noticing.

Even asleep, his brows were knit tight.

So it seemed that being a peerless talent under countless eyes, the Danque’s beloved Young Master Danzhu lived under enormous pressure.

Sheltered from childhood, free to cultivate single-mindedly, he knew little of the wider world.

His heart must be full of strangeness and confusion.

But he couldn’t tell anyone.

He was a peerless genius, praised and adored. Even when he felt lost, tense, or pained, he couldn’t speak it aloud—he had to keep up the appearance of a “Young Master,” or he’d face doubt and disappoint those who believed in him.

He likely had no concept of the Danque’s brutal struggles—of fame and profit, of brothers killing brothers.

Mo Hua sighed softly.

In the end, he was still a “youth”…

So young, so confused, unaware of how sinister people could be.

The sighing Mo Hua failed to notice he himself was several years younger than Danzhu.

Nor did he realize that, in this life, the most “sinister” person Danzhu would ever meet was this black-hearted “Daoist Mo”…

By wavering lamplight, Mo Hua melted into the darkness and noiselessly approached.

Danzhu slept deeply.

Mo Hua’s voice, low as the night and tinged with something uncanny, sank into the youth’s ears and planted a faint suggestion in that simple, worried heart:

“Chosen of the Divine Lord…”

“Your fate stands at a turning point.”

“Your confusion will be driven away.”

“Your questions will find answers.”

“As daylight scatters the dark, so will the Divine Lord point out your path.”

“Tomorrow at the hour of the Dog, when you pass Danyang Mountain, at the fork on the northwest side, you will meet the guidance bestowed upon you by the divine.”

“Then all your doubts will clear. The road of cultivation will open before you.”

“You will become the Danque tribe’s true hope—the child of destiny, chosen by the Divine Lord…”

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