Chapter 1161: Utu Tribe

The barbarian elder stood rooted to the spot like a stone statue. Based on his life's experience, he had no idea what was happening.

In the blinding golden light, he seemed to see the brave and invincible tribal barbarian god torn apart bare-handed by a young—some unknown—monster, and then swallowed whole. Even an eruption of Mount Utu would not be more shocking or unbelievable than this event.

The barbarian elder began to tremble all over. Filled with terror, he widened his clouded eyes, wanting to see the unknowable being in the golden light.

But as soon as the barbarian god died, the dream shattered.

The surrounding stone temple and altar began to twist.

When everything settled, the barbarian elder opened his eyes and found himself still kneeling inside the cave, before the crude, simple altar. The blood patterns on the ground had not yet dried, and before him was a bare stone wall. The heat of the mountains, the chirping of birds and beasts, and the musty smell and cool air of the cave gradually returned to his body.

The barbarian elder felt as if he had only dreamt. In the dream, he bravely gathered his courage and fiercely fought the barbarian god, but no matter what he did, he could not defeat it. It was then that a divine lord descended from the heavens and effortlessly struck down the barbarian god. In the past, day and night, he had always wished for this, every moment, and sometimes he even had such dreams. But he knew this was illogical. This was merely his delusion. It was just a fantasy of a helpless person, longing for a deity to save them from sorrow and despair.

"Am I dreaming now, or is this reality?" he wondered. "If it's reality, do I still have to send little Zhatu to Lord Barbarian God?" The barbarian elder was momentarily unable to distinguish between reality and illusion.

Just then, an intense pain arose within his spiritual consciousness. It was as if his spiritual essence had its arms torn off and chest cut open, experiencing the agony of ten thousand needles. The pain deeply pierced the elder's sea of consciousness. The barbarian elder trembled all over, his back soaked in cold sweat.

Just as he didn't know what to do, a clear, slightly magnetic voice sounded in his ear: "Focus your mind and meditate, discipline yourself and guard your heart. All external appearances are but illusory thoughts, and all suffering is merely a delusion of the mind."

The voice spoke clearly and was not that of a barbarian cultivator. But within this voice, there seemed to be a kind of magic, as clear as spring water, that cleansed the heart. The barbarian elder instinctively followed the voice's guidance, calmed his mind, discarded the pain, and guarded his original self.

After a long while, the injuries to his soul temporarily subsided. The tendency for his soul to split due to damage also stopped. The barbarian elder slowly raised his head and saw that at some unknown point, a mysterious young man was standing before him.

He found it difficult to describe the feeling this young man gave him. His robes were simple and dusty, but his eyes were exceptionally bright. They held compassionate kindness, a profound insight into human nature, and an inviolable majesty. His face was as fair as jade, possessing the firmness of a man and the softness of a woman, ethereal like a celestial being. This young man simply stood naturally, yet seemed to resonate with the essence of the earth and connect with the destiny of the heavens.

In the barbarian elder's heart, a thought couldn't help but emerge: "Even if a divine lord were to walk among mortals, this is probably what they would look like."

The elder's expression was calm. After a long while, his heart suddenly jolted. The image of the barbarian god being torn apart resurfaced in his mind. He didn't know if the barbarian god was truly dead, or if it was related to the mysterious young man before him. But he knew that, regardless of any connection, this unfathomable young man before him was not someone he could offend.

The barbarian elder immediately lowered his head, bent at the waist, and bowed deeply to Mohua. "This old man, Zhamu," he said, "greets... esteemed senior."

He didn't know Mohua's age, but he certainly dared not presume. In the Tao, there is no precedence; the accomplished are revered. When meeting a cultivator of higher cultivation as strangers with no kinship, regardless of their appearance, lowering one's status and respectfully calling them "senior" was always correct.

Mohua's impression of the elder indeed improved a bit more. Whether this elder was acting for his grandson or for his tribe, his desperate fight against the "barbarian god" with his cultivator's body showed his character and courage.

"Your name is Zhamu?" Mohua asked.

It was a clear, youthful voice, sounding very young. But the elder dared not be negligent and cupped his hands, saying, "Yes."

"Are you a tribal elder?"

The elder replied, "Yes, this old man is the elder of the Utu tribe from Mount Utu."

Utu? Mohua was a bit confused. However, he realized that the barbarian script of the Great Wilderness was different from the Taoist Court's script, and "Utu" was likely a barbarian word. But with the Taoist Court's unified script, it was directly transliterated. Including the elder's name, "Zhamu," it might also be the case.

"Then let me ask you," Mohua said, his gaze deepening slightly, "Where is this place, what is its position in the Great Wilderness? How far is it from the Nine Provinces?"

The barbarian elder was taken aback. He hadn't expected this mysterious young man to ask such "basic" questions. Did he come here himself without knowing where he was? Or did he really fall from the sky? The elder thought for a moment and, not daring to conceal anything, said:

"To answer, 'senior', this is the Utu Mountain Range, located south of the vast Great Wilderness and west of the Endless Abyss. It is one of the three thousand territories of the Great Wilderness. As for how far it is from the Nine Provinces—" The elder gave a wry smile. "This old man has never left Mount Utu in his entire life, and knows even less about how vast the outside world is. I've only heard from some elders in the tribe that the Nine Provinces are all part of the 'Far North', tens of thousands of miles from here, with endless Gobi deserts and vast seas of sand, impossible to cross in a lifetime."

Hearing this, Mohua felt a chill in his heart. Although he didn't know where Mount Utu was, he had certainly heard of the three thousand territories of the Great Wilderness. This was south of the Great Wilderness, close to the barbarian heartland—truly the "territory" of the Great Wilderness.

Mohua felt helpless. As a Taoist soldier of the Taoist Military Division, he was originally supposed to join the army to suppress the rebellion. But he hadn't fought much, hadn't achieved any merit, and this foolish big tiger had somehow brought him deep into the barbarian rear. With this, his plans were truly in complete disarray. Mohua frowned in thought.

The barbarian elder kept his head down, respectfully, not daring to look at Mohua's expression or make any other movements. But after a while, the child lying on the ground suddenly mumbled something, his face pale. The barbarian elder's heart tightened. He immediately disregarded everything else and rushed to check on his grandson. He felt his forehead, checked his pulse, and even fed him a few pills, but nothing helped. The barbarian elder was forced to raise his head, looking at Mohua with a pleading expression.

Mohua's spiritual consciousness stirred slightly; he took out a pill and handed it to the elder. The elder solemnly took it with both hands, hesitated for a moment, feeling a little uneasy, but ultimately gritted his teeth and fed it into the child's mouth. As the pill entered his mouth, the child's complexion indeed improved significantly. The barbarian elder was overjoyed, immediately bowed to Mohua, and said with endless gratitude: "Thank you, esteemed senior, for bestowing this immortal medicine."

Mohua sighed softly in his heart. It wasn't any immortal medicine, just an ordinary pill for strengthening foundations, invigorating qi, and enriching blood, merely of better quality because it came from the Grand Void Sect. This child had truly been hungry for too long; his vital energy was depleted, and his body was weakened. His soul had been taken away earlier, and after its return, his spiritual consciousness and physical body were out of sync, which was why he couldn't wake up.

"Take him back, let him sleep for a while, and rest peacefully to restore his spirit," Mohua instructed.

The barbarian elder quickly said, "Yes, yes." Carrying the child on his back, he glanced at Mohua and seemed to want to say something but hesitated. Mohua then said, "You can return to your tribe first. I still have some things to ask you later."

The elder, unsure if he was relieved or worried, bowed to Mohua and respectfully said: "This old man will await your esteemed presence in the Utu tribe." After speaking, the elder carried his grandson on his back and slowly walked down the mountain.

Mohua watched his aging back, recalling what he had said—that his only remaining relative in this life was this little grandson—and felt a wave of emotion.

Afterward, Mohua turned his head and looked at the stone wall. This so-called "barbarian god" was not worth mentioning in terms of strength, but its "hiding method" was indeed ingenious, like a loach burrowing, leaving no trace. When he had time, he should study it and learn how to "handle" and catch "loaches." In the path of spiritual consciousness, self-reliance and self-sufficiency were necessary to eat one's fill. Unfortunately, this "barbarian god" was still too "thin"; he swallowed it in one bite and couldn't even taste it. However, his spiritual consciousness had indeed strengthened a bit more. This brought Mohua considerable satisfaction.

"I hope one day," Mohua silently wished in his heart, "I can have a good, full meal—"

Afterward, he also left the deep mountains, following the mountain path he had taken, and found the big tiger. The big tiger was indeed still lying there, its two front paws covering the storage bag, boredly waiting for Mohua. Only when Mohua appeared did the big tiger wag its tail, joyfully stand up, and let out a few roars at Mohua. Mohua smiled gently and couldn't help but pat the big tiger's head, then he couldn't help but think of a question: He couldn't keep calling it "big tiger" like this forever. This big tiger had been with him for so long; he ought to give it a name. But what would be a good name? Mohua fell into contemplation.

"Big Black?" Not quite right—it didn't just have black stripes, but white ones too."Big White?" No, that wouldn't work—Big White was his junior senior brother's big white horse, he couldn't reuse the name."Dazhuang (Big Strong)?" he mused. "A mighty big tiger, strong and robust—" No, that's a bit too common."Big Hu (Tiger)?" No, that's also a duplicate name.

Mohua frowned tightly, considered for a long time, but was ultimately not very satisfied. Naming things was really too difficult. Coming up with one name was more taxing than drawing ten array formations. Mohua could only give up for now and decide later when he thought of something suitable.

He then placed the storage bag in the big tiger's paws and instructed: "I still have some things to do. Watch the storage bag for me. Wait for me to return." The big tiger was a little unhappy, but still took the storage bag and covered it with its paws. But after covering it for a while, it pushed the storage bag back to Mohua, unsure if it trusted Mohua or if it feared Mohua would be in danger without the storage bag. After all, in its previous understanding, storage bags were crucial for cultivators' lives.

Mohua was a little surprised. This big tiger was quite "sensible." Mohua then smiled, "Alright, I'll keep the storage bag. You can play around here, catch some demonic beasts, and I'll roast them for you when I return." The big tiger was overjoyed this time, let out a happy sound, and kept nodding its big head. Mohua ruffled its mane and then left.

The big tiger was too large and too fierce. It was fine in the wilderness, but if it entered the territory of cultivators or barbarians, it would be far too conspicuous. Mohua could only temporarily leave it to roam freely in the mountains.

After leaving the big tiger, Mohua followed the human path and went to the "Utu tribe" where the barbarian elder lived. The Utu tribe was not far, about twenty li away. Mohua followed the elder's aura and soon after arrived outside a tribe.

Outside the tribe hung a totem. The totem was reddish-brown, with leaf-like and flame-like shapes, which together resembled a small fiery plant. Inside the tribe were large and small tents. The tents were made from worn demonic beast furs and coarse hemp. Inside the tribe, all the decorations and furnishings also had a distinct Great Wilderness style. But rather than a tribe, it was more like a small village, poor and destitute. There weren't many people in the tribe, only five or six hundred, and the vast majority were elderly, weak, sick, or disabled, with very few young adults.

Outside the tribe, some fences were set up. On the fences, some crude array patterns were drawn to guard against demonic beasts and external enemies. But for Mohua, these were merely symbolic. He concealed himself, entered the tribal encampment, and in the largest tent of the tribe, he detected the presence of the barbarian elder named Zhamu. Mohua, like a phantom, without a sound, entered the tent. The tent was quite spacious, but its furnishings were very simple.

The barbarian elder named Zhamu was tending to his grandson with a worried expression. "He'll be fine after resting for a while," Mohua said calmly. Elder Zhamu was startled and looked back, only to see that at some unknown point, the mysterious young man was already seated on a chair inside the tent, casually looking at some barbarian writings on the table.

Elder Zhamu suppressed the unease and fear in his heart, cupped his hands in greeting, and said: "Greetings, senior."

Being called "senior" by an elder older than himself made Mohua feel a bit strange. But when traveling, one should not carelessly reveal their background. The more "misunderstandings" others had of him, the better. The more misunderstandings, the further from the truth.

Mohua's expression was calm; he pointed to a stone stool opposite him and said, "Sit." Elder Zhamu honestly sat down, his expression still apprehensive. Mohua glanced at him and said, "You don't need to worry too much about your grandson. Instead, your spiritual consciousness is very heavily injured. Injuries to the spiritual consciousness are different from flesh wounds. They may not be obvious usually, but they are accompanied by needle-like pain from time to time. Invisible and traceless, they are almost impossible to heal completely."

Elder Zhamu bowed and said, "Thank you, esteemed senior, for your guidance. However, this old man is already a decaying body; whether I live or die, I have no more concerns."

Mohua nodded and then asked, "What is a barbarian god?"

Elder Zhamu's heart trembled slightly. After thinking for a moment, he slowly said, "Barbarian gods are the deities worshipped by our barbarian tribes."

Mohua asked, "Are they truly deities?"

Elder Zhamu didn't know how to explain, so he said: "They exist unseen, possessing unfathomable power like ghosts and gods. They help our people to live and multiply and resist foreign enemies. Thus, they can be called 'gods'. Since they are the gods of our barbarian tribes, they are called 'barbarian gods'."

Mohua nodded slightly and understood in his heart. These barbarians actually knew nothing at all. Probably any "spiritual" existence that could help them, whether it was a demon, ghost, devil, or monster, would be worshipped by them as a deity. As for whether they were truly "gods," they didn't understand, or rather, they didn't need to understand. Even if such "deities" wanted to eat their children, it didn't matter. Of course, they had no choice. Even some intelligent ghosts, evil spirits, and demonic beings were not something ordinary cultivators could deal with. This Elder Zhamu had learned some shamanistic techniques and spiritual consciousness methods, and to be honest, he was already quite strong. But if he truly faced that barbarian god, he still had no chance of winning. Even though that barbarian god was actually just an intelligent ghost or monster of unknown origin.

Elder Zhamu glanced at Mohua, not quite daring to ask, but his heart was uneasy, and he couldn't not ask. Finally, he steeled himself and slowly said: "Esteemed senior, about Lord Utu God—"

"What?" Mohua asked, a little perplexed. Elder Zhamu spoke with a barbarian accent, and Mohua didn't understand him at first.

Elder Zhamu repeated, "Utu God—" He elaborated slowly, "He is the barbarian god worshipped by our Utu tribe, with a sharp face and sharp claws, and a mighty physique. The place where I met you, esteemed senior, was the entrance to the temple where offerings are made to Utu God."

Mohua let out an "oh." So the "barbarian god" he had killed with one punch actually had a name. He didn't even know its name before killing it.

Elder Zhamu's cloudy eyes looked at Mohua with hidden anticipation, as if hoping to hear what he longed for, yet also fearing to hear another truth. Tribes and deities were inextricably linked yet contradictory. If a deity protected a tribe, then the tribe could prosper and develop. If a deity was insatiably greedy, then the tribe would sooner or later decline and perish. And the current Utu God had clearly long since become an "evil god." If his "dream" was false and Utu God still existed, sooner or later it would unleash its wrath upon them, and their Utu tribe would be doomed. He had to confirm this matter, otherwise, a great disaster would surely follow.

Mohua actually didn't really want to say. Killing barbarian gods and eating barbarian gods was better kept low-key. But seeing Elder Zhamu's brow furrowed again, and his heart filled with fear and unease, Mohua felt a little silent. To him, this was just a small matter. But if Elder Zhamu didn't get a clear answer, he might live the rest of his life in fear.

Mohua thought for a moment and then simply said: "Your Utu God no longer needs offerings."

Elder Zhamu was startled.

"It can't eat offerings anymore—" Mohua said.

Elder Zhamu trembled all over, and in his ancient eyes, a glimmer of hope appeared. He prostrated himself before Mohua, saying: "Esteemed senior, your great kindness and virtue, the Utu tribe will never forget."

Mohua simply said, "I didn't do anything."

Hearing this, Elder Zhamu immediately felt a chill in his heart and solemnly said, "This old man understands."

Mohua nodded, quite satisfied with Elder Zhamu's understanding, and then he suddenly remembered a question and asked: "Utu God—do all barbarian gods here have their own names?"

Elder Zhamu nodded. "They are generally named after mountains and rivers—the vast majority are named after their tribes."

Mohua asked, "How many tribes are there in your Great Wilderness?"

Elder Zhamu said, "According to ancient legends, there are three thousand great tribes and three thousand clans in the Great Wilderness."

"Three thousand!" Mohua's heart was startled, and he hastily asked, "Then do your barbarian gods also number three thousand?"

Elder Zhamu paused. He didn't understand why this calm-faced, unfathomable "senior" suddenly became excited. "These three thousand are not an exact number," Elder Zhamu explained. "With the rise and fall of clans, it's sometimes more, sometimes less, but generally speaking, it's roughly that."

But before he could finish, Mohua said, "Help me with something—" He took out paper and a brush and handed them to Elder Zhamu, who looked bewildered: "Write down all the barbarian gods' names you know, their families, addresses, and methods of sacrifice, and give them to me—"