“Shenzhu Daren…”

Tie Shugu saluted Mo Hua.

Mo Hua asked him, “Did your Shugu ancestors always weave chu gou from the same species of renyi grass for sacrifices?”

Tie Shugu thought for a moment, then shook his head, “Not necessarily…”

Mo Hua remained silent.

Mo Hua stood on the summit of Goujiling, the cold wind whipping his robes, making them flutter loudly. The nascent karmic power within him surged like an undercurrent, slowly flowing through his meridians. Each pulsation stirred the “Shouquan Zhi Qi,” a seal imprinted by countless wronged souls deep within his Sea of Consciousness. Although the bleeding from his seven orifices had stopped, his eyes glowed with a faint bluish-grey hue, as if two wisps of unearthly light shimmered in the depths of his pupils.

He knew he was no longer a pure “human.”

He was a formation master, a Shenzhu, a chosen Shouquan, and a god-slayer on the verge of stepping into the divine forbidden zone.

At this moment, the furious roar of the black-robed old man on Floating Mountain, thousands of miles away, struck the qi mechanism of heaven and earth like thunder. That one phrase, “Dao Xin Zhong Mo has only just begun,” was not merely a threat; it was a karmic fuse laid thousands of miles ago. It was not on Mo Hua, but within the hearts of all people in the world.

Nightmare Tide.

These three words pierced Mo Hua’s mind like venomous thorns.

He had heard the remnant consciousness of Tie Shugu mention this method: using strange techniques as a guide, constructing a world of illusion through the dreams of sentient beings, and deeply implanting specific thoughts into the subconscious of millions of people. Once completed, even if those people had never seen Mo Hua, they would recognize his face in their dreams, call out his name, and even willingly die, sacrifice themselves, or go mad for him.

This was not simple illusion, but a distortion and reshaping of collective belief.

When the thoughts of billions of people focused on one person, that person would no longer be themselves—they would become a “symbol,” a “proto-divine personality.” If this power was guided properly, it could help them ascend to godhood; but if manipulated by others, it would backfire on their true self, causing them to be completely lost in the meaning given to them by others.

His Shibo never wanted to kill him.

He wanted to turn him into another “god”—a puppet god forged by fear and worship, a prisoner nourished by the dreams of millions, yet forever unable to break free.

“So that’s it…” Mo Hua sneered softly, “You want me to become a god, then personally sever my humanity.”

This was the true “Dao Xin Zhong Mo.”

Everything before this—Mr. Tu’s betrayal, the awakening of the Taotie sub-formation, Tie Shugu’s sacrifice—was merely a prelude. The truly fatal blow was hidden within this silent Nightmare Tide. It did not harm the body or the bones, but directly targeted a cultivator’s most vulnerable point: self-perception.

If even he himself began to doubt: “Am I fighting for the common people, or am I intoxicated by the calls of thousands?” Then his Dao would have already collapsed.

Mo Hua closed his eyes, his spiritual consciousness sinking into his Sea of Consciousness.

In an instant, countless images emerged: in the villages of the seven southern prefectures, people murmured in their sleep; children in the cities drew his face; incense in temples suddenly flourished, and some even erected memorial tablets to worship “Shenzhu Mo Hua”; even cultivators knelt in the void, calling themselves “Shouquan Disciples,” vowing to follow his footsteps and eradicate injustice in the world…

None of this was what he sought.

Yet, it was happening.

Even more terrifyingly, as the power of belief grew, the “Shouquan Zhi Qi” within him faintly resonated with it, seemingly wanting to use this power to complete its final metamorphosis. The feeling was like a hungry beast smelling blood, instinctively wanting to devour everything.

“This power cannot be allowed to spread further.” Mo Hua suddenly opened his eyes, his gaze like a knife, “Otherwise, before I even go to find Shibo, I will already become his pawn.”

He had to do something.

But if he forcibly cut off the karmic connection, he would harm the innocent. Those caught in the nightmare were not there willingly; they were merely chosen as mediums. If he rashly retaliated, it would very likely cause widespread mental breakdown, or even the tragedy of millions dying simultaneously.

A dilemma once again.

Mo Hua sat down cross-legged, took out his formation plate, dipped his fingertip in blood, and began to deduce a method to break the situation.

Time passed minute by minute, and the wind and snow grew heavier.

After an unknown period, the little tiger suddenly let out a low growl, its ears perked, looking down the mountain.

Mo Hua looked up and saw a small, thin figure struggling to move across the distant snowfield. The person wore a tattered fur cloak, leaned on a cane like a dry branch, and stumbled with each step, leaving faint bloodstains in the snow.

As the person drew closer, Mo Hua’s pupils constricted slightly.

The newcomer was actually an old servant from the Hua family, named A-Yuan, who had once served him tea when he first entered Daozhou, an inconspicuous character. But now, the old man’s eyes flickered with a wisdom not belonging to mortals, and as he walked, the accumulated snow did not stick to his feet, as if he were treading on air.

“Shenzhu Daren…” A-Yuan knelt three zhang away, his voice hoarse but clear, “This old servant has come on orders.”

“Whose orders?” Mo Hua asked coldly.

“The current head of the Hua family, and… seven Dongxu ancestors.” A-Yuan raised his head, a trace of pity flashing in his eyes, “They said that since you have obtained the ‘Shouquan Zhi Qi,’ you are the only one who can stop the Nightmare Tide.”

Mo Hua frowned, “They know?”

“They know.” A-Yuan nodded, “From the moment you entered the Wujiu forbidden area, the Hua family glimpsed part of the truth through the ‘Tianji Jing.’ They originally intended to intervene but were counteracted by Shibo with ‘Karmic Chains.’ All seven ancestors were injured and went into seclusion, with only a sliver of their divine consciousness remaining to maintain surveillance.”

Mo Hua’s heart trembled.

He had long known the Hua family had deep foundations, but he never expected them to reach such a level of deduction secret techniques. What concerned him more was why they chose to appear now.

“What do you want me to do?”

“Please, Daren, go to the Southern Prefectures and preside over the ‘Xingmeng Da Zhen.’” A-Yuan took out a jade slip from his怀 and offered it with both hands, “This formation is recorded in ancient texts. It requires a Grandmaster of Formations as the main conductor, combined with the mental fluctuations of millions of sentient beings, to reverse the flow of dreams, guide the Nightmare Tide into a void rift, and transform it into harmless spiritual energy tides.”

Mo Hua took the jade slip, and with a sweep of his spiritual consciousness, his expression immediately became solemn.

This formation was extremely profound, integrating the three principles of “rhythm,” “astronomy,” and “emotional resonance.” The core array eye actually required a person who had “already been remembered by thousands” as its nexus—in other words, only he could activate this formation.

And the cost was extremely heavy: once the technique was performed, his name would disappear from the memories of the world. All legends, portraits, and inscriptions about him would turn into nothingness; all who had called his name would no longer remember who he was upon waking.

He would be completely erased.

“Is this the only way?” Mo Hua asked in a low voice.

“Yes.” A-Yuan affirmed, “If you refuse, the nightmare will continue to spread, and within three years, the entire Jiuzhou will fall into a collective hallucination. At that time, Shibo can use the will of the people to mold you into a ‘savior god,’ and then with a ‘Divine Edict,’ make you personally sign an allegiance—at that point, even if you have a thousand wills, you will not be able to defy the ‘wishes’ of billions of believers.”

Mo Hua was silent for a long time.

He thought of the children who knelt before him, the old women who wept for him, the cultivators who fought for him in their dreams… They were all innocent, yet dragged into this game between god and trickery.

And now, the only solution was for them to forget him.

Just as Tie Shugu was forgotten by the world.

Just like the chu gou that turned to dust.

“Alright.” He finally spoke, his voice calm, “I agree.”

A-Yuan breathed a sigh of relief, but then suddenly stammered, “One more thing… The ancestors reminded you that to ensure the success of the formation, you must reach Bailuyuan, the central hub of the Southern Prefectures, before the ‘night of the lunar eclipse.’ Otherwise, the nightmare will complete its final aggregation, forming a ‘divine personality embryo,’ and by then, even if you are willing to sacrifice, it will be too late.”

Mo Hua looked up at the sky.

Today was the twenty-seventh, the full moon was waning, and the lunar eclipse was only three days away.

And Bailuyuan was eight thousand li away; ordinary escape techniques would take more than five days.

“Is there not enough time…” he murmured.

“There is another way.” A-Yuan took out a bronze bell from his sleeve and offered it, “This is the ‘Archaic Sound Bell,’ which can awaken dormant earth vein dragon energy and summon the ‘Tu Long Nian.’ However, this item can only be used once and will alert powerful individuals from all directions, especially… Shibo’s informants.”

Mo Hua took the bell; it was cold to the touch, its surface covered with ancient runes, faintly resonating with the Shouquan Zhi Qi within him.

He knew that once he rang this bell, it would be a formal declaration of war against Shibo.

But he had no choice.

“Little tiger.” He called softly.

The little tiger immediately ran to his feet, looking up at him, its eyes full of trust.

Mo Hua reached out and stroked its head, whispering, “The road ahead may be very dangerous. If you are afraid, you can stay here.”

But the little tiger did not retreat; instead, it moved forward, rubbing its head against his palm, letting out a low whimper, as if saying, “I’ll go with you.”

Mo Hua smiled, the first genuine smile since he entered the wilderness.

He stood up, gripping the bronze bell, and looked around at the wind and snow.

“Then let’s go.”

As his voice fell, he raised the bell high and shook it hard.

“Ding!!!”

A clear, resonant bell chime pierced the sky, like a sharp sword cutting through clouds.

In an instant, the earth trembled.

Thousands of li of earth veins simultaneously awakened, and streaks of earthy yellow spiritual energy converged from all directions, weaving into a winding giant dragon in the sky. The dragon’s head was held high, its eyes open, entirely composed of pure earth qi, exuding immense pressure.

The earth dragon bowed its head, stopping before Mo Hua, as if welcoming its master to board the carriage.

Mo Hua picked up the little tiger and stepped onto the dragon’s back.

“Go!” he commanded.

The earth dragon let out a long roar, soared into the sky, tearing through the wind and snow, and sped southward.

Along the way, mountains and rivers receded, and rivers changed color. Wherever it passed, people looked up, seeing a streak of yellow light flash across the sky, accompanied by the sound of bells. They all believed a miracle had descended and knelt in worship.

And at the same time, thousands of miles away on Floating Mountain, the black-robed old man suddenly stood up, his face ashen.

“He used the Archaic Sound Bell?!” he roared, “Quick! Notify all informants to blockade all roads to the Southern Prefectures! Send ‘Dream Walkers’ to enter Bailuyuan in advance and set up the ‘Mihui Zhen’! I want him to fall into a nightmare of ten thousand years before he even arrives!”

The disciples outside the hall took their leave.

The old man stood alone on the high platform, looking at the increasingly distant yellow light in the southern sky, a hint of fear appearing in his eyes for the first time.

“Mo Hua… Do you think that by seizing a grass dog, you can change fate?”

“But you forgot—”

“Dreams are the truest reality.”

Night fell again.

The earth dragon pierced through clouds and mist, having traveled over five thousand li. Mo Hua sat cross-legged on the dragon’s back, recovering his spiritual consciousness while studying the formation diagram of the Xingmeng Da Zhen in the jade slip. The more he studied, the more he marveled at the formation’s exquisite brilliance, almost reaching the pinnacle of formation dao.

It did not rely on slaughter or brute force, but on “empathy” as its foundation and “forgetfulness” as its blade, severing false chains of belief and restoring clarity to the world.

“This is the true meaning of formation dao questioning longevity…” he sighed softly.

The Dao of Formations never questioned the length of the Heavenly Dao, but the truth and falsehood of human hearts.

Just then, dense dark clouds suddenly gathered in the sky ahead, and the stars disappeared.

A strange aura quietly permeated the air.

The little tiger suddenly bristled, growling incessantly.

Mo Hua opened his eyes, seeing the surrounding air become viscous, as if he were in a dream. The outlines of distant mountains blurred, and the silhouette of the earth dragon nearby also began to fade.

“They’re here,” he said coldly, “Dream Walkers.”

The next instant, nine dark figures stepped out from the void, all dressed in grey robes, wearing masks, and holding blunt swords, walking in unison like walking corpses.

The leader slowly removed his mask, revealing a face identical to Mo Hua’s.

“You don’t need to go to the Southern Prefectures,” the person smiled, “Because you are already there.”

Mo Hua looked at the other, unsurprised.

He knew that the true battlefield was never in the human world.

But in dreams.