Chapter 1146: The Ferocious Tiger
The so-called Beast Fighting Arena was a place where upper-level cultivators watched spirit beasts and monsters battle each other for entertainment—and for gambling.
These battles were extremely dangerous, with monsters often eating people.
As such, this kind of practice was banned in Lizhou, and even in Qianzhou.
While not strictly outlawed, it remained in a legal gray area.
But the Great Wilderness was a special case—overrun with beasts, its people wild and unruly, and its laws lax. Because of that, underground beast arenas could find shelter here.
That said, to operate such a place in a Fourth-Grade Immortal City, and to raise monsters for bloody combat—it was not something a single small faction could pull off.
There had to be a major power backing this Beast Fighting Arena.
Through covert investigation and divination with the Heavenly Secrets, Mo Hua indeed traced a familiar strand of karmic aura to the arena.
It was a vicious aura—fierce and violent—and clearly related to a certain powerful and familiar beast.
Mo Hua began looking for a way to sneak into the arena.
But the Beast Fighting Arena was extremely well hidden. Its surface layer was disguised as a Spirit Beast Tower, a proper business that publicly sold and cared for spirit beasts—just a cover.
Its outer formations were tight and intricate. Divine sense couldn't penetrate them. Without a deep understanding of its structure, infiltration was nearly impossible.
So Mo Hua waited outside while using his fingers to calculate, running divinations with his internal sense, trying to detect karmic fluctuations within the arena.
A few days later, the aura inside suddenly became chaotic.
For an instant, a surge of bloodlight appeared.
Then, several threads of killing intent emerged—while the auras of a few living people disappeared.
Mo Hua guessed that a beast had gone berserk and killed several handlers.
Which meant… they were now short-staffed.
The next day, Mo Hua suppressed his presence, once again disguising himself as the bronze-skinned Qi Refining body cultivator, and stepped into the Spirit Beast Tower.
His Fated Destiny was veiled in mist.
After cultivating his divine sense, it had become extremely profound. His qi-concealing ability was excellent—revealing only a sliver of his true cultivation. Even mid-to-late Golden Core cultivators couldn't clearly perceive his true level.
At minimum, someone in the Nascent Soul Realm would be needed to truly sense something was off.
As soon as he entered the tower, a gatekeeper stopped him.
"What do you want?"
"I'm looking for a job," Mo Hua said.
The gatekeeper frowned and looked ready to shoo him away. But after a second of thought, he said, "Come with me. You'll see the steward."
He led Mo Hua to the steward of the tower.
The steward was a slightly plump man in a dark green brocade robe, sipping tea as he asked:
"You want to work here?"
Mo Hua nodded.
"How'd you find this place?"
"I was starving," Mo Hua said honestly. "Haven't eaten in days. Picked a random door and came in. I'll do anything, as long as I get a bite to eat."
"Where are you from?"
"Lizhou. My family's poor. I came here to escape the famine."
The steward looked him over—skinny frame, a pale but clean-cut face, and clear, honest eyes that didn't seem capable of lying. He gave a small nod.
"Really willing to do anything?"
"Yes."
"It's dangerous. You might die."
"I haven't eaten in days," Mo Hua said, implying: If I'm going to starve to death anyway, who cares about danger?
The steward nodded, then called someone over and told them, "Take him down. Feed him."
A servant brought Mo Hua down and gave him a simple meal.
Mo Hua devoured it, stuffing himself full.
Though born with a weak body, he had always had a surprisingly strong appetite.
While eating, Mo Hua could feel a pair of eyes secretly watching him—likely the steward.
After the meal, he was brought back before the steward.
The steward warned him sternly:
"I'll give you food and shelter, and you'll have a job. But remember: do exactly what you're told. Open your mouth only when spoken to. One wrong word, and I won't be able to save you."
Mo Hua nodded seriously.
The steward blindfolded him with a strip of black cloth. "Come with me."
The cloth had a suppressing effect on sensory perception.
But it couldn't block Mo Hua's divine sense.
He could still perceive his surroundings clearly—he just pretended otherwise as the steward led him inside the Spirit Beast Tower.
The tower had real beast pens, filled with various spirit beasts, with people coming and going.
But deeper inside, there was a secret passage that led down below.
Mo Hua followed the steward down a stone staircase, descending into darkness for what felt like ages, until finally the steward said:
"Alright. Take off the blindfold."
Mo Hua removed it, squinting.
Before him lay a massive, majestic underground beast-fighting coliseum.
In the center, a blood-soaked arena for beast combat.
Around it, rows upon rows of viewing stands, enclosing the ring like a giant bucket.
Even deeper inside were countless subterranean cages, full of violent monster auras. Low growls echoed from within.
Mo Hua widened his eyes in shock and fear at the sight.
"Th-this is…"
"Don't ask where this is," the steward said coldly. "You came here for food, right? Do your job, keep your mouth shut, and play deaf and dumb. That's the only way to stay alive… understood?"
He stared hard at Mo Hua.
Mo Hua swallowed and nodded timidly.
The steward called another servant and instructed him, "Take this brat. Get him cleaned up. Teach him the rules."
"Two slaves died yesterday. We need to fill the gap."
If someone above servant rank had died and someone applied the next day, the steward might've been suspicious.
But for Qi Refining level slaves and laborers—those were barely worth mentioning. They died like flies. Just slot in a replacement.
The steward left after giving his orders. He was busy—he had to serve the "distinguished guests."
The servant led Mo Hua deeper into the arena.
"Food and shelter are covered."
"The food's bad, but you won't starve."
"The lodging sucks, but it's not the streets."
"Just do your job. I don't have anything else to say."
"If you keep your head down, I don't need to warn you. If you don't, you'll die soon anyway—so warnings are pointless."
"Slaves and laborers here? They're no better than stray dogs. No one cares when they die."
"From now on, you're on your own…"
The servant's tone was cold and numb. He brought Mo Hua to a narrow, shabby stone room.
"This room used to house two people."
"But both of them died. It's yours now."
Mo Hua nodded. "Alright."
The servant left without another word.
Mo Hua tidied up the room and moved in.
And thus began his life in the Beast Fighting Arena—as a mere menial servant, or rather, half a slave.
During the day, he did grueling manual labor: feeding monsters, cleaning cages, scrubbing bloodstained arenas, and disposing of the bodies of slain beasts.
At night, sleep was scarce. He often had to stand guard in case a monster broke its chains and caused chaos.
The stewards and overseers treated the servants and slaves like trash—beatings and curses were routine.
And none of the servants ever resisted.
Mo Hua quickly noticed: this place… was very different from the Dao Court-ruled Nine Provinces.
Something he hadn't considered before.
In Qianzhou or Lizhou, even in the poorest and harshest regions, people still retained a sense of being human.
But in Desert City? It was clearly different.
These slaves and servants, beaten and berated, showed no temper at all. It was like they no longer even saw themselves as people—just tamed livestock.
Mo Hua wasn't sure if this was a quirk of the Great Wilderness' system or its long-standing tradition.
And this was just Desert City—on the fringe of the Wildlands, still under the Dao Court's indirect control via the Great Wilderness Sect.
If things were this bleak here…
What about the deep Wildlands?
Are there even more of these so-called "cultivator slaves"—people who aren't treated as human, and don't see themselves as human anymore?
Mo Hua's expression turned grim.
But right now, he himself was one of those "slave-servants" and had no power to change anything.
Besides, he had something far more urgent to do:
Find his Big Tiger.
If Big Tiger really had been captured and brought to this Beast Fighting Arena, it meant it would definitely be used as a "battle beast," forced into brutal life-or-death fights against other spirit beasts for the amusement of high-ranking cultivators—used as a tool for gambling by nobles.
These beast battles were savage.
A single misstep could lead to a gut-splitting, flesh-rending death.
If a beast performed poorly and made a "noble" lose their bet, that noble could pay spirit stones for an "Execution Token" to have the beast killed out of spite.
Worried sick for Big Tiger, Mo Hua began subtly and consistently searching through the arena's beast prisons during his chores—pretending to just be passing through, while keeping an eye out.
But no matter how long he searched, he couldn't find it.
There were several tiger-type beasts locked up, but none matched Big Tiger's size or fur.
There were a few heavily warded sealed cells deeper in.
The formations outside these were extremely strict. Mo Hua had just infiltrated the place and couldn't risk setting off any alarms.
If he did, his entire cover would be blown.
And if there truly were terrifying beasts inside those sealed cells, one wrong move could unleash chaos worse than exposure.
Mo Hua secretly used his Demonic Bone Divination once again.
The result confirmed that the karmic link was connected to this Beast Fighting Arena.
But any deeper insight? Blocked.
It seemed that many people and forces were involved in this matter—making the cause-and-effect threads far too complex to read clearly.
And the battlefield of resentful spirits and slaughtered beasts certainly didn't help—this place was clouded with chaotic energy, further interfering with divination.
The situation had reached a stalemate.
Mo Hua grew anxious, but at this moment, he had no better option—he could only wait for an opportunity.
Three days later, the opportunity finally arrived.
A steward gathered the servants and looked around with cold, piercing eyes before saying flatly:
"One of the inner hall servants dropped a teacup and was beaten to death by a noble. We need a replacement."
All the servants and slave-laborers lowered their heads instantly.
The arena was divided into inner and outer areas.
The outer hall was for menial tasks—feeding beasts, cleaning up filth. It was hard work with meager food and rough clothes, but somewhat safer.
The inner hall served the nobles directly—carrying tea, wiping sweat, fetching things.
It looked glamorous on the surface—but was just as dangerous, if not worse.
The "nobles" were unpredictable, temperamental, and in some cases more vicious than the beasts.
At least beasts were locked in cages. Nobles weren't.
One slip-up, one wrong word—and your death would be ugly.
That's why many preferred staying in the dirty, exhausting outer arena—dealing with savage beasts was still safer than dealing with a noble's mood swings.
So when the steward spoke, everyone lowered their heads.
Except one.
Mo Hua.
In a crowd of bowed heads, he was the only one who raised his head—or more accurately, the only one who didn't lower it. He stood out immediately.
The steward's gaze locked onto him. After a moment of thought, he recalled this was the new guy he'd brought in to fill a gap.
To have lasted this long without dying—clearly he knew how to behave.
And now that he thought about it…
Mo Hua hadn't been beaten or scolded even once since arriving—he was obedient, quick to learn, a model laborer.
"You. Come here," the steward said.
Mo Hua stepped forward.
The steward looked him over. Too thin—but upon closer inspection, his features were striking. Though not pale or fair, he was handsome in a deep, serene, rustic kind of way—an honest face, with real bone structure.
The steward thought: nobles had different tastes, but a good-looking servant was always more pleasant to have around—and less likely to offend.
He asked Mo Hua, "Are you willing to enter the inner hall?"
Mo Hua replied, "Will I be able to eat my fill? The food outside isn't enough."
The steward raised an eyebrow, then nodded in satisfaction. "Not only will you eat your fill—you'll eat well."
Mo Hua nodded. "Alright. I'll go."
The steward smiled approvingly.
The other servants glanced at Mo Hua from the corners of their eyes, eyes filled with sympathy.
And just like that, Mo Hua was transferred from the outer arena to the inner arena.
He changed into a clean uniform and began delivering tea and serving water to the nobles watching the beast battles.
And finally, Mo Hua saw the inner arena of the Beast Fighting Grounds.
The inner and outer zones were strictly segregated.
Outside, he could only interact with the beasts.
Inside, he was close to the nobles—and could also watch the actual battles firsthand.
The battles were savagely brutal.
Before each match, the beasts were force-fed Bloodthirst Pills, igniting their killing instinct. Once inside the ring, it was kill or be killed—biting, clawing, intestines spilling onto the floor.
The more blood-soaked the fight, the more excited the nobles became.
The nobles—cloaked in fine robes and covered in jewelry—sat arrogantly in the stands, haughty eyes sweeping the ring, each surrounded by personal servants and maids, basking in dominance.
But Mo Hua noticed something:
Their cultivation wasn't actually that high.
Most were around Qi Refining level 9 to mid-to-late Foundation Establishment.
Likely young heirs of various local clans and sects in Desert City.
As he handed them tea, Mo Hua couldn't help but roll his eyes in his heart.
These were the so-called "nobles"?
Just a bunch of trash sons from trash families...
The more worthless they were, the more they enjoyed tormenting the weak.
If it weren't for the circumstances, he'd love nothing more than to shatter a formation on the spot and blow these degenerate trash nobles into spiritual ash, no matter how high or low.
And yet—among all this savagery and filth—there was one thing that truly caught Mo Hua by surprise…
Among the "nobles" watching the fights—besides the usual Desert City scions dressed in ornate brocade robes—there were also a few figures clad in beast pelts, with burly frames and savage demeanors. At a glance, they were clearly cultivators from the Great Wilderness.
This sight was incredibly out of place—completely at odds with Mo Hua's expectations.
But after thinking it through for a bit, he gradually understood.
The Dao Court and the Great Wilderness weren't always mortal enemies.
For a long time, the Great Wilderness had actually submitted to the Dao Court.
And Desert City, located at the border between the two powers, was home to both Dao Court-affiliated families and barbarian clans from the Wilderness.
So the two sides mixing, doing business, even mingling in beast arenas—wasn't too surprising.
It was only now that the Great Wilderness had rebelled that tensions had spiked dramatically.
Still, even with rebellion underway, that didn't mean every clan in the Wilderness had turned traitor.
The Dao Court couldn't possibly slaughter all Wilderness cultivators indiscriminately, regardless of guilt or innocence.
That kind of full-scale "province-cleansing" massacre—even the Demon Sect wouldn't do something so heinous, let alone the Dao Court.
But all of this was just the current state of things.
As the war dragged on and casualties mounted, with hatred deepening on both sides… who knew what the future held?
Having observed the inner workings of the beast arena thoroughly, Mo Hua had a good grasp of the situation. He resumed his role serving the "nobles."
He kept his presence minimal, his aura tightly restrained. With such a low profile, he avoided trouble—none of the nobles took notice, let alone beat or kill him.
And if the occasional idiot got some twisted idea about bullying Mo Hua for fun…
All it took was one glance from Mo Hua, and a wave of inexplicable fear would rise from their hearts, cooling their arrogance instantly.
And so, Mo Hua's service continued smoothly.
The only problem was—
Even after entering the inner arena, he still couldn't find any trace of Big Tiger.
There was no sign of it anywhere.
Mo Hua found this very strange.
His intuition rarely failed him. His divination might not be flawless, but it had never been off in such a fundamental way.
"Where is Big Tiger…"
On this particular day, while Mo Hua was serving inside the arena—tea tray in hand, frowning and deep in thought—his heart suddenly skipped a beat.
At that moment, a commanding voice rang out:
"Young Master Tuoba has arrived. Kneel."
All the slaves immediately dropped to their knees, pressing their foreheads to the floor, not daring to breathe too loudly.
Mo Hua didn't kneel.
Fortunately, standing near him were a few well-dressed scions of noble houses and some burly cultivators from the Great Wilderness who were only bowing formally, not kneeling.
Mo Hua thought for a moment, then quietly stepped behind these people, head lowered and aura restrained. This way, he didn't stand out.
A few moments later, a procession of gold-armored guards cleared the way.
Then came a tall, broad-shouldered young man, clad in golden armor etched with beast patterns, radiating power and wealth. He strode forward proudly, his presence dominating.
This young man's identity was clearly extremely high.
As he passed, the kneeling cultivators held their breath, not daring to move a muscle.
Even those who were only bowing bent lower, showing extreme respect.
Mo Hua, head bowed among the crowd, couldn't help but wonder who this "Young Master Tuoba" with such fanfare really was. But given his current status, he suppressed his curiosity and didn't lift his gaze.
But then, in the very next instant, he suddenly heard a wild tiger's roar—arrogant and unrestrained.
The sound was unfamiliar… yet oddly familiar.
Mo Hua's heart trembled violently.
He looked up instinctively—
And there, behind Young Master Tuoba, eight muscle-bound warriors, their bodies rippling with veins, were each holding thick gold-iron chains, dragging forward a massive, black-and-white striped ferocious tiger.
The tiger was enormous.
Its forehead, limbs, back, and tail were all bound with sealing formations. The chains were forged from spirit-suppressing gold, and the saddle-like harness on its back was designed to suppress demonic qi. Even its razor-sharp fangs and claws were fully locked down.
Yet even with all these restraints, a suffocating, terrifying demonic aura still radiated from its body.
It took eight late-Foundation Establishment body cultivators, straining with all their might, to drag the tiger forward—barely.
Mo Hua stared at the beast—whose appearance had changed drastically from what he remembered, but whose aura was still unmistakably familiar—and he froze on the spot.
The vicious tiger, usually hateful of restraints and ever-defiant, suddenly paused.
It had clearly sensed something.
As if it had just detected a gaze—one long familiar, one deeply etched into memory.
Its paws dug deep into the tiled floor, abruptly halting its stride.
No matter how hard the eight guards pulled, it wouldn't budge.
The tiger's gaze trembled.
It seemed… hesitant to believe.
Its head, bearing the distinct "王" (King) mark, turned as it sniffed the air.
Then, as if struck by lightning, it jerked up its head and looked straight at Mo Hua.
(End of this Chapter)