Like a cat that had caught the scent of fish, every pore on Mo Hua's body began to tremble slightly. He could not help muttering under his breath:
"God... descent..."
Though he spoke softly, Yan Zhu—who had appeared to ignore Mo Hua all along, yet had secretly been watching him—still noticed. Even Mo Hua's faint shock and unusual expression had not escaped his keen senses.
Yan Zhu gave a scornful smile. "What, does this 'Shaman' not know about God Descent?"
Under normal circumstances, even if Mo Hua did not know, he would have put on a front and pretended that he did. After all, a "Shaman" could not lose face.
But this time was different.
Like a cat whose soul had been hooked away by a fish, Mo Hua could not help nodding. "I don't know. Tell me about it?"
Yan Zhu froze, not expecting Mo Hua to be so straightforward. Then he sneered.
"What? Your 'God Lord' never told you about it? And you call yourself a Shaman?"
Mo Hua said nothing and silently endured Yan Zhu's mockery.
A person had to be broad-minded. Before a matter of great importance, he could endure Yan Zhu's little bit of "rudeness."
Seeing that Mo Hua had said nothing, Yan Zhu did not continue mocking him, lest he make himself, a late Golden Core cultivator, seem petty.
Winning back one round was enough.
Yan Zhu's expression turned solemn as he slowly said in a deep voice:
"The Wujiu Tribe is an ancient tribe with a long heritage from the third-grade Great Witch Wind Mountain Realm. Yet over the past several centuries, the tribe's strength had declined, leaving it obscure and unnoticed. It was not until the previous Great Chieftain governed with diligence and determination, cast away extravagance, abandoned pleasure, poured out his