Rain fell, nourishing the parched earth at the brink of autumn. The downpour was so heavy, it seemed to make up for all the months without rain.
On the streets of Grant City, water had already pooled from the storm. Inside the palace, the leaders of the Grant Family gathered in a large hall, each face grave with worry.
"Father, how much longer are we supposed to wait? We've sent envoys three times now, and not a single one has returned. They must have killed them. How long must we endure this? We need to send out troops now, let them know the consequences of betraying the Grant Family."
Edward Grant spoke in frustration, but King Grant remained silent, saying nothing. Everyone in the Grant Family stared at King Grant; more than half supported going to war.
"Everyone, quiet down. The situation is clear now—the eleven northern tribes have truly rebelled. The children they sent to Grant City were just scapegoats. I'm afraid the makeup of our army has already been reported back to those two boys from the Tang Clan and Lu Clan. Wynn Domain and Yao Domain have been watching us, eager to invade Grant Domain. The eleven northern tribes are just a pretext for them to start a war. If we act rashly now, they'll have every reason to march into our lands."
"They're already pushing us to the edge, Father. Why do you keep holding back? The other three major clans are ready for war, just waiting for your order. We could wipe out those eleven northern tribes in a month. If we keep this up, won't the other clans laugh at the Grant Family?"
"That's enough. Station the troops at the main passes in the central region and hold the line. Without my command, no one is to start a war on their own."
After King Grant finished speaking, he waved his hand. One by one, the others left the room. Edward Grant stood motionless, fists clenched in anger. Sophie Grant grabbed her brother's hand, hoping he'd leave with her, but Edward Grant shook her off.
"Father, when did you become so cowardly?"
"Edward, you were born just as we ended the wars with some of the tribes in Grant Domain. It was when the Grant Family finally stabilized. You don't know what war truly is."
At noon, the rain finally stopped and the sky cleared. Lucille Xing and Leonard Lei began clearing the waterlogged birdhouse, while Joseph Qiao sat gloomily by the fence, his face still marked by a sharp wound—a fresh scar running down his left cheek.
Ever since news of the rebellion among the Northern Eleven Tribes broke, Joseph Qiao, eldest son of the Grant Tribe, has suffered terrible treatment. The curses never stopped; then, days ago, furious Grant City residents attacked and injured him. Only King Grant’s strict order—anyone causing further trouble would be executed—finally restored calm.
"You always wear that bitter face. If you’d told us sooner, none of this would’ve happened. That day, if Yvonne May hadn’t told me you rushed into the fire alone, you’d be ashes now."
"Just drop it."
Leonard Lei pressed down Lucille Xing’s resentful face. Joseph Qiao didn’t argue back; he just couldn’t understand why, at that moment, he made such a choice. Deep down, he still hoped to return to his tribe.
Now Joseph Qiao and Leonard Lei weren’t even allowed out into Grant City. They were confined to the palace, with soldiers regularly patrolling nearby. If they were ever found missing, the punishment would be severe. These were Edward Grant’s men, and they came regularly to check the birdhouse.
Joseph Qiao’s sharp spirit was gone, replaced by numbness. Only the pain in his back and arms reminded him he was still alive.
Just then, Yvonne May approached from afar, accompanied by Matron Nora. Yvonne carried a small shell filled with green liquid, reeking of a foul stench.
"Here, this is medicine Matron Nora found—crushed herbs made into a salve. Apply it to your wounds, it should help you heal faster."
Joseph Qiao pushed Yvonne May’s hand away and shook his head.
"No need."
That fire claimed many lives. Most affected was Queen Grant—since then, she stopped nursing, coughed constantly, her complexion pale and sickly, confined indoors, suffering through sleepless nights.
Yuna Ji could only be fed by other wet nurses, as well as children from the Northern Eleven Tribes, who had become scapegoats in the chaos. Joseph Qiao had foreseen this outcome long ago—he could have stopped it.
"Whatever anyone says now probably means nothing to you. I’ll leave the medicine here."
Yvonne May set the shell down beside Joseph Qiao, stepped over the fence, and walked away.
"My tribe has already fallen apart—people dead, gone, or fled. But now, I feel everything here is fine, even free. If you’re still a man, Joseph Qiao."
Yvonne May spoke softly, then joined Lucille Xing and Leonard Lei. The three tended to the Ninefeather Birds, which had grown accustomed to the place and become close to their caretakers.
Joseph Qiao stood, glanced at the shell of medicine, tucked it into his clothes, and headed north to the practice grounds—his usual spot for archery and sword drills.
"Where are you going?"
As soon as Joseph Qiao arrived, soldiers blocked his way. He explained, but they refused. At that moment, Edward Grant stormed out of a side door, his anger flaring at the sight of Joseph.
"Sword practice? Ha! What are you planning, Joseph? Haven’t you done enough already? Next time, are you going to chop off all our heads?"
Joseph Qiao’s anger flared. He glared at Edward Grant, but was shoved hard and fell to the ground. As he tried to get up, his body felt weak. Edward Grant walked over and grabbed him by the collar.
"If not for my father, I’d have cut off your head long ago."
Edward Grant shoved Joseph Qiao to the ground again.
Joseph Qiao gritted his teeth, refusing to beg for mercy. Edward Grant’s men surrounded him, mocking and jeering.
Edward Grant spat at Joseph Qiao, then turned and left with his men.
Joseph Qiao lay on the ground, fists clenched, eyes burning with hatred. He stared at the sky, his mind swirling with thoughts of his tribe and the humiliation he’d endured.
A cold wind swept over the practice grounds. Joseph Qiao rose, dusted himself off, and limped back toward the palace, his resolve hardening.
That night, Joseph Qiao sat alone in the birdhouse, staring at the moon. The Ninefeather Birds huddled together, their feathers gleaming softly in the darkness.
Lucille Xing and Leonard Lei slept nearby, exhausted. Joseph Qiao couldn’t sleep. He replayed the day’s humiliation and the faces of his fallen tribe members in his mind.
He thought of his father, Charles Grant, and the years spent in the forest. Now, everything was gone.
He gripped the shell of medicine tightly, the bitterness in his heart deepening.
The next morning, Joseph Qiao woke to the sound of soldiers shouting outside. He hurried to the door and saw Edward Grant leading his men, their faces grim.
Edward Grant barked, "Joseph, you’re to come with us. King Grant has summoned you."
Joseph Qiao’s heart raced. He followed Edward Grant through the corridors, past rows of armored guards, to the great hall where King Grant waited.
King Grant sat at the head of the hall, his face stern. Queen Grant and Sophie Grant sat beside him, their eyes filled with worry.
Edward Grant bowed. "Father, Joseph Qiao is here."
King Grant fixed his gaze on Joseph Qiao. "You may speak."
Joseph Qiao knelt, his voice trembling. "Your Majesty, my tribe is loyal. We never meant to rebel."
King Grant’s voice was cold. "Loyalty is proven by actions, not words. The Northern Eleven Tribes have broken trust. Why should I spare you?"
Joseph Qiao bowed his head, unable to answer.
King Grant waved his hand. "Take him away."