Charles Grant stood at the entrance to the village, gazing at the springtime glow on both sides. Tender green grass had already covered the ground, with flower buds ready to bloom—winter was truly over. Quentin Grant had been gone for half a month and, by rights, should have returned by now, but there had been no sign of him these past few days.
Just then, at the end of the road, a group of people riding mountain goats approached, carrying a flag marked with the character 'Wan.' This was the nearby Wan Clan. Charles Grant watched with some suspicion—it was Warren Wan, the clan chieftain, coming in person.
Warren Wan brought with him about a hundred clansmen, hauling a considerable amount of goods. Though Charles Grant was puzzled, he still went out to greet them. His tribe had little interaction with the Wan Clan; in fact, they’d even clashed over hunting grounds in the past.
“Warren Wan, what brings you here?”
Charles Grant’s tone was stiff. The sight of this sly, mustachioed man always irritated him. He had once swallowed his anger and handed over a prime hunting ground to the Wan Clan.
“Heh, Charles, I’ve come to talk things over with you. I know we were in the wrong last time, so I’m here in person to offer my apologies.”
Seeing all the supplies Warren Wan had brought, Charles Grant hesitantly invited him into the village.
“It’s thanks to your advice, Charles, that our northern tribes won’t have to pay tribute for the next three years. For us, suffering from famine, that’s a huge relief.”
“Warren Wan, you’re not just here because of that, are you?”
As Charles spoke, Warren Wan burst out laughing and pointed outside, toward the east.
“Remember? Five years ago, when disasters began here, we joined forces once, hoping to move east to escape the calamity. But the eastern tribes completely rejected us, even though some agreed. In the end, it was King Ji who made the final decision. For the past five years, our tribes have gone hungry. My eldest son was lost in one of those disasters.”
As Warren Wan spoke, a fierce look flashed in his eyes. Charles Grant seemed to sense something.
“If you have something to say, just say it, Warren Wan.”
“I just want to ask—do you know what King Ying is doing now?”
At that, Charles Grant stood up, glaring angrily at Warren Wan.
“What are you trying to do?”
“King Ying has started consolidating tribes, relocating those struggling to survive because of famine to more fertile lands and managing them. Meanwhile, look at us—we’re still living like this. The land is growing more barren, summers are unbearably hot, winters are freezing. Even with a three-year exemption from tribute, we’re barely surviving. The mountains here make everything harder, unlike the flat lands in the west, east, and south. Even livestock is hard to raise, let alone planting crops.”
Charles Grant said nothing, just stared quietly at Warren Wan. He knew all too well what Warren was talking about, but he still wanted to try for his people.
“No matter what you do, the land is dead. There’s nothing you can do, Charles. Face reality.”
With that, Warren Wan stood up.
"That's all I wanted to say. For so many years, there hasn't been any war, and you know how the Grant Family treats our remote northern tribes. And now they've taken our children to Grant City as hostages."
Warren Wan finished speaking and left with his men, leaving behind supplies. At that moment, Charles Grant was surprised to find some goods he’d never seen in the Grant Domain—they came from elsewhere. Charles’s heart raced, but the Grant Tribe was delighted by the windfall.
Charles Grant’s mind wavered. He understood Warren Wan’s intentions clearly. To the Grant Family, their northern tribes served no purpose beyond annual tribute—like the elderly, only useful for providing food and clothing.
In his youth, Charles had followed King Grant to quell unrest in the Grant Domain and repel foreign invaders. But times had changed—the Grant Family grew ever more prosperous, while his tribe had lost many fighting for them. Now, disaster struck, compounding their suffering.
"Just... wait a little longer."
After a long silence, Charles finally uttered these words, tilting his head to gaze at the gloomy sky above the western woods.
A murmur rippled across the open ground where twenty or so men, women, and children had gathered. Joseph Qiao and Luxin were among them, standing beside a tall youth—Luyu’s son, Lumu, just sixteen, brought back today for Edward Grant.
The others were children from the eleven northern tribes. One, just ten years old but sturdily built, had a broad frame and a round face. On his left cheek was a dark blue birthmark, oddly distinctive. Many of the children whispered about him.
"Can you stop already? It’s just a birthmark on his face—what’s there to talk about?"
Luxin shouted at the kids pointing at the boy. The boy with the birthmark kept covering his face, awkward and self-conscious.
"Alright, quiet down. We're taking you to your quarters now."
Inside a large courtyard in the palace, there were many rooms. The children of the northern tribes were housed here. A Grant Family soldier explained the rules, then allowed them to move freely, had their belongings arranged, and left.
Joseph Qiao was deep in thought, quietly watching the other clan children. He seemed to understand why his father had made such a proposal to King Grant.
"Th... thank you."
The boy with the birthmark came up to Lucille Xing and thanked her immediately.
"You really are strong, haha."
Lucille Xing laughed and patted the boy’s arm.
The boy’s name was Leonard Lei, eldest son of the Lei Clan, just ten years old—about the same age as Joseph Qiao, and a year older than Lucille.
Just then, Lucas Lu walked over and greeted Lucille Xing. He’d already heard about her from Louis Yu, and his father had instructed him—being the oldest, he was to help the other children and look after Lucille.
At that moment, a cheerful older boy approached from afar. He looked a bit older than Joseph Qiao and the others, and greeted them warmly, extending his hand.
The newcomer was Stanley Tang, eldest son of the Tang Clan—one year younger than Lucas Lu. Lucille Xing boldly began telling everyone about the Ninefeather Birds, leading the group to the aviary.
Joseph Qiao could see the fear in most of the children’s faces—the youngest was only five. But under Lucille Xing’s enthusiastic guidance, their attention quickly shifted to the Ninefeather Birds.
"So many people have come."
At that moment, Yun Mei appeared and joined Lucille Xing, who immediately introduced her to the group.
Joseph Qiao noticed Stanley Tang had disappeared. He’d just been there, but now he was gone. Joseph felt uneasy and entered the palace, heading toward the children’s quarters. For some reason, he’d disliked Stanley from the start.
"What are you doing?"
Joseph Qiao reached the quarters and, sure enough, found Stanley Tang by a bed, doing something. Stanley startled, then turned away, forcing a smile and shaking his head.
"Just tidying up the beds for everyone."
Joseph Qiao showed no sign of approval, keeping a close eye on Stanley Tang.
Stanley’s expression darkened, but he kept up a playful front as he spoke.
"Oh, I almost forgot to tell you—your uncle, Quentin Grant, is dead."
In an instant, Joseph Qiao’s eyes widened. He lunged forward and grabbed Stanley Tang by the collar.
"What did you say?"
"That’s just what I heard from the clan—supposedly, he was killed by a wild beast."
Stanley Tang shoved Joseph Qiao away, chuckling as he walked out of the room.
"You seem smart. Is your one-handed father doing well? Whatever you saw here, just forget it. Otherwise, your father might run into a wild beast too."
Joseph Qiao’s heart skipped—Stanley had been fiddling with Lucas Lu’s bed. Joseph’s mood plunged.
The Tang Clan wasn’t far away. Of the eleven northern tribes, they were the strongest, and most others followed their lead.
Late at night, Joseph Qiao couldn’t sleep. The more he thought, the worse it seemed. Restless, he got up and walked alone in the moonlight toward the children’s quarters.
Outside the courtyard, Joseph Qiao stopped. He stood at the edge of the camp, quietly watching—someone was talking inside.
"Stanley Tang, what are you playing at—putting something like this on my bed?"
Lucas Lu held a stone in his hand.
"Just like the inscription on this stone—you showed up, didn’t you?"
Stanley Tang replied with a sly smile.
"We already made an agreement, and you were there. So I’m telling you—find out the Grant Family’s military deployment and current supplies as soon as possible. That’s the decision of all eleven northern tribes."
"Hmph, I’d do it anyway. I don’t need you to tell me."
Joseph Qiao was stunned. He swallowed hard, watching the two in the courtyard, feeling a chill run through him.
"Don’t pull stunts like this again. Some of the kids here have no idea what’s coming—if word gets out, it’s on you."
With that, Lucas Lu hurried back inside, leaving Stanley Tang standing there, his gaze fixed on the door.
"You might as well come out, right? You heard something important."