"Thank you, Ethan. I owe you so much."
Yuna Ji stood before me with a cheerful smile. I shook my head, looking at her seriously.
"After Ancestor Emperor Huang unified Huaxia, there were still wars among the tribes. Our Eight Great Houses are his descendants by blood. After unifying Huaxia, the Grant Family was granted territory north of the Yellow River, a prosperous region. But everything began to change after several years of drought."
I asked, puzzled, watching Yuna Ji. These past few days, I've observed a lot, especially her generals—they didn't seem to be affected by any restraints.
As Emperor Huang neared the end of his life, he selected eight great clans as the foundation of Huaxia, granting them vast territories. At the same time, they had to defend against invasions from outside tribes.
Ji, Jiang, Si, Ying, Yun, Gui, Ji, Yao.
Among the Eight Great Houses were Emperor Huang's former enemies, allies, and descendants.
"It's extinct now. It was a bird of good omen, symbolizing prosperity, fortune, and imperial unity. I lived in the same era as Yvonne May."
I swallowed, quietly watching Yuna Ji.
"What era were you from?"
I asked.
Yuna Ji lifted her head, gazing at the sky.
Everyone hurriedly shoveled away the snow from the collapsed house and dragged out a child who looked about seven or eight years old. His face was blue from the cold. In this heavy snow, it was nearly impossible to start a fire outside, and even inside, it was difficult to keep a fire going.
Around 2500 BCE, it was an age of tribal clusters. Ancestor Emperor Huang, the outstanding leader, defeated Emperor Yan and unified Huaxia, ending the era of tribal conflict.
"Ada, this snow has been falling for so long, and game in the mountains is scarce. Soon, the Grant King's third daughter will be born. Without tribute, what will we do?"
A slightly older, brown-haired man spoke. Charles Grant had only recently inherited leadership from his late father, but with poor harvests year after year, and now the bitter cold of winter, the Grant Family was about to hold a grand banquet in Grant City for the birth of their third daughter. As the leading tribe in Grant territory, their strength was unmatched, and all other tribes had to offer tribute to show loyalty.
"Father, the Grant Family demands too much. Every year they want so many offerings, and our people barely have enough to eat! Why don’t we join forces with outsiders and put an end to it once and for all..."
With a slap, Charles Grant struck Joseph Qiao across the mouth.
Occasionally, strong men clad in animal skins appeared, clearing snow from the roofs. The blizzard grew worse, and the houses creaked under the weight. Built from mud and branches, these homes were close to collapsing under the snow.
With a loud creak, one of the houses caved in.
"Yusheng..."
A man wearing a fur hat and coat cried out in alarm in the blizzard, rushing toward the collapsed house. Villagers—young and old, men and women—came out, numbering in the thousands.
"Uncle, why does Father fear the Grant Family? They're strong, but they're far from here. We're in the mountains and forests—if they want to attack, it won't be easy. As long as we..."
The man was the chief of the Grant Tribe, looking anxiously at his son. Fortunately, the blizzard eased, and inside a tribesman’s home, Joseph Qiao huddled by the fire, shivering.
"Ada, the snow’s been falling for so long, and the game in the mountains is scarce. Soon, the Grant Family’s third daughter will be born. Without tribute, what will we do?"
A slightly older, brown-haired man spoke. Charles Grant had only recently inherited leadership from his late father, but with poor harvests year after year, and now the bitter cold of winter, the Grant Family was about to hold a grand banquet in Jidu for the birth of their third daughter. As the leading tribe, their strength was unmatched, and all other tribes had to offer tribute to show loyalty.
"Father, the Grant Family demands too much. Every year they want so many offerings, and our people barely have enough to eat! Why don’t we join forces with outsiders and put an end to it once and for all..."
"Less than five thousand who can actually fight. The Grant Family, on the other hand, can field a hundred thousand warriors."
Joseph Qiao's eyes widened, blinking in shock, then immediately pointed at the brown-haired man.
"Uncle, you're lying."
"When the snow stops, have the warriors from the village come with me into the mountains. There's not much time—we need to gather the tribute first."
Charles Grant said this as he left the house, continuing to direct the villagers in clearing snow from the rooftops. Joseph Qiao looked sullen.
"Uncle, why does Father fear the Grant Family? They're strong, but they're far from here. We're in the mountains and forests—if they want to attack, it won't be easy. As long as we..."
"Yusheng, how many people do you think our tribe has?"
Joseph Qiao thought for a moment and smiled.
Including the nearby wild tribes, maybe ten thousand.
The brown-haired middle-aged man laughed.
Three days later, a crowd gathered at the village entrance, ready to receive visitors. Joseph Qiao stood nearby, eyes full of discontent—it was the Grant Family’s envoy.
In the distance, soldiers rode war cattle, fully armored. The leading general had a red flag with the character 'Grant' on his back.
As soon as the envoy arrived, Quentin Grant had the villagers bring out frozen meat and stored grain to entertain them.
The snow finally stopped. At the mountain road, over a hundred people gathered, carrying bows and short swords, ready to hunt. Most villagers wore bitter expressions.
"Everyone, stay calm. This time we'll surely catch plenty of game. Please endure a few more days. Quentin Grant, once we're in the mountains, you'll handle food distribution. Remember, each person's daily ration must not change. If it does, there won't be enough food to last until spring."
The brown-haired man nodded.
"Big brother, go ahead. I'll take care of everything in the village."
Charles Grant led a group into the mountains. Joseph Qiao squatted at his doorstep, playing with blood in the snow, looking bored. He longed to go with his father, but in the tribe, one must be twelve to be considered an adult and allowed to carry weapons. He still had four years to wait.
"Yusheng, instead of wasting time like this, why not practice your archery?"
In the village, everyone was a soldier. Even the old, weak, women, and children could shoot and chop. Many nearly-adults practiced archery in the snow. Joseph Qiao sighed and joined them. Soon, under his lead, a group of children started a snowball fight, while Quentin Grant watched with a helpless smile.
Three days later, a crowd gathered at the village entrance, ready to receive visitors. Joseph Qiao stood nearby, eyes full of discontent—it was the Grant Family’s envoy.
In the distance, soldiers rode war cattle, fully armored. The leading general had a red flag with the character 'Ji' on his back.
As soon as the envoy arrived, Quentin Grant had the villagers bring out frozen meat and stored grain to entertain them.