Chapter 199

A group of nearly a hundred beasts trudged slowly along the main road intersecting with the market stalls.

Beastmen, holding whip-like vines, barked harshly: “Move faster! You slowpokes can’t even work properly—or walk properly—what useless trash you are.”

Forty or fifty gaunt, skeletal-looking beastmen clutched or dragged heavy plants behind them, staggering forward. A single lag behind drew a lash from the whip.

A thirteen-year-old cub suddenly rolled his eyes and collapsed. Fruit spilled all over the dust.

A guard kicked the cub hard in the stomach. “Quit playing dead! Get up already!”

But the child lay motionless—like a straw-stuffed rag doll, utterly unresponsive to the blow.

An older sub-beastman dropped to his knees, leaning over the child and weeping: “Sir, she can’t walk any further. Please—don’t beat her anymore…”

Instead, the guard’s whip lashed even harder—this time striking both the collapsed cub and his pleading companion.

“In your delay, I returned later—further wasting time. If this continues, tomorrow you’ll be dragged out as bait!”

Among the group, a few grimy beastmen seemed numb to the abuse, faces blank, eyes refusing to meet another’s.

Smack! Smack!

The lashes struck in rhythm, scolding piercing the air, and the group’s pace quickened, painfully.

When the sub-beastman’s cries softening into whimpers, the guard finally stopped, spitting onto the ground.

At that moment, they noticed Wolf-Ji and his party—standing motionless, cold eyes fixed on them.

The lead guard sneered, whip raised: “What are you staring at?”

Yan, previously crouched and hiding, trembled instinctively. He dared to glance up—indeed, this was the Heishan party.

Quietly, he tugged Wolf-Ji’s hide cloak: “Don’t look,” he whispered.

Yan had assumed that a mighty tribe like Heishan might fight back—but seeing Wolf-Ji simply squat down as he did, meekly, broke his expectations. A wave of both relief and disappointment washed through him—but he buried it.

The guard smirked and nodded to two comrades. They dragged the child and sub-beastman up, bodies scraping the hard ground—a chilling sound.

Rhino-Zhou hid his slave brand reflexively. Even in bondage, he’d had moments to gasp for air—but this… the Sanghuo guards treated slaves worse than livestock.

After the dust cleared, Yan peeked out and forced a polite smile at Wolf-Ji: “Our millet…”

Wolf-Ji asked coolly, “Who were those people?”

Yan swallowed hard. “They’re Sanghuo… they have many slaves. Some are just pushed to gather; others are used as bait. They come back with missing limbs—or half-dead in blood. I don’t know… how much longer they’ll even live.”

Fox-Qiao glanced around. Last year at the trading day, some lesser tribes would trade slaves—but today? Not a single stand had one left.

Lang Ze had told them to trade slaves if the right ones appeared—but given the situation, that looked impossible now.

Yan, confused by their expressions, asked softly: “Are you from far north? Last winter was so cold, most slaves froze to death—even full beasts died.”

He nodded vaguely toward the distance: “Many tribes were wiped out by Sanghuo… their surviving slaves outnumber us. We have none left to trade.”

Even if they did, they wouldn’t. The Aramoku Tribe had handled the slave trade last year—and set us low salt prices. This year, Sanghuo took over—and the exchange rate was worse: three adult slaves for a palm-sized bag of salt.

Even hiding a slave trade wasn’t safe. Earlier, one tribe had tried—and was caught. On top of paying more salt, they were punished physically.

So: unless you had zero food—no tribe would trade children. Adult beasts—not slaves—labored in countless tasks.

Rhino-Zhou leaned close and whispered in Wolf-Ji’s ear. Wolf-Ji nodded, voice steady: “We’ll take all your millet—and those hides.”

Yan’s relief was brief—he was about to reply when Wolf-Ji interrupted: “Are there still friendly tribes here?”

Yan nodded.

“Tell them—any hide traded for the same salt offer will come to us. We’ll bring salt over to trade.”

Yan exhaled hard and agreed quietly: “I’ll have them bring it.”

The market—a place once called Xushan Trading Day—was now fundamentally different. These small tribes were here not out of joy, but survival. In three days, they’d witnessed horror and despair. They only stayed to trade salt; the longer they remained, they hoped, the more chance to glean information.

As the Heishan group prepared to leave, Rhino-Zhou paused and warned: “Stay quiet. Only three people per stand—understood?”

Yan nodded. Anything to transport what he could out.

Elsewhere, newer arrivals to the trading day felt a pall descend: no bizarre wares, no lively chatter. Even once-friendly tribes now asked unconscionable prices.

Within two hours, everyone had retreated to their camp—but the Heishan tents were already pitched, and gossip relayed across groups.

Monkey Yan’s face set in grim resolve: “You all acted well. Wolf-Ji, Niu Shuo—you two carry salt across. Collect the promised items one by one.”

He paused, calling after them: “When you break into groups, cover slave brands. Don’t let them expose your identity.”

“Yes, chief,” they murmured.

Monkey Yan turned to Niu Shuo and Ma Ling: “Did you locate the tribes Qi Bai mentioned—Julul or Battle Bear?”

From the beginning, Heishan hoped to trade peacefully with large outsiders like Battle Bear—whose skins would ease their mission. But those tribes were absent.

Niu Shuo and the others had scouted—only two large tribes remained: Mabubo, and one named Scarred Earth. Both asked extortionate prices. Likely already aligned with Sanghuo.

Only eight major tribes existed. Aramoku had moved east; Yun Valley and Genshan had never appeared. Now, given Sanghuo’s looming power, prospects looked dire.

Yet without their locations, nothing could be done.

Monkey Yan thought hard. Then he declared: “Stop building tents. Go negotiate with other tribes. Exchange as many goods as you can carry.”

Niu Shuo blinked: “Chief, you mean…”

Monkey Yan squeezed his hands. “We sleep little tonight. At dawn, take what we’ve traded and leave.”

They nodded silently and left, carrying salt for trade.

Within the tent, only Monkey Yan remained. He exhaled deeply.

He’d known Sanghuo weren’t kind—but not that in a year they’d already dominated the North荒. If Qi Bai or Lang Ze were here… maybe they’d have cunning solutions. But Monkey Yan couldn’t afford gambles. The priority: keep the tribe safe.

Sanghuo knew Heishan had salt. If they noticed, they wouldn’t let them go easily. He made a decision: once secure goods were in hand, leave before anyone realized.

As dawn approached, Heishan’s tribe moved swiftly—exchanging salt for whatever valuables small tribes could offer: hides, roots, game, even stone tools.

Although smaller tribes tried to hide details, information slipped out. This place wasn’t airtight, and eyes watched everywhere.

Then, on the second day at dawn, inside the largest Sanghuo tent:

A lean horned beastman and a hunched elder stood before an older male seated on hides. A stronger horned warrior stood beside them, bone knife flashing.

The guard named Sāi (Sand) bowed low. “Elder, the people have escaped.”

The sessile elder—Liangshi Tribe’s former leader—touched his chin; his eyes glowed. The horned guard continued: “They broke free.”

The lean beastman collapsed in dread. “Now they’re gone…”

Liangshi’s eyes narrowed. A low, animalistic growl escaped him.

He commanded: “Chase them.”