Chapter 284

Two beastmen in cloaks walked slowly forward, with four guards following at a measured distance behind them.

The beastman in a servant’s posture kept his head lowered and whispered to the man beside him:
“Wuzi-daren, everything is exactly as you predicted. Ke Sishi doesn’t care at all that Piao Sishi was attacked. To make Ke Sishi come forward and denounce Xun Wuzi… it seems impossible...”

His words stopped abruptly, because the thin beastman called Wuzi suddenly halted.

Long, slender fingers lightly lifted the hood at the crown of his head, revealing only a sharp jawline and lips so crimson they stood out against his pale skin. He tilted his head slightly, as though observing something inside the alley.

The servant also turned to look. The alley was chaotic and noisy—two of Ke Sishi’s underlings were dumping food outside.

The servant frowned. “Wuzi-daren, are they disturbing you?”

The man did not answer. Instead, he asked:
“Sun, you saw Piao Sishi’s wound just now. Do you think he can survive?”

His voice was slow and unhurried, with a casual detachment that seemed to dismiss all things.

Sun thought for a moment, then shook his head. “If it were an ordinary tribe or city, Piao Sishi’s injuries would mean certain death. But if the Envoy intervenes… that’s another matter.”

The man’s gaze lingered on a corner of the crowd. Whatever he thought of, it brought a faint curve to his lips.
“More and more interesting.”

He lowered his hand, letting the hood fall back into shadow, his entire form swallowed again by the cloak.

Sun didn’t understand what his Wuzi meant, but he didn’t ask further. He simply followed closely as the man resumed walking.

Inside the alley, the stone gate had already shut, but the brawl had not fully died down. Still, most of the combatants were too weak with hunger; though a few had drawn blood, no one was in mortal danger.

Qi Bai’s hands circled Lang Ze’s waist. The steady rhythm of the wolf’s heartbeat drowned out the surrounding noise.

After a while, Lang Ze lowered his head and said, “They’re gone.”

Qi Bai poked his head out from the wolf’s embrace, glancing cautiously around.
“Who was watching us?”

Lang Ze replied: “I didn’t see the face clearly. But he wore the same brown cloak as the Wuzi at the city gate. Likely another Wuzi.”

Many of the beastmen who had grabbed food were already retreating. Some who hadn’t managed to snatch any lingered stubbornly, staring at the stone gate with desperate hope it might open again.

Of course, Qi Bai and Lang Ze had no reason to remain. Lang Ze made a subtle hand signal to Lang Zhan and Lang Cheng—an old Silver Moon gesture. Both understood instantly, and led their clansmen quickly away.

Back in the grass shelters, the group split up.

Lang Cheng and the others went out to probe the city’s defenses. Qi Bai and Lang Ze, meanwhile, would seek information inside the city.

Wangu City wasn’t large. By modern measure, it was no more than the size of a small town. But ninety percent of its land was occupied by the Egu and Lieshi clans. The remaining beastmen—nearly half the population—were crammed into tiny slums.

There were three such slum areas in Wangu, including the one where the Yanlang Tribe stayed. They weren’t close together, but each lay near a city gate.

Qi Bai and Lang Ze made the other two slums their main grounds of activity.

In just four or five days, they had mapped out a rough idea of the tribes and populations of the slums.

During this time, blood-bone warriors frequently prowled the slums, hunting for the Cotton Rabbit Tribe responsible for the stabbing of Piao Sishi.

The first to suffer was the slum where the Cotton Rabbits had once lived.

To ensure no one was hiding them, all beastmen had to be inspected outside their shelters, while their huts were torn apart—grass roofs ripped away, bedding shredded to pieces. Wherever the blood-bone warriors passed, wreckage followed.

And in the past two days, the visits had only grown more frequent.

Qi Bai guessed: “That Piao Sishi must be near death.”

That morning alone, blood-bone squads had raided twice. Failing to find the already-dead Cotton Rabbits, they had even dragged away several beastmen whose animal forms happened to be rabbits.

Lang Ze said: “If Piao Sishi dies, the Temple of the Envoy and the Temple of the Great Wu will be in turmoil. We should see for ourselves.”

“Alright,” Qi Bai nodded. Opportunities like this were rare—they couldn’t miss it.

Once the patrol left, Qi Bai and Lang Ze slipped out of the crowded slums. But instead of heading toward the city center, they followed the outskirts.

Soon, they came upon an oval-shaped stone structure.

Just as Lang Zhan had said, within the slums one rarely encountered Egu or Lieshi directly—but that didn’t mean Qi Bai and Lang Ze had no avenues.

Rumors from the slums had led them to this—an arena.

It was carved into the side of a stone hill. A wide flat ground in the middle served as the combat pit, while the surrounding rock had been chiseled into tiered seating. Some sections had been hollowed into caves—private boxes of varying size, clearly prepared for beastmen of different ranks.

Beneath the stepped seating were tunnels, with alcoves and larger chambers, even big enough to house beasts in full animal form. These rooms were for combatants waiting to enter the arena.

The stone passages twisted and cramped, with sunlight piercing only occasionally through vents above. But that suited Qi Bai and Lang Ze well.

They had already observed: only two main entrances were used daily. Most of the prep chambers lay empty.

From its layout, Qi Bai judged this arena design wasn’t Wangu’s own—it was copied wholesale from some other city.

The many unused prep rooms were proof. The structure had once been meant for organized combat. Here, it had been twisted into blood sport.

Qi Bai and Lang Ze pushed open a stone door and stepped into one such empty chamber.

It was spacious, stone benches carved around the edges. Opposite the arena was a small window barely three fingers wide—just enough to view the combat outside.

The previous fight had just ended, but the arena still roared with chaos.

Curses. Jeers. Wild howls.

As the din swelled to bursting, the two stone gates of the pit opened. Two horned beastmen strode in from opposite sides.

A piercing screech split the air, and a beastman in a fur robe stepped onto the referee’s platform. Raising a chunk of meat, he bellowed:

“This is the prize for this round! Whoever survives—this meat is his!”

“Kill him! Kill him!” the crowd shrieked like lunatics.

This was the most popular spectacle in Wangu now: slum beastmen forced to fight to the death.

But Qi Bai and Lang Ze weren’t here for the slaughter. There was no real victory. Even if one survived, battered and bleeding, the reward—a rotting hunk of meat—might only hasten death.

Still, desperate horned beastmen volunteered. Before stepping into the pit, they were at least fed a full meal.

They were starving. Hunger made them gamble everything. Each one clung to that tiny hope: What if I win? What if I keep winning? Then I’ll eat every day.

As for defeat—they pushed that thought away.

Ignoring the madness, Qi Bai and Lang Ze scanned the stands through the tiny window, looking for a suitable target—ideally someone matching their own stature.

Suddenly, a faint sound came from the stone door. Over the deafening crowd, they almost missed it.

Instantly, they melted into the shadows, moving silently toward the door.

Lang Ze’s fingers morphed into wolf claws. Qi Bai gripped his small bone knife.

The door creaked open. A shadow slipped in.

But the newcomer was sharp. The instant Lang Ze struck, he dodged—only his hide slashed.

Qi Bai’s blade darted forward—but before it landed, his arm was seized.

“Wait,” Lang Ze caught him. To the intruder, he said: “It’s you.”

The man in shadow drew deep breaths. If not for Lang Ze’s intervention, that knife from behind might have ended him.

“It’s me.”

He stepped into the light.

Qi Bai’s eyes widened at the familiar figure, the face hidden under a wild tangle of beard and red hair.

“You… why are you here?”

The Ancient Tree Beastman.

Still eyeing Qi Bai’s knife nervously, he said nothing. Qi Bai chuckled awkwardly and sheathed it.

Lang Ze shut the stone door firmly.

Clearly, the Ancient Tree Beastman hadn’t known they were inside. A coincidence, then—that they had chosen the same rarely-used chamber.

But the Beastman seemed unsurprised to see them. If they’d resolved to enter Wangu, it was only natural they’d find this place.

“This isn’t a place to talk,” he said curtly. “I came to find some clothes.”

Qi Bai and Lang Ze exchanged a look.

So—they’d thought the same thing.