Chapter 292

Leaving Lang Zhan behind in the mountains to await orders, Qi Bai and Lang Ze once again slipped back into Wan Gu City.

Neither of them expected to encounter Zhao wuzi again so quickly—nor that it would be at the very meeting place they had arranged with Ji.

Zhao was not alone; beside him stood a horned beastman.

This beastman was tall, with a cropped brush of short hair, sharp brows and eyes set in a face that was slightly pale. Standing next to the strikingly beautiful Zhao, the contrast was stark.

Zhao turned his head, smiling brightly at the beastman by his side. “These two don’t seem all that happy to see me, do they?”

The horned beastman raised a hand to brush his cropped hair and said, “Almost forgot—this is your first time seeing me like this.”

That voice—undeniably, it was Ji.

Qi Bai studied him curiously, taking a few more glances. He had thought Ji would be at least in his thirties or forties, but hadn’t expected him to look so young—barely twenty or so.

Lang Ze said evenly, “Looks like you’ve resolved your identity problem.”

“This envoy from Yanqiu City is currently under my hospitality,” Zhao explained lightly. “Our Wan Gu City’s beast-fighting arena is quite interesting, so today I brought the envoy here to have a look.”

Zhao was clearly very satisfied with Ji’s assumed identity. He raised his hand with exaggerated flourish and saluted Ji, then turned his gaze toward Qi Bai and Lang Ze: “And who are you, to Envoy Ji?”

By taking the responsibility of hosting Ji upon himself, Zhao was also providing cover for Qi Bai and Lang Ze—after all, the number of delegates from Yanqiu was fixed. Two extra faces would otherwise be noticed quickly.

Ji, unlike Zhao, had no taste for theatrics. He explained simply: “Yanqiu City lies north of Wan Gu, and the Chi Hu tribe lives outside it. The two cities trade every year. This time, we are borrowing Yanqiu’s name as cover.”

Though this branch of the Chi Hu had fallen so low as to need a lower city to cling to, they were still one of the seven great families of the Beast God City. Whether Yanqiu or Wan Gu, both had to honor their name. This was why Ji had been so confident he could secure a place at the banquet.

“Now we only need to wait for the delegation to arrive,” Ji continued. “At their welcoming banquet, I may bring two attendants into the Da Wu Hall.”

So long as they gained entry into the Da Wu Hall, everything afterward could be managed. Neither Qi Bai nor Lang Ze objected.

The four had thus met smoothly—but appearances still had to be kept.

Zhao led the three of them up a flight of stone steps into a cavern-like viewing terrace.

Four firepits burned inside, one holding a stone pot of boiling broth. Clearly, Zhao had arranged it ahead of time.

Here in the south, Wan Gu was warmer than Heiyao, but even so the temperature hovered around minus twenty degrees.

Yet despite the cold, the atmosphere in the beast-fighting arena was feverish. Beastmen on the lower tiers roared themselves hoarse.

Their steaming breath froze and thawed in their hair and brows, but rather than suffer, they seemed to revel in it. Many had even stripped off their hides, bare-chested, flailing their arms wildly.

Qi Bai had no interest in such frenzy, nor in the battles raging below.

He warmed his hands at the firepit, and since they couldn’t leave just yet, asked idly, “Were the winters here always this cold?”

Ji thought back carefully. “In the past, Songwu was never this cold. The real chill only came in the last two or three years.”

The Songwu Ji spoke of was precisely where Wan Gu City now stood.

Qi Bai did not know the full geography of the beastman continent, but by what he’d seen, this was akin to the northern hemisphere of Blue Star.

Though not the southernmost part of the land, Songwu was deep inland, with a milder climate fit for living things. Even in winter, one could usually find edible fruits in the forests.

The sudden drop in temperature, however, was devastating to the local flora unaccustomed to frost.

Vast swaths of plants perished. By spring, though drought had not struck, the land had little strength to recover. In some ways, the disaster here was worse than in the far north, where plants were at least adapted to the cold.

Of course, beastmen might sense the change in temperature, but few understood to connect it with the survival of plants.

Ji mused aloud: “And in your lands—has winter also grown colder?”

Qi Bai nodded. “Not just our homeland. Other places too. This is an unprecedented cold wave. If Songwu is the same, then the entire beastman continent is affected. And the winters are growing longer. I think this cold may last for years.”

Ji rose, moving to the edge of the terrace. He gazed at the bare trees in the distance, then down at the ecstatic crowds, his expression heavy. “If that’s true, then Songwu’s winters will only grow harsher. Who knows how many beastmen will freeze or starve to death.”

Zhao lounged on one hand, sipping hot broth. With a dismissive glance at the crowd, he sneered, “What does Songwu’s winter matter to us? Why care whether others live or die?”

“Of course it matters,” Ji turned back, disagreeing firmly. “The Chi Hu who follow me—I must ensure their survival. And you—behind you are many who follow you, and all the oppressed beastmen in this city. If you truly become the Da Wu of this place, will you abandon them?”

Zhao froze, staring at Ji for a long moment before turning away a bit awkwardly. “If you want to play saint, go ahead.”

“The Da Wu Hall, the Shen Shi Hall, the City Lord’s Hall—even the homes of the wuzi are stuffed with food and hides. Once you take them, if you’re willing, share it out. One winter, two, three—they won’t starve.”

But Zhao’s words didn’t ease Ji. He had long lived alone, used to fending only for himself. Now, he had to consider the livelihood of a whole city.

A voice inside him told him that hoarded food might buy time, but it wouldn’t solve the real problem.

Qi Bai, listening, couldn’t help admiring Lang Ze’s judgment of character.

Though young and inexperienced, Ji clearly had the makings of a leader. Yet conviction alone was not enough; execution was what mattered.

Perhaps because of this exchange, the air between Zhao and Ji grew subtly strained.

After a while, someone entered the cave and whispered into Zhao’s ear. He nodded, excused himself, and left early, leaving Zhun behind.

None of the three cared for the arena battles, so once the first match ended, they slipped away back into the city.

With Zhun leading, they soon arrived at a stone dwelling.

Zhun whispered, “This house also belongs to a wuzi. The envoys from Chi Hu are staying here. The guards and slaves are ours. They will neither look nor speak. You may rest assured.”

Unlike Zhao’s mansion, this house appeared from outside as a row of stone buildings, but inside, the rooms were interconnected.

When Ji returned with two more beastmen, the guards and slaves had seen it—but just as Zhun promised, they kept their heads down and their eyes averted, as though all were as it should be.

They passed through a long corridor before reaching the guest quarters Zhao had arranged.

Guest rooms was a generous term; inside, there was only a large wooden-block bed and a small stone table on the floor.

But Qi Bai and Lang Ze had never expected comfort in Wan Gu. Having a safe place to come and go freely was enough.

They stayed there two days. On the third afternoon, while discussing in the hall, the awaited news finally arrived.

Zhun brought the message: “The delegation has entered the gates. Several wuzi went to greet them personally. The banquet begins soon. Wuzi sent me to fetch you.”

The delegation had arrived a day late, but that was no surprise. With no roads, no navigation, no communication, simply reaching the destination was difficult. Getting lost was common.

The three exchanged glances.

“Lead the way.”

When they reached the Da Wu Hall, cloaked Zhao was already waiting.

“This time, Wan Gu is visited by the Mu Shen Shi of the upper city... and Lang Shuo of the Silver Moon tribe.”

As Zhao introduced the members one by one, at the final name all three froze.

Zhao’s eyes narrowed. “What is it?”

Ji gave Lang Ze a subtle glance before asking, “What is the meaning of this? Wasn’t the Silver Moon tribe of the grasslands long since destroyed?”

Zhao sneered. “Traitors of the Silver Moon, that’s all. They now live between Ji City and Wan Gu. The Mu Shen Shi brought them. They’re no threat. Pay them no mind.”

Lang Ze’s face betrayed nothing, but Qi Bai frowned.

The words “Silver Moon” had always been like faith itself—yet now, tied with “traitors,” the sting was bitter.

Zhao brushed past it casually and added, “Xun wuzi has still not returned.”

Lang Ze’s voice was cold. “He will never return.”

Zhao’s steps faltered. He gazed at the Da Wu Hall glowing red in the firelight, licked his lips, and smiled. “What a pity. The fun that comes next... he’s doomed never to see it.”