Chapter Twenty-Four: A Contest of Grief

What a load of nonsense, Yanalie thought as she reached out and gave Lu Hu a hard pinch on the waist.

“Divine Grandmother, your humble servant greets you,” Shi Zhenxiang said, kneeling down and knocking his head three times firmly on the floor.

Without expending any effort, Yanalie had gained another robust, energetic grandson. Her heart brimmed with joy, and striking a matronly pose, she said in a soft, doting voice, “Get up now, there’s no need to be so formal!”

Lu Hu, arm around Yanalie, slowly turned to walk toward Old Granny Du.

“Big Donkey, that stick of yours is amazing! Will you let me play with it?” Yanalie whispered coquettishly into Lu Hu’s ear.

“My stick is always at your disposal, play with it whenever you want, I guarantee you’ll be satisfied,” Lu Hu replied, his tone full of innuendo.

Yanalie missed the implication and asked, “But how did you know that… that disgusting Shi Zhenxiang was hiding here?”

“Such things can’t be revealed. Your husband knows the stars above and the earth below, can divine the past eight hundred years and the next five hundred. Just by calculating on my fingers, I know you’ll give me eight plump sons,” Lu Hu boasted, his words filling Yanalie’s eyes with starry admiration.

In truth, ever since sitting beside the old grandmother, Lu Hu had noticed a belt slung over her shoulder—its surface patterned with faint bamboo joints. It was an alligator leather belt, a style he found very familiar.

Two years ago, the Moge tribesmen had raided Dasheng in groups. These half-savages were bloodthirsty and cruel, eating raw meat and drinking fresh blood, finding pleasure in killing, and living off plunder as they roamed the lands. Pei Erbi, upon hearing of their savagery, dared not face them in battle.

The Moge tribesmen, ever combative and ferocious, found slaughtering unarmed civilians unexciting and so challenged the Dasheng border army directly. Over three hundred Moge brutes, howling like beasts, brandishing all manner of weapons, galloped outside the camp, strutting in their arrogance.

The indomitable Dasheng border army, over a thousand strong, cowered in their fortress, afraid to face them. Captain Pei could endure this, but Fire Chief Lu Hu could not.

He grabbed a horseman’s blade, mounted his horse, and charged out the gates straight for the skull-adorned chieftain, cleaving him in two with a single stroke.

He then lifted the severed head in his left hand, while with his right he felled another Moge warrior wielding a great axe.

The might of Dasheng surged like floodwaters bursting a dam; the soldiers poured out of the gates in an unstoppable wave.

The Moge, brave as they were, relied only on brute strength and preferred single combat on the battlefield.

But the Dasheng border troops were masters of formation, cunning and devious, always ganging up three or four against one. With open attacks and underhanded tricks, they quickly achieved a resounding victory and sounded the gong for retreat.

Upon returning to camp with three severed heads as trophies, Lu Hu discovered that the chieftain’s head was still attached to half his torso, the belt still hanging from his neck, the short dagger dangling below it.

Squad Leader Zhang Yu was amazed; people from the Central Plains had never seen an alligator, let alone an alligator leather belt.

In truth, the short dagger itself wasn’t particularly sharp—merely cast from bronze.

What was unusual was the sheath, also made of alligator leather, glossy and smooth to the touch, supple yet exceptionally tough.

Such rarity made it all the more precious. Zhang Yu, shamelessly persistent, kept the dagger for himself and soon presented it to Captain Pei.

Captain Pei cherished it, holding it by day and hugging it by night. Even though he’d had diarrhea during the battle, it didn’t stop Zhang Yu from being promoted to captain because of this exploit. To his credit, the cowardly Zhang Yu remembered who had helped him, and Lu Hu was promoted to squad leader as a result.

Shi Zhenxiang made off with all of Captain Pei’s treasures, and this dagger was surely among them.

Lu Hu had jumped atop the table for the torch precisely for this dagger. At first, seeing only the belt, he hadn’t been sure, but once he drew the dagger from its sheath, everything became clear: Shi Zhenxiang had been plotting for a long time, using stolen treasures to buy allies.

Old Granny Du must have been bought off, or how else could a sly old fox, who’d spent her life hiding underground, come into possession of such a dagger?

Old Granny Du, stooped and hunched, walked with a trembling gait. Normally, she’d command from her den, rarely leaving her lair.

For her to appear above ground meant she was uneasy: in these frozen mountains, where few ventured, Ashina Zhugan had barely arrived before Lu Hu and the others showed up. Clearly, they were after Ashina, and Granny Du feared her descendants couldn’t handle the situation and might give something away.

Yanalie had helped Lu Hu destroy Turtlefield Rice Bucket Taro’s salt convoy. King Davo had reluctantly let her go, and the Dural family couldn’t have been unaware. By sheltering Yanalie and treating her with such respect, the Dural clan, weak within the Erunte tribe, risked offending both King Davo and Yakshi!

Besides being fond of sweet, lovely Yanalie, they also hoped to curry favor with Dasheng.

Secretly allying with Shi Zhenxiang, they hoped not to be exposed. If they could help Shi Zhenxiang seize leadership of the Hilote tribe, it would benefit them in all ways.

The Hilote tribe was powerful and had always oppressed Erunte. If the Dural family could cling to such a mighty patron, their future would be limitless.

Dancing on eggshells, as the saying goes—old people are wily, and old foxes slipperier still. This old snake in the grass was as slick as an embroidery needle soaked in oil—cunning and slippery.

Lu Hu had been silently watching her eyes, noticing how she kept glancing unconsciously toward the entrance hall, too preoccupied to eat. He deduced that Shi Zhenxiang hadn’t left.

None of these secrets would ever be revealed to Yanalie. Never in this life—she’d always have reason to worship him, docilely the mother of his children.

Lu Hu was secretly pleased, though he put on a look of irritation as he approached Granny Du.

Old Granny Du was unafraid, her chin resting on her cane, watching Lu Hu with leisurely calm.

The hunter descendants stared wide-eyed, bewildered and at a loss.

Yanalie clung tightly to Lu Hu’s arm, her delicate body pressed close, afraid that Big Donkey would lose his temper and, in a fit of recklessness, burst out with some thunderous rage that would shatter the old grandmother’s brittle bones.

Granny Du had always doted on her; Yanalie couldn’t bear to see her hurt.

“Old… Granny, whose side are you really on? Can you say you’re being loyal to King Davo of the Erunte?” Lu Hu asked coldly, though he didn’t truly lose his temper—he couldn’t embarrass the sweet, gentle lamb at his side.

“Heh!” Granny Du sneered, “Of course I’m loyal to King Davo. Do you expect me to be loyal to that villain Yakshi?”

Yanalie’s bright eyes widened instantly, shimmering with tears like a veil of mist, her lips losing their color as her face turned pale.

The villain Yakshi—a legendary man-eating bird in Erunte tribal tales.

The sweet girl beside him trembled, sobbing quietly, and Lu Hu’s heart ached so much he nearly shouted, “You old hag, what rubbish are you spouting, slandering my brother-in-law, cursing my father-in-law—are you looking for a beating?”

Granny Du slammed her cane hard on the ground. “You silly child, do you think I’d lie to you at my age? Killed. That ungrateful Yakshi really did it—killed him. Old Davo’s soul is gone, ascending to heaven in regret… sob, sob…”

Her tears streamed down her wrinkled cheeks, sobs catching in her throat, nearly choking her.

A chill crept into Lu Hu’s heart, and tears welled in his eyes.

He held Yanalie tightly in his arms as she wept silently, her grief so deep she nearly fainted.

Yanalie’s sorrow struck a chord deep in An Shizhu’s fragile heart: Who on earth dared hurt my goddess like this? I’ll kill him, tear him to pieces, grind his bones to dust…

“Waaaah! Damn him, that wretch, curse his ancestors for eight generations! Who dares, who dares kill my Divine Lord, Divine Grandmother’s own father, my father-in-law! My Divine Lord, Divine Grandmother are crying, heartbroken! How can I go on living!” An Shizhu, holding back as long as he could, finally let loose a wail, his grief pouring out unchecked.

If my big brother can cry like this to show loyalty, why shouldn’t I, Shi Zhenxiang? “Waaah—aaah—kill! Kill! Cut them up! Mmm! Mmm!”

Still weakened from the electric shock, Shi Zhenxiang dared not howl as wildly as An Shizhu, but could only sob in a deep baritone.

The hunters and their families joined in, wiping tears and wailing. For a time, the whole cave was filled with sorrow and anguish.

Shi Zhenxiang’s wails were sharp and lingering, their mournful force overwhelming, echoing relentlessly in An Shizhu’s ears.

Damn it, can’t you wait your turn? Stealing my thunder like that.

Frustrated, An Shizhu, exhausted from standing and howling, plopped down on the ground, threw back his head, gaped his mouth, kicked his legs, slapped the ground with both hands, and screamed himself hoarse like a fishwife in a tantrum.

Today, Old An decided to focus on the art of crying. If you’re not convinced, let’s see who’s the true professional mourner!