Chapter Six: Beware, My Brother Might Beat You Up

“Thank you, Father. I wish you endless years of life, always so young and healthy.” Lu Hu once again lavished his father with praise.

This tribe had lived deep in the mountains and forests for generations. Everyone was straightforward and honest, with little patience for cunning words or flattery. They spoke their minds and didn’t know how to butter people up.

Lu Hu’s tongue was sweeter than honey, coaxing King Davo into delighted laughter. “Set the table! Set the table! Bring out the best wine and the finest meats. Let my precious child eat to his heart’s content!”

Now, when King Davo looked at Lu Hu, it was as if a father-in-law were looking at his son-in-law—the more he looked, the more he liked him.

The guards hoisted several thick logs and set them in place, laying long wooden planks across them. In the blink of an eye, a grand feasting table was fashioned.

King Davo took his seat at the head of the table, indicating his place as host. To his right sat his son, and beside his son, several chieftains, each aged and weathered, their faces etched with deep lines. To his left sat his daughter, with Lu Hu next, and beyond him others whom Lu Hu didn’t recognize but guessed to be more leaders.

Across from King Davo, the seat was conspicuously empty. For whom was this guest’s seat reserved? Lu Hu couldn’t help but wonder.

Tigers and bears romped around the table, growling and snorting, while the guards lining the hall could only watch longingly, unable to join the feast—though the pets clearly enjoyed a higher status.

“Where’s Turtlefield Rice Barrel Taro? Call him for dinner!” King Davo’s son stroked his thick beard and glared at a nearby maid, commanding her.

The maid bowed and scampered away, hips swaying as she ran.

What kind of name was that—Turtlefield Rice Barrel Taro? To actually have “Rice Barrel” in his name, was the man so obsessed with filling his belly it had become his identity?

Ah, now he understood. In Turtlefield’s homeland, turtles were abundant, hence the surname. Or perhaps, with a touch of self-mockery, he’d taken the name to announce his fondness for all things green and turtle-like. How amusing…

“What’s our brother’s name, my little princess?” Lu Hu, abandoning thoughts of Turtlefield Rice Barrel, leaned affectionately toward Yanali and asked in a low voice.

“Don’t be so cheeky! Why are you so close? That’s my brother, his name’s Yakshi. He’s got quite a temper, so watch out or he’ll beat you up.” Yanali replied with a playful glare, pushing his face away and sitting upright in ladylike fashion.

Yakshi—a name reminiscent of “good” or “excellent” in some old languages. Yet this Yakshi was anything but friendly toward him.

Lu Hu, pondering this, pressed on, “And who exactly is Turtlefield Rice Barrel Taro? The guest seat is for him, isn’t it? What’s so special about him—how is he more important than me, the prince-in-law?”

“Just sit quietly and behave! Your skin is so thick, even a needle couldn’t pierce it. You could make shoe soles of it and wear them for ten years without a hole.” Yanali gave him a gentle punch before continuing, “Rice Barrel Taro sells us salt, which we trade for ginseng and animal pelts.”

Ah, that made sense. In this era, salt was a rare commodity in many places—a daily necessity, strictly monopolized by the imperial court, with special laws governing its trade.

Those who dared traffic in illicit salt were outlaws, living on the edge.

Suddenly, everyone at the table stood up. King Davo warmly greeted someone at the door, and Lu Hu had no choice but to rise as well.

A small figure staggered through the doorway.

Good heavens—here comes trouble, Lu Hu thought.

He was only slightly taller than a dwarf, perhaps just over one and a half meters. His body was stocky and round, with a topknot sprouting from a shiny, bald forehead that gleamed as though polished daily, or perhaps he was naturally hairless.

So shiny, in fact, that if you hung his head from the ceiling, it’d make a perfect lamp.

This walking lightbulb wore coarse hemp clothing, tied at the waist with a rope, and carried a long noodle-pressing knife at his left side. He wore hempen shorts and wooden sandals, his feet protected only by thick socks—remarkably sturdy, considering the icy wind and snow outside. This fellow was clearly no stranger to hardship.

Hands tucked into his wide sleeves, he walked with a swagger that made him look like he didn’t even recognize his own family—let alone anyone else.

Lu Hu could barely contain his urge to confront him. If Yanali weren’t beside him, he’d have abandoned all pretense of civility and given this pretender a beating.

Strutting like a duck—what a show-off.

Turtlefield Rice Barrel Taro, nose in the air, strutted to the table, leapt onto it, and knelt in a formal pose.

Everyone else sat down, seemingly accustomed to such behavior from Rice Barrel.

Servants bustled about, bringing platters of venison, roe deer, and wild pheasant to the table. Baskets of hazelnuts, pine nuts, and wild fruits and vegetables piled up. Each person received a wooden bucket of fruit wine. Lu Hu took a sip; the alcohol was barely stronger than beer, so he drank freely.

They ate meat by slicing it with knives and tearing it by hand. The knife handles were hardwood—useful for cracking open pine and hazelnut shells.

“Can’t you just eat properly?” Yanali nudged Lu Hu under the table, whispering, “What are you looking for?”

Of course, he was searching for the Mo Sword. Ever since he arrived, he’d been trying to spot it.

Something was off. The Mo Sword was so famous—anyone who possessed it should be flaunting it, not hiding it away.

Lu Hu cracked open a few hazelnuts for Yanali, offering her the kernels.

She opened her lips delicately, nipped his hand before taking the nut, and chewed with obvious pleasure.

Flirting or foreplay? Who cared—it was sweet all the same. Lu Hu kept cracking, feeding, and demonstrating in public how to be the perfect doting fool.

“My goddess, my darling—can I ask you something?” Sensing Yanali was in high spirits and more than a little tipsy, Lu Hu decided the timing was right.

“What is it? Why so mysterious?”

“Why haven’t I seen the Mo Sword you captured?”

“The Mo Sword? Turtlefield Rice Barrel Taro traded it for salt.”

Damn. Did this guy need such a sword for surgery? With his tiny frame, wielding the Mo Sword would probably send him flying.

He must want it to study the forging technique.

“So where did that bastard put the Mo Sword?” Lu Hu fed Yanali a few more pine nuts.

“No idea. He’ll put it wherever he likes—what’s it to you?”

“If I don’t find that sword within five days, I’ll be dead,” Lu Hu admitted honestly.

“What? Then I’ll help you find it and steal it from him,” Yanali offered at once.

“Why steal? With that little shrimp, just snatch it from his hands—he wouldn’t dare fart in protest.”

“Don’t be cocky. In my father’s, my brother’s, and the tribe’s eyes, Turtlefield is this—” Yanali held up her thumb.

Then she extended her pinky. “And you, at best, are this. You’re nowhere near as important. Don’t provoke Turtlefield, or you might lose your life.”

Lu Hu splayed his fingers before her eyes. “And you? Which finger are you to them? With you here, who’d dare threaten me?”

Yanali pushed his hand away. “I’m none of them. But if anyone dares threaten you, they’ll answer to me.”

Lu Hu kissed her cheek and whispered in her ear, “You belong to no one—you’re mine, and I am yours.”

Yanali gave him a shy, angry look.

No one in the tribe had ever dared flirt with her so boldly; she was utterly conquered.

Meanwhile, Turtlefield Rice Barrel Taro, kneeling atop the table, towered above the rest.

His status was equally lofty—servants sliced his meat, cracked his nuts, and all he had to do was eat, stuffing himself until he belched.

Lu Hu glanced at Turtlefield, feeling a wave of disgust.

With those downturned brows, triangular eyes, garlic nose, and toad-like mouth, he was as ugly as could be. When he burped, his face was even harder to look at—it could put anyone off their food.

Yet eating and drinking didn’t stop Turtlefield from leering at the beautiful women.

His sly gaze never left Yanali’s lovely face. He watched the intimate antics of the two with smoldering jealousy, his envy rising like a tide, about to explode.

“Baka! Bakayaro! You—you're not even human, more dog than man, you should just die, die already!” he suddenly roared, waving a half-eaten pheasant leg at Lu Hu.

Lu Hu shot to his feet, eyes blazing, and pointed back at Turtlefield. “You turtle bastard, stuffed yourself stupid—who are you calling names, you turtle spawn?”

Yanali, however, turned and walked away, disappearing through the doors.

Seeing the beauty leave, Turtlefield’s rage boiled over. He drew his knife and, trampling over meat and fruit, charged across the table.

Lu Hu saw it coming, grabbed a leg of venison dripping with juice, and flung it under Turtlefield’s feet.

Turtlefield stepped on it, slipped, and crashed face-first onto the table.

But he didn’t let go of the knife—the point now aimed right at King Davo.

King Davo jumped, a huge chunk of venison stuck in his throat, choking him until his eyes rolled back.

Lu Hu slammed his fist into Turtlefield’s neck, striking the nerve cluster at the base of his skull. Turtlefield collapsed without a sound, knocked out cold.

He might be out for a while—maybe longer, if things went badly.

“Father, this turtle bastard tried to assassinate you! Let’s kill him!” Lu Hu shouted, snatching the long knife from Turtlefield’s limp hand and raising it to strike.

A sharp clang of steel rang out, sparks flying.

Yakshi, quick as lightning, drew his blade and blocked Lu Hu’s strike.

King Davo rushed over and hugged Lu Hu tightly. “My child, good child, calm down—you misunderstood, you misunderstood! He would never try to kill me, he’s a good man!”

Lu Hu played along, struggling wildly as if to break free. “Damn it, if he dared threaten my father-in-law, I won’t rest until he’s dead!”

Yakshi, fearing his father couldn’t restrain Lu Hu, hurriedly picked up Turtlefield and carried him to the tiger-skin throne, laying him gently on the chair and pinching his philtrum.

Turtlefield showed no response.

Yakshi gulped down a mouthful of wine and spat it forcefully in Turtlefield’s face.

But Turtlefield remained motionless, like a dead dog.

Yakshi grew anxious, slapping his face, twisting and pinching, doing everything to revive him.

Meanwhile, Lu Hu was held back by a crowd, still trying to break free and “finish off” the turtle bastard.

The chaos lasted a long while. When Lu Hu saw Yanali return through the doors, he immediately settled down.

King Davo slumped into his chair, gasping for breath.