More than twenty in all—twenty exactly—ended up as tribute to that fox. The few scattered survivors were those who had followed Ling Tianyou's lead, breaking away into the dense forest, and they had scraped through by the skin of their teeth. After all, weighed against a tribute of twenty whole bodies, the fox could hardly be expected to abandon the greater prize for the sake of a paltry few.

Besides, these men were hardly standouts as individuals; fleeing into the deep woods was no better than drinking poison to slake thirst. The perils lurking there were surely greater by far than anything along the main path—even Ling Tianyou could not guarantee he would emerge unscathed, let alone the rest.

Grim and bedraggled as Ling Tianyou's group was, Duanmu Yu's party fared no better. Her numbers were far smaller, though their strength was generally considerable, being Ancient Alliance disciples of both nerve and ambition.

To most eyes, Duanmu Yu was strong but nowhere near the equal of Wei Zhao and his companions; even Ling Tianyou, at the peak of the late Foundation Establishment stage, could claim the upper hand over her. To choose her road was to choose the one with the least safety—but also the one with the most competitive promise, for if any stroke of fortune or precious treasure appeared, all of them would be able to contend for it.

On the other two routes—especially Wei Zhao's—such a notion would never even cross their minds. Unless they shunned the main path and braved the deep forest alone, they could forget about so much as a spoonful of broth from beneath Wei Zhao's table. Duanmu Yu's route was different: not only could they compete, they stood a genuine chance of winning.

It is worth noting that Fei Yangnian was among them. He could have gone with Wei Zhao's party—at least, compared with the other Ancient Alliance disciples, to whom he had no particular ties, his chances of tasting that broth would have been somewhat better. But his ambition clearly reached further than that.

Alas, what Fei Yangnian and the others got was not fortune or treasure but a one-eyed giant bear, much like the mighty spirit beasts that had appeared on the other routes. This too was a fearsome creature on par with a Golden Core expert—an unmitigated disaster for Duanmu Yu and her following.

In the end, Duanmu Yu barely escaped with her life. Everyone else, Fei Yangnian included, became tribute to a man—not one of them was spared.

Heaven-Supporting Cliff. This was the one and only sheer precipice in the whole of the Ancient Trial Grounds, and to the other spirit beasts it was forbidden ground, not lightly approached—for this was the stronghold of the ancient Jumang clan.

The face of Heaven-Supporting Cliff was riddled with caves great and small, each one home to a Jumang; all told there were several hundred of them. And the master of the vast cave at the very summit was none other than the Ancient Jumang King.

"My king!" When they saw the Ancient Jumang King come limping back, battered and bedraggled, every Jumang, great and small, was struck dumb with shock. The Ancient Jumang King was not so powerful as to be invincible, true—but at least in the air it had few rivals. Even when outmatched, it should never have been mauled so badly. What on earth had happened today?

"You are wounded?" An old Jumang hurried forward. It was the eldest elder here and the wisest of counselors, as well as the most skilled of healers, and it at once set about examining the Ancient Jumang King's injuries.

"Ran into a bit of trouble," the Ancient Jumang King said, its face unable to hold its composure. However one looked at it, being frightened off by a single human like Wei Zhao was a thoroughly inglorious business.

"Could it have been the Crimson-Scaled Serpent?" the old Jumang speculated. The Crimson-Scaled Serpent's territory lay right next door, and skirmishes between them were an everyday affair; given that serpent's strength, it could indeed have wounded the Ancient Jumang King so grievously. Though it would surely not have come off unscathed either.

"It is dead," the Ancient Jumang King said vaguely.

"Truly?" Not only the old Jumang but every Jumang, great and small, broke into open delight at these words. The Crimson-Scaled Serpent was their ancient foe—this was cause for tremendous celebration!

"No wonder your wounds are so grave. You even used Shadow-Shedding Flight—well worth it, well worth it." The old Jumang nodded again and again, then said, "Then shall we lose no time in sending some Jumang to take over the Crimson-Scaled Serpent's territory? Otherwise we'll be handing it to someone else for nothing."

The Crimson-Scaled Serpent was a solitary creature; with it dead, that stretch of territory naturally lay vacant—and a fine fat prize it was.

"See to it as you think best," the Ancient Jumang King said offhandedly.

"Yes!" the old Jumang answered gleefully. It paused, then added, "Oh, by the way, my king, that lord's envoy has arrived. It is waiting in your cave hall."

"I know..." The Ancient Jumang King's heart sank. Speak of the devil and he appears—it had just taken a monumental tumble at Wei Zhao's hands, and now how was it to answer to the envoy?

It strode into the exceedingly spacious cave hall, where carved beams and painted rafters met the eye on every side, rich and resplendent with the flavor of antiquity—even in the mortal world there were few places of such refined taste. A stranger entering unawares would never take this for the cave dwelling of the Ancient Jumang King.

All of this was the Ancient Jumang King's own proud handiwork. Though the ancient Jumang were bird-bodied with human faces, in both thought and custom they had of their own accord aligned themselves with humankind, and high and low alike revered human culture. Any Jumang of even modest rank and refinement would see to it that its dwelling carried a touch of ancient humanist elegance—and the Ancient Jumang King was the epitome of them all.

Of course, reverence was reverence; it did not change the fact that humans ranked as rations in their eyes. What ought to be learned was learned, and what ought to be eaten was still eaten—the two were separate matters.

In the past, every return to its own cave hall had put the Ancient Jumang King in good cheer; this time it trembled with every step, as though treading on thin ice. Had it not known there was no escaping, it would have been tempted to turn tail and flee.

Stepping into the cave hall with a heavy heart, the Ancient Jumang King caught sight at once of a tiny shape upon the table—at first glance no more than a plump white grub. Yet it did not dare take it lightly for an instant; on the contrary, its heart gave a lurch, and it nearly dropped to its knees on the spot.

"Envoy, my lord, you have waited long. Forgive my discourtesy," the Ancient Jumang King said, holding its breath and bowing with the utmost deference.

"Be clear about it—were you discourteous, or did you fail?" The little white grub's voice was shrill and thin, giving the impression of a child, yet somehow exuding a presence that set the heart trembling.

"Er..." The Ancient Jumang King choked on its words. It knew that if the envoy had come here, it must already have grasped the situation, and so it could only confess honestly: "Reporting to the envoy, my lord—I failed."