That night, deep in the grassland, at the Qingyang Tribe.
Outside a simple large tent, a young man was sharpening his sword by the moonlight.
In the Qingyang Tribe, where heroes were as numerous as clouds, the young man was relatively slender, lacking the burly physique of the wrestlers, and even shorter than most warriors. Squatting on the ground sharpening his sword, he looked more like a monkey than a warrior.
Yet this monkey squatting on the ground made even a burly man standing nine feet tall timid and hesitant to approach.
"Come here, Muershu."
Seemingly sensing the hesitation of the burly man behind him, the young man simply stopped what he was doing and turned his head around.
"You've been with me for almost ten years, right? There's no need to be so stiff."
"It's been eleven years, big brother."
Even though the young man only looked over calmly, this burly man named Muershu lowered his head deeply, not daring to make eye contact for even a second.
