Chapter 101: The Mandate of Culture

The middle-aged man’s attire was unremarkable—so plain that he resembled a common tuft of grass scattered throughout the wild southern wilderness.

He wore a short-sleeved shirt made from coarse hemp, knee-length shorts of the same material, and a pair of intricately woven bull-hide hemp shoes. His long hair was securely tied back with a slender, flexible blade of grass. Though his clothing was simple and austere, it was impeccably neat.

His square, sturdy face bore sharp, focused eyes that seemed unwavering, radiating a sense of warmth and dependability. When Ji Hao first saw him, he was struck by a fatherly kindness emanating from the man, reminiscent of Ji Xia’s gentle, protective aura.

Compared to the warriors of the southern wilds, his stature was somewhat shorter—only a head taller than Ji Hao, nowhere near the towering three meters or more of the Fire Crow Tribe’s burly giants. Yet his physique was far from frail; when he stood, his movements conveyed a profound solidity and strength, much like a bear patrolling its domain.

There was no unusual aura about the man—he was as unassuming as the ancient trees and great stones scattered throughout the forest, tranquil and natural. Even a first-tier shaman warrior of the Fire Crow Tribe would emit a far more fierce, aggressive energy than him.

Yet as Ji Hao looked at him, the man felt like an immense, boundless ocean, its vastness and depth unknowable. The impression he left was even more profound and mysterious than that of A Bao.

A torrential downpour, whipped by fierce winds, roared and slammed down relentlessly.

Yet the man remained spotless—no speck of water, no trace of mud. After steadying Ji Hao, the rain did not even touch either Ji Hao or Manman. Though the wind howled and the rain fell just as fiercely, around this man, neither wind nor rain could penetrate. It was as if this small patch of earth where Ji Hao and Manman stood was perpetually bathed in sunshine, untouched by storms.

A black-and-white pigeon fluttered from the man’s sleeve, clutching a stalk of rice in its beak as it perched on his shoulder and began pecking carefully.

“Heh, the little one has woken up,” the man said with a smile, gently helping Ji Hao and Manman to sit beneath a large tree by the riverbank. Reaching into a leather pouch at his waist, he withdrew a small black jade bottle about the size of a fist.

The pigeon eyed Ji Hao curiously, softly cooing.

Ya Gong poked his head out from Ji Hao’s embrace, weakly staring at the pigeon. The two birds stared at each other, exchanging soft coos and caws in a tense standoff.

The man poured out two thumb-sized pills from the jade bottle. With a tap of his finger, the pills dissolved into green mist, which entered Ji Hao’s and Manman’s bodies.

Immediately, Ji Hao felt a coolness flood his burning innards. Countless hidden injuries began rapidly healing; dark clots of blood beneath his skin dissolved into fine streams, soon forming thick scabs on his surface.

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