Ye Zi's heart was scorching hot, as though it had been soaked in a frying pan.
Yet his brain felt stuffed with ice, aching and coldly clear.
The glittering little people he had discovered in the mural within the cave seemed to dance before his eyes, offering him one idea after another.
Soon, these glowing little people gathered into the shape of his older brother.
"Ye Zi, we are Ratfolk. Our strength is destined to be inferior to that of Clan Warriors."
His brother said, "Besides, even if we trained ourselves to possess a hundred times the brute strength, how many Clan Warriors could we defeat—five, ten, or twenty?
"Unable to wield Totem Power, the strength of flesh and blood is ultimately limited.
"But if we learn to use our brains, the power of wisdom is limitless."
His brother was right.
Ye Zi crawled through the foul-smelling sewage, quietly observing and thinking.
He recalled a dangerous game the youths often played back in Half Mountain Village.
With every crop borne by every Mandala Tree, there would always be one fruit that was especially plump, sweet, and juicy.
Its appearance would also be dazzlingly golden and beautiful.
Such "Golden Fruit" usually grew at the very top of the canopy.
At a single shout, the youths loved racing toward the top of the tree canopy together to see who could pluck the Golden Fruit first.
Ye Zi had always been the undefeated champion of this game.
But his secret had never been exceptional speed, nimble movements, or great strength.
—Though the Turan People had no saying like "the tree that stands out in the forest is the first to be felled by the wind," Ye Zi knew that if he shone too brightly from the start, everyone would target him, shoving and