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"You're afraid of death." The moment Dalantai heard the old man finish, he shot back.

"What's wrong with being afraid of death? Don't you want to stay alive?" The old man smiled cheerfully without getting angry. As he buried the flatbread in the pot, he did not forget to retort.

"You—you—" Dalantai was instantly left speechless. He had never seen anyone speak so righteously about being afraid of death.

"You—you're not fit to be a warrior of the grasslands. A coward like you has no right to call himself a herdsman. A warrior of the grasslands should ride the fiercest horse, marry the most beautiful girl, wrestle tigers with his bare strength, and bend his bow to shoot the giant eagles." Dalantai stammered twice, but the anger in his heart proved too much, and he launched into another tirade.

The old man making Stone-Baked Bread merely shook his head and fell silent. The youth before him was no more than twenty, still far too green. Let him wait another thirty or forty years and see whether he could still say such things.

Seeing that the old man had been rendered speechless this time, Dalantai also settled down, sat beside him, and ate. He even felt a little frightened by his own impulsiveness. He had been too agitated just now, and his words had been too radical. If someone with ulterior motives had overheard him, they might have grown suspicious.

Of course, the main reason was that he had not expected the old herdsman to speak that way. Otherwise, he would not have gotten angry.

What he did not know was that the old stallkeeper was not the only one who held such views. By now, nearly all the grassland herdsmen who had joined the Han Tribe more or less thought