Ji Rulin's change in attitude did not surprise Meng Zhao. A man like him feared only bending his back and lowering his head, not hardship or challenges. As the young clan chief, he possessed a certain degree of ambition and resolve.
As Meng Zhao had explained, their temporary compromise was not truly to cling to life in wretched survival, but to scheme and prepare for a grand plan—to turn around and swallow the Rebel Army whole in a single bite.
They would seize its people as slaves, take in its gold, silver, grain, weapons, and cultivation resources, and put them all to use for the Dan Chi Clan.
That would certainly transform the Dan Chi Clan's current straitened circumstances and greatly strengthen it in an extremely short time.
When that time came, Ji Rulin would ascend to the position of clan chief. The entire Dan Chi Clan would surpass Ji Zhenyun by far, and perhaps one day they could return to their ancestral lands and become the true chief of the clan, rather than merely the chief of a branch.
A few short words were like a spark that wildly ignited Ji Rulin's ambition. In the depths of his heart, he completely leaned toward Meng Zhao's proposal. A man who died would face the sky with his eggs hanging out; a man who lived would live ten thousand years. He would do it.
He had never believed that the tens of thousands of Dan Chi Clan warriors were cattle and sheep waiting to be slaughtered. They were no cattle or sheep. They were savage, bloodthirsty tigers and vicious wolves, and they ate meat.
They held the advantage in numbers, and the Dan Chi Clan's warriors were all seeds of elite troops. Why should they fear the other side?
Ji Zhenyun,