After leaving the Youluo Tribe, Ling Qing encountered quite a few more tribes.
Some, like the Youluo Tribe, used the five grains as sacrifices; others still sacrificed the beasts of the wild.
Others used people as sacrifices—the enemies they had captured, or simply warriors from their own tribe.
All manner of customs painted an even broader picture of an age in transition.
Apart from joining several tribes' rituals of sacrifice with the five grains at their invitation, Ling Qing did not intrude upon anyone else's rites.
Even for those rituals that used human sacrifices, he merely watched from afar.
When he saw that a tribe's shaman was vicious by nature and was about to drive him away, he turned and left.
One should not meddle in affairs outside one's station.
Such matters could not be judged by human morality, and so there was no justice to uphold.
Since Ling Qing could not erase such customs, he would simply keep them out of sight for now.
The progress of an age was not achieved overnight.
As he continued south, he encountered more and more musicians along the way.
Most were shamans from various tribes. Some were totem warriors of their tribes, while ordinary tribespeople were rare.
Of course, rare did not mean nonexistent.
Ling Qing met one: a youth who had fled his tribe.
"Our tribe is different from the others. Other tribes cultivate the five grains and sing and dance in celebration at harvest.
"But we still rely mainly on hunting and plundering food from other tribes.
"When we hold sacrifices, we choose the dead of night, and not a single sound is permitted throughout the entire rite."
The youth's delicate features bore not a trace of expression as he said calmly, "I don't like that.
"When I went out