"Wu Xiong, gather up your mafa and grandfather's bones! Raise him a grave, set up a stele... Forget it, better to follow your tribe's tradition—wrap him in beast hide, and let me put him back up in the tree!... Mm, put away that Regional Vice Commander's official robe too, and hand it to Priest... What? You still want Potatoes and Salted Fish? Priest, what do you think?... Good! Priest has agreed to it. Hurry and do it! Remember to kowtow to your grandfather!..."
The Solon Tree stood in silence. A hundred years of time had been carved into its rings and pulled up into its treetop. Different banners had come and gone, and the corpses buried there had turned to white bones. To it, all the rises and falls that happened upon this land were like passing clouds and smoke.
"Rustle... rustle..."
Ha'erman Chief Ali carried the bones on his back, wrapped himself in rope, and once again stepped on the mottled bark, climbing up with agility. Uduwen tilted his head back, looking at the trunk he could no longer climb, murmuring under his breath, saying who knew what to his father and ancestors.
Aguda took out a leather pouch and carefully stored away the wrapped official robe and the two bronze seals, then tied it tight with a short cord. He had always been focused. His origin as a Wild Jurchen had tempered astonishing martial courage in him, but it had also limited his horizons. And now, someone who could see through the mist had pointed out the direction in which the tribe should advance, so he would be the chief with the greatest power to act!
"Ali... Ali..."
Zuwaro narrowed his eyes and watched Ali in the treetop. As for the situation of Great Ming described by this