Up ahead, the battle had already ended.
The disciples of the Martial King Manor did not even dare leave a parting threat. Supporting one another, they fled deep into the forest.
Furball bounded smugly back onto Big Red's back, sat down beside the rim of the pot, and winked at Kang.
Kang yawned, rolled over, and went back to sleep.
Furball's mouth twitched, but his mood was excellent, and he could not be bothered to argue with a pig.
He felt Shi Hao's gaze on him.
Turning around, he found Shi Hao giving him a thumbs-up, just as expected.
Shi Hou blew across the surface of the sauce in his stone bowl and nodded in satisfaction.
Then he jumped down from the bird's back and walked over to Purple Marten, who lay on the ground.
Purple Marten's hind legs went weak with fright, and he desperately wriggled beneath the tree roots.
Shi Hou crouched down and looked him over for a moment.
"Only ten feet long. Once he's skinned and deboned, we'd get thirty catties of meat at most. Not enough for one meal for the four of us."
He reached out and pinched the uninjured flesh on Purple Marten's hind leg, then let go.
"He's lost too much blood qi. The muscle fibers are loose, and the meat's dry and stringy. Little One, let's find another target. Come on."
When Purple Marten heard "not much meat, dry and stringy," the heart suspended in his throat finally dropped back into place. Never in his life had he been so grateful that he tasted bad.
But his relief lasted only half a breath. What if this Black-Skinned Chef took two steps away and decided he was hungry? What if he glanced back and decided this meat would do after all?
He