Two days had passed since Jiang Shennong had made a drum on the banks of Jiang Water and raised an army, kindling fires to gather the people and march east.
The Fuxi Tribe still basked in the glory of the first Fuxi, who had awed the world into submission and succeeded Suiren's imperial lineage.
Through nine successive generations of Fuxi, the Fuxi Tribe's prestige had towered high.
Over more than a thousand years, many, many tribes had emerged from the Fuxi Tribe, spreading the Fuxi Clan's bloodline throughout the Great River Basin.
Precisely because so many tribes of the same origin guarded him, Ninth Generation Fuxi could sleep soundly on a lofty pillow, free of care.
And the Jiang Tribe, founded by the son of Eighth-Generation Fuxi, who had come from the Fuxi Tribe, had even less reason to oppose him.
Of course, Ninth Generation Fuxi had little fondness for Jiang Yang, and was even somewhat jealous of him.
Back when Jiang Yang had still been in the Fuxi Tribe, he had possessed peerless bearing, invincible valor, and both wisdom and discernment.
Had he not been the son of Eighth-Generation Fuxi, the Position of Fuxi would never have fallen to him, Yellow Ox.
But that was all there was to it.
Now he was Fuxi, while Jiang Yang was merely the chief of that Jiang Water Tribe, and still had to acknowledge Ninth Generation Fuxi as the alliance leader.
When Ninth Generation Fuxi had heard the news of Jiang Yang's death a few days earlier, he had sighed with some wistfulness.
More than anything, he had felt a wave of relief.
At the time, he had been standing beside the Luo River, accompanied by the outstanding successors selected from the Fuxi Clan over the years, and had said leisurely,
"People