Chapter 34: The Cunning Rabbit's Three Dens Hidden with Pork

Ye Chen worried about many matters of the tribe, but most of these could be managed by relying on helpers. One could say Ye Chen’s role was to make decisions, though he could not simply stand aside and watch.

“With the power of the Virtual Realm projected outward, perhaps I can observe places beyond the tribe,” he mused.

Though his strength was meager, Ye Chen was far from useless.

A humming sound echoed as divine power surged into the pitch-black night sky. It spread for nearly a hundred miles before dwindling to near nothingness.

Ye Chen felt as if he were a vessel with a crack; divine power drained swiftly from within, and the cost was severe, leaving him hollow and weak.

He hurriedly shrank the range of his divine radiation, abandoning any notion of biting off more than he could chew. He swept the area within ten miles outside the tribe: lush vegetation and majestic rivers and mountains, sparse stars and a waning moon, the roar and clash of beasts piercing the heavens, bloody scenes searing into the mind—corpses falling, blood and bones strewn across the land.

This was the outer edge of Demon Ridge. Though truly formidable fiendish demons would not invade here, even ordinary monster beasts would be formidable enough for Ye Chen.

Yes, sometimes monster beasts appeared here; if one encountered them, it was simply bad luck.

However, to these beasts, only the flesh of humans who had stepped onto the path of transcendence was tender and delicious. Ordinary mortals carried too much turbidity within, lacking any great appeal.

Thus, the danger was not excessive; the tribe’s situation was relatively safe. Furthermore, a lone beast would hardly have an advantage against Ye Chen.

Monster beasts were graded, and only small fry could reach this area.

At night, it was impossible for Ye Chen to spot any wandering humans, but he was not in a rush; his purpose was to better understand his own abilities.

“Divine power radiating within ten miles is not too costly—I can bear it,” Ye Chen murmured to himself. “Let’s try adding another ten miles.”

In the darkness, his vision soared, encompassing all the lands around him.

“That’s all right, but I can’t push further.”

Twenty miles was already straining his limits; from this, it was clear that his previous attempt to stretch his divine power nearly a hundred miles had been the recklessness of the ignorant.

Ye Chen’s actions were conspicuous, like a torch blazing in the night—too bold, too likely to attract trouble.

As the night drew to its end and the divine sun climbed to its zenith, people in the tribe began to rise from their beds in twos and threes.

Their backs ached, their bodies felt like they were falling apart.

“What’s going on? After a night’s rest, I still feel drained. It’s exhausting,” muttered one clansman, doubting his own existence.

“Could it be that dream?”

A sudden realization brought cold sweat to his brow.

The experiences in that dream were like a nightmare—etched deeply, unforgettable.

It was too tragic. They died many times; though it caused no physical harm, the torment to their spirits nearly broke them.

Ye Chen lacked experience; his approach was crude, dealing uniformly with his tribesmen. If he couldn’t defeat the enemy, they would try again and again.

It could be said the tribespeople had not yet been ruined, and their resilience was already considerable.

“You dreamed, too?”

They all saw the exhaustion in one another’s faces and soon understood.

So everyone had endured the same so-called dream.

“It must be the blessing of the totem.”

This was easy to guess; indeed, it was a blessing. But thinking further, such experiences would likely happen again, and the hard days ahead seemed endless and chilling.

“Chief, do we have to enter that dream every day?”

Whenever there was a question, it was natural to ask the chief.

They felt uneasy; even if the totem meant well for the tribe, it was a lot to bear.

“That’s only because we’re too weak,” the chief snorted, a trace of anger in his words. “If you were strong enough, you’d be thrilled; staying in the dream would be pure enjoyment. If you’re suffering now, it’s your own fault.”

Clearly, the chief had no intention of standing up for his people.

Nor was there any suitable reason—merely wishing to escape would not suffice.

“We’ve already slain the wild boar fiends; things won’t be so hard from now on,” the chief said, trying to comfort them.

Indeed, the hardest part was behind them. To defeat the wild boar fiends, they had endured countless cycles in the dream, dying again and again, to the point of numbness.

“Come, take this wild boar meat and follow me.”

He wouldn’t let them indulge in idle thoughts—there was work to be done.

Truthfully, the chief’s legs were trembling; he was not feeling well either.

The chief was an old man, his body frail, but there was no way to shirk his duties.

The wild boar meat could not be wasted.

“If we salt the boar meat, it’ll keep longer,” someone suggested, but the chief refused.

“We don’t have enough salt,” he said gravely. “Even if we traded with other tribes, it wouldn’t be quick. Move it to the nearby caves to air-dry.”

The caves were deep and winding, and in their depths, the temperature dropped sharply, forming ice—nothing unusual.

Thus, storing the meat there would keep it preserved for a long time.

It was the best method the chief could think of; other ways had their limits.

“Leave a little boar meat here—we’ll eat it soon. Some can be kept in the dry well for a few days, but the rest must be moved.”

The shaman stepped forward, speaking calmly: “The wild boar corpses haven’t all been dealt with. Let’s process them in batches. I’ll take some people to butcher the boars, and chief, you assign people to move the meat.”

“A wise rabbit has three burrows—don’t store all the boar meat in one place.”

“Though the caves are cold and should deter beasts, nothing is certain.”

If all the meat were stored together and eaten by wild animals, they would be furious.

“Of course. Shaman, you and I think alike.”

“In these next few days, keep the fire burning, boil the bones for soup, cook some meat—if there’s enough food, maybe some tribesmen can attempt a breakthrough.”

It might seem wasteful—meat was never easy to come by—but if a breakthrough could be achieved, it would be worthwhile.

Not only would there be a transformation in strength, but future potential would be immense, with vast room to grow. Everything would be different.

If the tribesmen grew strong, perhaps Spirit Butterfly would not harbor ill intentions toward them, even if she had hidden motives.

The chief comforted himself with this thought, unaware that Ye Chen had already manipulated the tribe, subtly altering their memories.