A divine healer, a general, a young marquis! Who can rival them!

The old man in charge of the wood is sixty-eight years old and manages three households.

The first register contained information on the population and livestock, with reports submitted twice a year by the forty-three ministries. The second register recorded the apportionments: how many soldiers and horses were contributed, and who contributed to whom—all inscribed on it. The third, smallest register, contained oaths, reparations, and debts of life.

He doesn't even know how many pieces he's carved in his lifetime. When his master taught him, he said, "You don't need to remember what you carved; the wood remembers."

It's enough that the wood remembers.

The rules for what needs to be engraved are strictly adhered to: population and livestock must be engraved, troop deployment and allocation must be engraved, agreements between two departments must be engraved, and even acts of sacrificing lives must be engraved. If a mistake is made, it cannot be trimmed or repaired; only a small new engraving can be made next to it, indicating that the previous one is invalid. Therefore, the person in charge of the woodwork must ask three times before making a cut.

On June 22nd, the third leather bag he put in was a piece of new wood.

There are three carving marks, one shallow, the shallow one was carved by the high shaman. Bloody fingerprints are pressed on the wood.

He watched what happened day by day after that day.

He didn't need to enter that tent. News travels faster than a horse; if someone lost half a sheep, the news would reach the north within half a day. How much more so the Khan.

Twenty-three, the man from the south urinated twice more, half a bowl each time. Twenty-four, three times. Twenty-five, the Khan sat up by himself, without anyone helping him.

The man from the south set six rules for the Khan, which he had the translator write down and hang on a felt mat.

Meat should not exceed two ounces per day. Salt should be halved. Water should be consumed in six bowls a day, three in the morning and three in the evening, and should not be forced to drink all at once. Each urination should be measured with a bowl and recorded. When sleeping at night, elevate one fist's width under your feet. Walk twice a day, one hundred steps each time, with support.

The princess is still carving the pillar, but the subject matter has changed.

Starting from the age of twenty-three, she carved out the number of bowls that had been made.

The man from the south, after seeing it once, said: "This is more important than anything else. If you lose half a bowl a day, you must compensate me. If you don't gain weight for two days, you must compensate me."

The old man saw that pillar once when he brought the wooden pieces into the tent. The first thirty lines were deep and messy, while the newly carved lines at the back were neat, with several small dots under each line, representing the number of bowls.

On the afternoon of the 27th, the Khan walked out of his tent.

He held onto the tent pole with one hand, walked a dozen steps, and stood in the sun. He didn't call out or wave, he just stood there, letting the sun shine on him for half an hour.

The people outside didn't move at first. Some thought they were seeing things and rubbed their eyes. Then, one by one, they knelt down, from near to far, like grass being flattened by the wind.

The old man also knelt down. As he knelt, he was thinking about something else: nineteen days ago, people in the tent were already discussing who would carry the coffin.

While kneeling, he heard someone speaking behind him. They were talking about that man from the south, but the word wasn't the same as before.

In the past, when he was in the royal court, he was called "that man from the south," or "that physician." Those with a bad temper would simply call him "enemy general."

That day, the old man heard two of the leaders using a different word.

That word isn't commonly used on the grasslands. It doesn't refer to someone who fights or someone who's in charge; it refers to someone who can pull people back from the clutches of the Eternal Heaven. The old man heard it once when he was a child; it was about an old woman who had set the bones of the entire tribe, fifty years ago.

The old man made a mental note of it.

He actually did carve that mark later. On a small piece of wood in the bag containing the people: "A man from the south has come and will stay at the royal court for several days." He hesitated for a long time over that man's mark.

The royal court had only a few markings: one diagonal for those fighting, one horizontal for those in charge, and two parallel for envoys from foreign tribes.

The last one he carved was the one used for treating patients. The last time he used that mark was thirty-one years ago, when he carved it for a midwife.

On the twenty-eighth day, the Khan summoned the nineteen chieftains in the royal court.

When the old man was summoned, he was holding his body in his arms.

The Khan sat, not lying down. He first had someone bring out the piece of wood from the twenty-second day, gave it to the interpreter to read aloud, and then asked a question in front of the nineteen people.

"Have these three dishes been prepared?"

"I've exchanged it."

"What about the Great Shaman's method?"

"It's been redeemed."

"Then carve another one," the Khan said, "a debt of life."

All nineteen leaders turned their heads at the same time.

The old man took out the new wood and placed it on his lap.

Regarding the debt of life, he has only carved four pieces in the past thirty years.

One piece dates back 29 years, when the Khan's father owed a tribe in the east; another piece dates back 17 years, when two tribes fought over a river, resulting in deaths and a debt settlement; the other two pieces are even older, carved by his master.

The old man rubbed the stone knife on his sleeve a couple of times.

There are rules governing the debts of life.

When carving, at least nine people from various departments must be present; the creditor's name must be carved on the first line; the debtor must press their blood on the wood; before the debt is cleared, the debtor is not allowed to take action against the debtor, nor set fires, nor cut off their water and food; whether the debt is cleared or not is not up to the debtor to decide, but requires the approval of all nine departments.

There is one more crucial rule: once a life is at stake, it is no longer just a matter for one person.

That concerns the forty-three departments.

As the old man carved, he had the translator tell these things to the people inside the tent, and also to the man from the south.

When the last line was carved, the Khan stretched out his hand.

The old man handed him the stone knife. The Khan cut his thumb, pressed the blood onto the knife, and pressed it firmly.

"It's your turn," the Khan said to the man from the south.

The old man raised his eyes. He had been in charge of timber for thirty years, and most of the debtors he had seen looked grim at this time, while the debt collectors would announce the numbers: how many horses, how many sheep, how many people, how many pieces of salt.

The man from the south did not report his number.

"The Khan gave me something I could give right now," he said.

"speak."

"There are now 9,400 people in that area of ​​Willow Beach, all of whom came from the north," said the man from the south. "From now on, the royal court is forbidden to shoot them with bone-tipped arrows. If they want to stay there, let them stay; if they want to come back, let them come back."

One of the nineteen leaders made a move.

The old man paused for a moment. He had been in the timber business for thirty years, and this was the first time he had ever heard of someone trading a piece of wood for someone else's life, and what they were trading was a piece of wood they didn't want.

"They are not your people," the Khan said.

"They live on my land."

"That's all?"

"This can be given right now."

"What about the debt?"

"Remember that."

The old man lowered his head and blew away the last bit of sawdust.

He was eager to repay the debts on the four pieces he had carved, and after repaying them, he would take the wood back to check on them, as if he wanted to personally confirm whether those stones were still there.

The debtor said he remembered, but he had never seen him.

The Khan stared at him for a long time.

"I don't like being in debt."

"The Khan can now walk a hundred paces," the man from the south said. "What I need, you cannot give me right now. I will come back to ask after I have figured out what I want."

The old man held up the carved piece of wood, showing it to each of the nineteen chieftains one by one, before putting it into the third leather pouch.

The leather pouch was originally filled with wooden pieces, packed very tightly. Some of them were shiny black, carved by his master's master; they were so old that the grooves on them were almost worn smooth to the touch.

It took a little effort to insert the new piece.

The old man raised his head once as he fastened the leather pouch.

The eldest prince stood at the end of the row on the east side of the tent, and had not uttered a sound since his father pressed the blood.

The old man had previously carved two pieces of wood for this person, each representing a different task, like sending soldiers or horses. This person's hands were very steady when carving, and he never asked a single question.

He neither went forward nor left that day.

He wasn't looking at the Khan, nor at that man from the south.

He was looking at the leather bag in the old man's arms.