The delicate yet wicked female is addicted to collecting stamps, and her many beastly husbands vie f

Chapter 105 She's Gone

Cangshan Tribe.

The torrential rains and flash floods swept through the mountains, destroying one cave after another.

Now, only half of the tribe's survivors remain, huddled together deep within Moyan's cave, the damp air thick with suppressed gasps.

Thunder rumbled outside the cave, and the faint torches flickered on and off.

Xishan hunched over, tightly embracing the cub in her arms.

She slowly turned her head to look at her male, her sunken cheeks making his eyes appear frighteningly large, and her voice was hoarse as if she had swallowed sand: "Is there any more food?"

A thin gray wolf cub squirmed restlessly in her arms, emitting weak whimpers.

She had only one male left, but it wasn't a gray wolf; it was a young snake-beastman.

He shook his head, nervously flicking his tongue, looking out into the deep cave. The muscles beneath his scales trembled with tension as he murmured, "There's no food left in the tribe."

At the cave entrance, Mo Yan quietly coiled his scarlet body, gazing at the world shrouded in a downpour.

He was waiting, waiting for the seemingly endless downpour to stop, or... for the next flood.

Gui helped the weak Lan out of the depths of the cave. Hearing the footsteps, Mo Yan transformed into human form.

His long hair cascaded down his shoulders, and his fiercely handsome face couldn't hide his exhaustion. He turned to look at Gui Helan, his scarlet eyes filled with weariness: "Why did you come out?"

Looking at her son's slightly sunken cheeks, Lan's Adam's apple bobbed slightly, and she felt a pang of heartache.

She said softly, "Let's go back."

Mo Yan silently lowered her eyelashes, her fingertips tightening slightly.

Gui gave a bitter laugh: "There's no food left in the tribe, and Mo Yan..."

Being a leader and yet not being able to feed your tribe members is a kind of torment.
Lan gritted her teeth, a ruthless glint suddenly flashing in her eyes: "Then kill those people from the Xishan tribe!"

Mo Yan suddenly looked up, her scarlet pupils contracting sharply: "Do you know what you're saying? They're alive and well..."

"Living orcs?" Lan chuckled as she replied.

“Mo Yan, they are just an exiled tribe that came to seek refuge with the Cangshan tribe. Teng has already abandoned them. In the Beastman Continent, survival is the most important thing, isn’t it?”

The torrential rain howled, carrying a faint smell of blood, as if echoing her words.

Mo Yan fell silent, his crimson eyes flickering with uncertain light.

He knew better than anyone that the orcish continent was a dog-eat-dog world, where the weak were never spared and the slaughter of tribes was commonplace, all for the purpose of hunting orcs to become their prey...

Once you cross that line, there's no turning back.

But the people in the tribe...

Just then, a clear and ethereal shout came from outside the tribe, breaking the group's entanglement.

"Fuying—"

The sound was like the wind sweeping through the mountains, or like the gentle tapping of a bone bell, carrying an indescribable purity.

Upon hearing this name, Mo Yan shuddered, his crimson eyes suddenly narrowing into slits.

Lan and Gui both looked toward the source of the sound.

Over there, a tall, slender figure walked slowly through the rain, his silhouette as upright and solitary as a cedar tree.

He didn't use an umbrella, letting himself be soaked by the rain. The downpour slid down his prominent brow bone, reflecting a cold light on the bridge of his nose. His long, flaxen hair was soaked through, giving it a glossy sheen.

His grey-brown eyes were cool and languid, yet his pupils subtly contracted in the shadows, taking in everything about the tribe—a vigilance unique to cat-like beastmen. Raindrops rolled down his long eyelashes, but did nothing to diminish his sharp gaze.

Mo Yan frowned as he looked at Qinglan, who had suddenly appeared in the tribe: "It's you?"

He remembered him, the snow leopard beastman of the Frost Plains tribe, the one who had contracted the plague.

Qinglan stood in the rain, her voice soft yet clear: "I'm looking for Fuying."

He paused, his Adam's apple bobbing slightly: "Has she... come back?"

Qinglan stared at Moyan with a seemingly calm expression, but his hands, hanging by his sides, were clenched so tightly that his knuckles turned white. His elegant back was taut, as if he was afraid of hearing an answer he didn't want to hear.

Mo Yan looked at him coldly: "She's already gone."

Qinglan's pupils suddenly contracted, and her gray-brown eyes trembled slightly, like a cat whose tail had been stepped on.

"Gone?" His voice suddenly rose, the end tinged with fear: "When did this happen?"

As he spoke, he unconsciously took half a step forward, his flaxen hair flicking out tiny water droplets, instantly shattering his previous aloof and languid demeanor.

Mo Yan didn't hide anything and said directly, "Before the flash flood arrived."

Qinglan's finger bones cracked, and her upright figure suddenly hunched over.

He coughed violently, and a mouthful of blood splattered into the muddy puddles, spreading a glaring red.

“She didn’t come back…” he murmured, his voice hoarse and barely audible. “She really… didn’t come back.”

Rainwater mixed with blood trickled down his lips, and his usually cool, seemingly undisturbed gray-brown eyes were now terribly unfocused.

Mo Yan frowned, a bad feeling suddenly creeping into his heart.

Ignoring Gui Helan's advice, he stepped forward and pulled Qinglan up from the rain.

"What happened? Did something happen to Fuying?" Mo Yan's voice was cold, and his fingertips trembled uncontrollably.

Before he could finish speaking, Qinglan grabbed his arm, her fingertips almost digging into Moyan's flesh.

He raised his head, his long, wet, flaxen hair clinging to his pale cheeks. His handsome eyes were now filled with hope, and his gray-brown pupils were like an oil lamp. He asked cautiously, "Where is Teng?"

His voice was hoarse, but filled with an almost obsessive certainty: "As long as Teng is alright, she will definitely be alright."

"What exactly happened to Fuying?!" Mo Yan asked sharply, his bloodshot eyes filled with tension.

Qinglan suddenly broke free from Moyan's grasp and staggered towards the tribe, shouting, "Teng—!"

His flaxen hair flew wildly in the rain. He was an elegant snow leopard, but now he resembled a trapped beast on the verge of death, his voice broken and incoherent: "Teng—you come out—come out!"

The tribe was deathly silent; there was no response, and Teng was nowhere to be seen.

Qinglan's cries gradually faded and eventually disappeared.

Suddenly, he swayed and knelt down in the mud, transforming into a beast.

The snow leopard lay silently in the puddles, its ears pressed tightly against its head, trembling uncontrollably, its long tail hanging wetly on the murky water, as if it had lost all its strength.

Mo Yan asked angrily, "What happened to Fu Ying? Has something happened to her?"

Qinglan raised her head, her round, beastly eyes reflecting Mo Yan's furious face, and stubbornly repeated, "Where is Teng?"

Mo Yan frowned, his voice equally hoarse: "They left together."

Seeing Qinglan's suddenly dimmed beast eyes, Mo Yan said in a deep voice, "I can find Teng, but you have to tell me, what exactly happened to Fuying?"

Fuying is the most powerful shaman, how could something have happened to him?
(End of this chapter)