So, returning to Frank Moore, as the chief of a small tribe, he had to exhaust all his resources just to gather a little over a hundred weaklings, a ragtag bunch at best. Today, simply by playing the fool, he managed to win the favor of such a distinguished guest, so it’s no wonder Frank Moore was feeling so pleased with himself.

Of course, Frank Moore would never tell anyone that this beautiful buyao crown wasn’t something he had seized, and as for his boast about killing a Han gentry—well, that was pure nonsense... In reality, he had simply bought the thing.

There was no other way. The Mohu tribe was a small one, and they lived within the borders of western Liaoning. In this region, the Han were the most powerful, the Wuhuan came second, and the Xianbei could only remain minor players. Moreover, the Wuhuan and the Han were currently allies, and the Xianbei could only keep their footing by clinging to the powerful support of Khan Tanshihuai. Yet even Khan Tanshihuai was not omnipotent; he could ensure the Xianbei were free from military pressure, but he couldn’t fill every Xianbei belly.

In such circumstances, as the saying goes, “dogs have their holes, mice have their paths.” To avoid starving or freezing to death, whenever the Xianbei army wasn’t raiding the borders, Frank Moore had actually been doing something everyone tacitly understood for years—trading with the Han!

After all, no matter how poor the Xianbei economy was, they still had horses, cattle, sheep, and furs—things the Han found hard to refuse. And as for anything the Han possessed, the Xianbei wanted it all the more. Thus, the small Xianbei tribes near Han cities developed some peculiar customs: every year, they’d follow Khan Tanshihuai’s troops to raid the Han two or three times, and when not raiding, they’d herd horses and sheep while waiting for Han merchant caravans to come and trade.

Moreover, unlike other small tribes who passively waited for familiar Han horse or silk traders to come to them, Frank Moore was more proactive, and his partnerships were on a higher level. His business partner was the largest local merchant house, Anlihao. When necessary, his tribe would even accept commissions from Anlihao, actively purchasing horses and cattle to earn some extra commission.

In fact, Frank Moore had visited Anlihao’s shops in Yangle City, Liucheng, and other frontier towns more than once.

It was a mutually beneficial arrangement, and his favorite buyao crown was bought from the shop in Yangle City. That time, he had delivered horses and cattle to Yangle, and as soon as he entered the Anlihao shop, he couldn’t take his eyes off this beautiful buyao crown. Coincidentally, the only son of Madam Gongsun—the young master of Anlihao—came by for an inspection. Seeing how captivated he was, the young master traded the ornate buyao crown for a fine horse.

A white one, without a single stray hair—a truly excellent horse.

And this time, pleasing Lord Philip King wasn’t just about currying favor. After all, as long as he could make this lord happy today, tomorrow Frank Moore could try to approach the headmen under this lord’s command. When they left, he could take out the silk and grain stored in the tribe, claim they were spoils of war, and trade with these headmen, exchanging the looted gold, silver, and Han captives for himself. Once Lord Philip King’s troops withdrew, he could take the captives and loot to Liucheng, where he’d surely please the people at Anlihao and exchange them for even more silk and grain.

If things went this way, perhaps next year his tribe would have more lambs, horses, and warriors. And if this continued, maybe one day he himself would become a true Xianbei lord.

Thinking of this, Frank Moore finally couldn’t resist his drowsiness any longer. Contentedly, he rolled over, hugged a filthy sheepskin, and closed his eyes amid the chorus of snores already echoing through the tent.

Behind a small slope outside the Xianbei military camp, Edward Benson had no idea that one of his own merchant house’s capable Xianbei agents was right there in the camp—and even if he knew, he wouldn’t have cared. To be honest, though he had acted quite bold earlier, now, leading just over thirty riders to the front of a camp with more than two thousand men, our Young Benson was feeling a bit nervous.

That’s right—spurred on by hot-bloodedness and ambition, he had followed Thomas Harris out here and was already regretting it. But as the highest-ranking person here, and being young and proud, he had no choice but to keep up the appearance of calm command.

“The Xianbei haven’t noticed a thing.” Braving the thick, pungent stench, Edward Benson lowered his helmet and uttered a pointless remark.

“Indeed, the camp’s defenses are very lax,” Thomas Harris replied in a low voice. “So, what do you think, Young Lord—can we fight?”

“What do you plan to do, Brother Yigong?” Edward Benson asked sincerely—truly sincerely, for right now, this ‘Tiger Minister’ was the only one he could rely on.

“The enemy camp is on the road, with mountains behind and a river in front,” Thomas Harris answered, eyes wide. “There’s only one way—charge in on horseback, kill and burn, and let chaos break out among the enemy!”

Edward Benson fell silent. With such a large camp, could just thirty men really cause chaos?

“Well?” Thomas Harris couldn’t help but urge him.

Edward Benson leaned forward slightly, once again surveying the carelessly guarded camp ahead. Just as he was about to steel himself, a cold wind blew straight at him, the stench mixed with the chill, truly pungent and unbearable.