Amidst the mourning crowd, Ethan Brooks saw Charles Bennett. Although Charles Bennett looked very sad at this moment, Ethan Brooks could tell from his hands, which kept shifting from an eagle’s claw to a tiger’s claw, that this guy was actually feeling extremely delighted and excited right now.

If a Uyghur died in the spring or summer, they could only be buried when the grass and trees withered that year. If they died in autumn or winter, the burial had to wait until the grass and trees were lush again.

During the burial, they would also cut their faces with knives to make themselves bleed, expressing their mourning for the deceased just as when the person had just died—extremely painful and troublesome.

This whole set of rituals was actually learned from the Turks, and the Tiele people adopted it with a pretty good attitude.

When a person dies, everything is gone. Just like when the great Apo Gesalu died, his influence in the tribe disappeared instantly.

Ethan Brooks had done everything he could. If Charles Bennett still couldn’t use this opportunity to rise to power, there was nothing Ethan Brooks could do. It would only prove that Charles Bennett was not suited to be an official, but was truly just a good-natured pushover.

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Chapter Eight: The Origin of Uyghur Power

After returning to his own tent, life had to go on. Ethan Brooks continued weaving horsewhips, Sarah Miller kept spinning wool, and Emily Clark, naturally bored, endlessly played with her white stone at the entrance of the tent.

“Was it you who killed them?” Sarah Miller asked, a bit excited.

“It wasn’t me. Tengri took a liking to that father and son and summoned them to heaven.” Ethan Brooks would never admit to such a thing, not even if his life depended on it.

“I still feel like you killed them.”

Faced with Sarah Miller’s inexplicable sixth sense, Ethan Brooks had to stop his busy hands and say, “I never even got close to that father and son.”

Sarah Miller nodded and said, “True, it seems Tengri couldn’t stand their evil deeds and sent them to suffer beneath the Black Mountain.”

Ethan Brooks nodded obediently, feeling that Sarah Miller’s words were absolutely right.

The education Ethan Brooks had received absolutely forbade him from taking the blame for killing someone. Even if he really did it, he would never admit it. Even if killing someone was considered a merit, he still wouldn’t admit it.

Because, no matter what reason you have for killing, a large number of people will always see you as different from them.

“What kind of woman are you planning to bring into your tent?” With the pressure from the great Apo gone, Sarah Miller had returned to her usual lively self.

Ethan Brooks glanced at Sarah Miller and saw that she had already straightened her back and lifted her chin, so he naturally said, “She must be a woman just like you were when you were young.”

Sarah Miller burst out laughing, giving the spindle a hard twist so that it spun rapidly. It was clear she was truly happy.

“Ethan Brooks, you must remember, when you look for a woman, you have to find one who is best at bearing children. If she can give you a bunch of sons, then you can become the chief of a small tribe.

If you find a group of women to give you lots and lots of children, you can become the Apo lord of a big tribe.

If all the women of a tribe give you children…”

Ethan Brooks smiled as he watched Sarah Miller skillfully spinning yarn with both hands, enthusiastically imparting to him the way the Sai people survived and prospered.

One person, one family, creating a tribe, a nation—here, it wasn’t something out of reach.

Many countries and tribes in the Western Regions were established just like this.

As long as a man was strong enough, had enough testosterone, and could find enough food to feed many women, he could create the legend of one man founding an entire race!

The more excited Sarah Miller became, the less Ethan Brooks wanted to be a damn Uyghur.

First, he felt he wasn’t capable of indiscriminately sleeping with all the women in a tribe. Second, in this not-so-large Uyghur tribe, there wasn’t a single woman he found attractive.

“Ethan Brooks, you must marry lots and lots of beautiful women, have lots and lots of children, live the best life, eat the best food, and wear the finest clothes.”

Ethan Brooks put down the leather strap in his hand and said with a smile, “If you want to see me living a good life, first, you have to live well yourself. You’d better live a long time. As long as you live long enough, I promise you’ll see my wife as beautiful as a fairy, sons as strong as oxen, and daughters that many, many people want to marry.

But before we talk about that, shouldn’t we discuss whether I can stop being a Uyghur? I really can’t stand them anymore.”

The spindle in Sarah Miller’s hand stopped spinning. She lowered her head and wiped the tears from the corners of her eyes, saying, “You were never a Uyghur, nor a Sai, nor my son… When the tribe was migrating, we passed through a stretch of desert. I saw a giant baby, a baby as big as a mountain. At that time, the baby was lying on the ground sleeping, so pitiful, so lonely. I wanted to bring him home, but I just couldn’t move him… That baby was huge, and not soft at all, as hard as a rock…”

Ethan Brooks hugged Sarah Miller’s shoulders and said softly, “I know, I know, I’m not a Uyghur, nor a Sai, but I will always be your son.”