Old Jhogosnai continued to boast to Daenerys about their ancestor Jahata's legendary feat of annihilating the Jeggowin Giant Kingdom.
Daenerys was stunned. "You destroyed a *giant kingdom*? That's practically defying the heavens!"
Especially when the Zebra People told her the Jeggowin Giants stood seven or eight meters tall.
"I've heard from Maesters that giants might exist Beyond the Wall, north of The Wall, but they're no taller than four meters," Jorah said, equally astonished.
"Those are Snow Giants," Old Jhogosnai explained. "The Jeggowin Giants were Stone Giants. Just like you and me, we're both human but different races. And you're nearly half a head taller than me."
The old man's wisdom was undeniable. Both Jorah and Daenerys were convinced.
When Daenerys asked with awe in her voice if they had taken any giant prisoners, the elder replied, "Only three in total. None could reproduce, and even if the giants surrendered, they would have died of old age over the millennia."
Three. Three. Three.
*Hey, what did you just say? You annihilated the Jeggowin Giant *Kingdom*!*
Daenerys's expression at that moment must have been priceless.
After boasting about several prominent Jahata heroes, Daenerys felt she had a good grasp of the Zebra People's social system and asked about their religious beliefs.
"We worship the Church of the Moon Singer," the old man said, his first words startling her.
The Moon Singer, he explained, was the Singer of the Moon. Witch-Demoness Miri had learned her birth song from the Singer of the Moon.
More importantly, Daenerys knew the Singer of the Moon held great status on the Western Continent.
"I've heard that the founding of Braavos was foretold by the Moon Singer," she asked.
"That's right. When the Valyrian Freehold dominated the world, countless races were enslaved. The Jhogosnai Plains were under the Dragon King's control, and the Dragon Kings were far more terrifying than the Emperors of Yi. They had dragons." He widened his eyes and stared at the three dragons at Daenerys's table for a long moment.
"Ah, it shouldn't have been that way. I despise slavery. Under the Seven Gods, we should all be equal." Feigning ignorance, Daenerys began to portray herself as a follower of the Seven Gods.
The old Ghiscari man neither agreed nor disagreed, but his expression softened considerably.
"Those Valyrians are utterly insane," he said. "They insist on mining beneath those fourteen volcanoes—active volcanoes that spew smoke and flow with molten lava. Not a single slave who enters those mines lives for more than a month.
That's why slave ships from all over the world flock to Valyria in endless streams, like fish in a river.
About eight hundred years ago, a slave fleet in the Summer Sea experienced a rebellion. But even after the revolt succeeded, the slaves grew more desperate. Everyone knew that no one could escape the sight of the dragons.
Fortunately, one ship carried a group of Ghiscari women—Moon Singers from the Jhogosnai Plains.
Through their prophecies, they found a sanctuary for the slaves: a lagoon hidden behind pine-covered hills and sea cliffs. The region is perpetually shrouded in mist, obscuring it from the eyes of the Dragon Kings flying overhead.
So the fleet veered north, sailing toward the northwestern edge of the Essos continent—the place that would become Braavos.
"The Moon Singer's prophecy came true, and the people of Braavos built the most magnificent temple in her honor as a token of their gratitude."
"I see. The Moon Singer's deeds certainly deserve such a temple. Hmm, I've been to Braavos before."
Daenerys's attention shifted to another topic. After a casual compliment, she asked, "Do you know what the Valyrians were digging for in the volcanoes?"
"Red gold, gold, silver, and other minerals. Those Valyrians were insatiably greedy, digging until they pierced through hell itself. It was their just deserts; the toxic smoke and fire from hell itself destroyed all of Valyria."
Daenerys was disappointed. She had hoped for some magical material, but it turned out to be nothing more than digging for gold.
Giving up on her fanciful thoughts, she returned to the original topic. "What role did the Moon Singer play in your tribe?"
The old man replied, "Prayer, healing, judgment—anything beyond warfare. Because of the Moon Singer's faith, we never warred against other tribes."
*Hmm, this is also worth noting.*
"Alas, we Dothraki should learn from our ancestors," she said to the Zebra People.
Daenerys was a rare listener—noble in status and skilled in the art of the straight man. The Old Zebra Man had never encountered such a person in his entire life. It wasn't until the moon was high in the west and the night was nearly over that he finally smacked his lips and ended his self-congratulatory bragging session, which had left him feeling utterly satisfied.
The next morning, Daenerys had Agon present the old man with a small, date-red colt as a return gift.
The foal, born in White Cloud City, was only two months old yet had successfully traversed the thousand-li Red Waste. This alone demonstrated its exceptional qualities.
Over the next few days, Daenerys received dozens of visitors. She discovered that beyond the gifts, she gained considerable knowledge.
She encountered diverse races from the world of Ice and Fire, unique crafts from various city-states, and a colorful array of products from around the world. And then there were the people of all sorts of personalities—or, as they were commonly known, the *oddball* species.
For instance, a Qarthian widow, weeping, presented her with her husband's mummified corpse.
The corpse was covered in a layer of silver leaves, said to possess immense magical power, especially since the deceased had been a male warlock.
Refusing a gift was considered far more impolite than harboring a few mental complaints, so Daenerys forced a stiff smile as she stored the specially treated corpse in her treasure vault.
After the incident, the wealthy merchant Zaro pulled Daenerys aside to a secluded place and proposed buying the corpse.
When Daenerys, curious, asked why, he frankly explained that a male warlock's corpse possessed far more magical power than a dwarf's vital organ. Through a special Blood Sorcery ritual, a warlock could transfer its magical essence to another location.
For example, his own vital organ.
The portly merchant, with a mournful tone, told her he had built his fortune from nothing, rising from a penniless waiter to one of the Thirteen Great Merchants. This rise had cost him dearly: his health, his vigor, and his youthful good looks.
When he had been poor but had his teeth, he'd salivated at the sight of fine meats and fish but couldn't afford them. Now that he had money, his teeth had failed, and he couldn't bring himself to eat even the most exquisite delicacies placed before him.
*Ahem,* the Qarth merchant added, his kidneys failing. His slug-like vital organ needed magical enhancement.
"This would actually benefit you too," he said, winking at Daenerys, who looked hesitant. "You know I've been madly in love with you. Marrying me is already the best choice for you, and a healthy body would only make it the *bestest* choice."
Now Daenerys understood. He wasn't winking at her; he was trying to flirt!
She was instantly disgusted.
"I have no interest in the male warlock's corpse, but that poor widow..." Daenerys hesitated. "After all, he was her husband. If she changes her mind, or suddenly misses her husband and comes back to demand the body... what should I do?"
"She won't," the fat man said, shaking his head like a boiled egg. "A gift given is water spilled—it can't be taken back! Besides, you are the great Mother of Dragons, the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, the most honored guest in Qarth, and the lover I've longed for. Why should you fear some ordinary woman?"
"I don't like using my position to bully people," Daenerys said coolly.
The man was treating her like a child!
"Then just tell her directly: 'I love you, I want to marry you, my... *thing*... isn't working, and it needs the magical enhancement of her husband's corpse.' This way, nothing goes to waste. She should be honored to have helped you—after all, that was her original intention when she gave you the corpse!"
Zaro was utterly shameless.
*Helping her by treating that thing?*
Daenerys wanted to slap him, no, one slap wouldn't suffice. She'd have to kick him ten more times, and then have Big Black, Little White, and the others blast him to ashes with dragonfire.
"How much can you pay?" she asked.
Zaro, with a "we're all family" expression, replied, "Market rate is about 200 Shining Coins. I'll give you 100, how about it?"
"We're friends, talking money hurts the sentiment," Daenerys paused, waiting until his fat face lit up with delight. Then she added, "Let our steward handle the negotiations."
Only Jorah was capable of managing this matter. She secretly told him to fleece that bastard dry.
Ever since she'd repeatedly rejected Zaro's open and veiled marriage proposals, she hadn't eaten stir-fried peacock tongue again.
Over time, she'd gone from barely swallowing it to slightly appreciating it, then gradually from appreciation to outright obsession. Just as she'd finally cultivated this extravagant hobby, he'd suddenly cut it off.
*Well, Daenerys's finances couldn't sustain such a luxury anyway.*
Besides the food, the number of servants had also significantly decreased.
For instance, the beautiful maids who used to perform dances and sing for her at every meal had dwindled from twenty-four to just four.
To win over a woman who had never experienced luxury was actually quite simple.
All it took was money. You could let her live a princess's life for a while, then make her understand that such a life could only continue if she stayed with you.
That's why overbearing CEOs were so popular. Whether they were truly overbearing or not didn't matter; the key was that they were *CEOs*.
Without a doubt, Zaro was also a CEO, and he intended to use this method to subdue Daenerys.
He certainly didn't love her, but if he married her, he would gain her Dragon.
Jorah told her about a peculiar Qarthian wedding custom: on the wedding day, the wife could ask her husband for a token of love. No matter what she requested—as long as he had it and could fulfill it—he must agree. He also had the right to make a similar request of her. Though he could only ask for one thing, she couldn't refuse whatever it was.
"Zaro will definitely demand your Dragon," Jorah said with a cold smile. "A single Dragon would elevate his power to new heights, making him the sole ruler of this city."
A few days later, Zaro excitedly approached her, holding a pair of blue leather sandals. "Look what I have!"
"Slippers," Daenerys thought, unable to imagine what else they could be.
"Your Persimmon has been accepted by the Gate Opener! The final barrier to the Hall of a Thousand Seats is now open." He waved the blue sandals triumphantly. "This is the Royal Family's invitation to you! Giving blue sandals is their tradition. You can wear them to meet the Royal Family tomorrow!"
The Temple of Memory represented the clergy of Qarth, the Keeper of the Rolls were administrative officials, and the Gate Opener served as the Grand Chamberlain.
She had indeed sent the large, golden-orange Persimmon, but at the same time, five thousand Golden Radiance Coins were carried into the Grand Chamberlain's courtyard.
(End of Chapter)