Chapter 341

“You’re speaking nonsense!”

Everyone froze, turning at once toward the beastman who had spoken.

It was a hunched sub-beastman, about fifty or sixty years old, her eyes sharp and piercing. As she recalled the questions the Hei Yao trade captain had been asking them along the way, everything suddenly became clear to her.

A horned beastman steadied her arm and whispered, “Huo.”

They had long lost their tribal chief—Bao Huo was now the backbone for these people.

“Open your eyes and look at the ones beside you. See if they aren’t your clansmen,” Bao Huo said. “If there were no reason, why would the people of Hei Yao bring us all here? Why would we be allowed to stay safely? Instead of doubting what Bao Jing saw, you’d better think carefully about how we will face Mao Bai!”

The others looked at one another—bewildered, frightened, helpless.

Among the young beastmen present, who hadn’t once bullied Mao Bai as a cub because of his unusual fur? Now, thinking that Mao Bai owned such a vast city, where killing them would be as easy as crushing ants, they couldn’t help but tremble.

Even the older sub-beastmen were unsettled. They hadn’t bullied a cub, but when escape had been impossible, they had agreed to exile the “inauspicious” Mao Bai. Every one of them had silently consented. Who could say whether Mao Bai knew of this—or whether he hated them for it?

“Huo, what do we do?”

They had only just escaped from the cannibal tribes, and now it seemed Hei Yao was even more dangerous.

Bao Huo didn’t answer them. Instead, she turned toward Bao Jing, who had long been in Hei Yao.

“I don’t know.” Bao Jing swallowed hard, shaking his head as he retreated several steps. “They only said that Mao Bai is now called Bao Bai, and told me to work with the others. They’ve never said anything else.”

Before Bao Huo spoke up, Bao Jing had never really worried. Deep down, he still thought of Qi Bai as the Mao Bai who wouldn’t fight back even when bullied—never realizing that Mao Bai had become someone untouchably high.

He had even secretly resented Qi Bai for not giving him a better house, or lighter work. Now, thinking on it, Bao Jing broke into a cold sweat.

“If Mao Bai has truly become Hei Yao’s high priest, then he should understand that the chief abandoned him back then for the sake of the rest of us. We are his clan. We are all he has left. He will not kill us.”

Bao Huo swept her gaze over everyone. “Remember this—every one of you: you are the high priest’s clansmen. Even if we are slaves, no one else may bully us. We must stay in Hei Yao. This is Feng Bao’s last hope.”

The Feng Bao beastmen were uneasy, but in truth Qi Bai, Lang Ze, and Ma Ling treated their discussion with calm.

Ma Ling said: “I questioned the Feng Bao beastmen. Bao Bai’s father was brought back to the tribe by Bao Bai’s maternal father. He claimed to be a beastman who had gotten separated from his tribe. Seeing his strong beast form, and since he was a leopard beastman, the Feng Bao accepted him. His joining indeed brought them much success in hunting. But before Bao Bai was born, he had already disappeared.”

Qi Bai asked: “Are you certain?”

Ma Ling nodded. “Several beastmen remembered. The milk used to feed you was found by others in the tribe. That point left a strong impression. Back then, everyone thought your father would be the next chief. Who could have imagined that his cub would need others’ charity?”

In the Feng Bao people’s memories, there was no strong impression of Yu-shenshi’s unusual fur color. Understandable—if a divine emissary wished to walk the continent, some disguise was inevitable.

This meant there was little risk. Though Qi Bai’s fur color was unique, his tribe of birth was only a small clan of the Dong Yi. Ordinary people would hardly connect Feng Bao to a divine emissary of the temple.

Lang Ze told Ma Ling: “Keep watching the Feng Bao tribe.”

Knowing Yu-shenshi hadn’t left an obvious flaw, Qi Bai and Lang Ze didn’t dwell further. They simply had no time.

Lang Ze had to lead the hunting teams for the autumn hunt, while Qi Bai devoted all his energy to the autumn harvest.

This year alone, the newly opened fields covered a thousand qing. Countless beastmen were taking part in the harvest for the first time. When to cut, when to dry, what to do if it rained—all needed careful planning.

They also had to guard constantly against the red birds that came to steal food. Spoiled grain was secondary; the greater danger was harm to their people.

To meet this year’s farming goals, the Household Division had already expanded recruitment in the spring. Even so, everyone was still working themselves ragged.

The new fields were mostly planted with soybeans, sweet potatoes, and yellow tubers. Soybeans were easy to grow and enriched the soil—the beans could be eaten, the stalks fed to livestock. As for the tubers, their leaves had been on the tables of beastmen long before the roots ripened.

Beyond those, lush fields of big-leaf greens still stood, to be harvested after frost and stored underground for fresh vegetables through winter.

The E-lian village chief cradled his golden beans, grinning ear to ear.

Even before the drought, collecting this much food would have cost five or ten times the effort. Now, with dried crops that could last the whole winter, just the thought of full granaries filled him with vigor.

He slapped Niu Yan’s head with joy. “Good boy! Good boy, hahahaha!”

He’d always said Niu Yan was clever since childhood. If not for him joining Hei Yao at Chen Shui, their E-lian would never have come here. Without Hei Yao, they’d be starving now, not laughing.

Old Niu Qu laughed, wrinkled face full of delight. “Chief! Chief! It’s our turn to hand in grain!”

“Alright!” the chief bellowed. “We’re ready!”

In front of the long stretch of stone houses lay endless fields, filled with busy beastmen and half-grown cubs grazing sheep and cattle.

On the dirt road between the houses and the fields, several carts rumbled slowly along. As they drew near, people hurried up to meet them.

“High priest, you’ve come too!”

Qi Bai smiled, waving at the E-lian chief. As they walked, he asked casually: “Autumn is short in Bei Zhou. How are your preparations for winter supplies?”

Because many villages lacked enough carts, after harvest the Household Division had brought wagons directly to the fields.

Qi Bai had followed them these past days, collecting rents and checking for problems.

“All prepared!”

The E-lian chief explained: “Our li-zhang warned us early—Bei Zhou’s winters are long and cold. We’ve stockpiled firewood since summer. Every household has piles of it.

“As for livestock, we only have thirty sheep. The bean stalks from the fields will be plenty of fodder.”

Food for the beastmen themselves was less abundant.

Compared to the Zhong Lu five villages, who’d been in Hei Yao a year longer, they couldn’t yet eat their fill.

But the E-lian chief didn’t mind. They had more food now than in any past year. In winter they wouldn’t work outside—why eat so much?

Besides, Li-zhang Lu Jiang had told them they could still grow vegetables indoors. And with the hunting team’s game, starving would be impossible.

Qi Bai listened carefully, then asked about hides and other supplies.

The chief answered each. Qi Bai nodded. These might seem like trifles, but they affected daily life. Not every chief could answer so thoroughly.

Where they lacked foresight, Qi Bai noted it down—later to issue solutions through the divisions. One side would send orders for li-zhang to oversee, the other would teach practical cases in the academy.

Most chiefs were former tribal leaders. As long as they didn’t err greatly, Qi Bai had no plans to replace them.

But future village officials would be tested. Governance and development had to be instilled early in the next generation.

As they spoke, Niu Qiu and Lu Jiang were already organizing the process.

Niu Qiu, the Household Division officer, carried a register recording each village’s spring planting. He now collected taxes accordingly.

Lu Jiang, li-zhang of the five villages, also carried a record. But with only ten characters recognized, he was mostly there to observe and learn.

Villagers queued with baskets of grain. Each name was called, weighed, and checked off.

Soon, the wagons were full. A fifty-man team would escort them back to the city.

Qi Bai spent several days outside before returning to tally the City Lord’s Manor’s harvest.

With Niu Wu and Su Yu’s labor, the manor had opened an extra qing of land compared to last year. But greater harvest meant greater expenses, so careful accounting was still needed.

Lost in thought, Qi Bai headed north when he heard voices—low conversation, broken by sobs.

He slowed, followed the sound, and found its source at an alley corner.

A handcart had overturned by the canal, baskets of mok-hua spilling out, soaked and dripping.

Beside it crouched an old and a young beastman. The younger was drenched, likely from fishing the flowers out of the water.

“Wu wu...” The young one clutched a broken wheel, crying to the elder. “What do we do? I broke the city’s cart. Will they eat me?”

Qi Bai paused, noting their bare skin and slave brands.

Though the weather was still muggy, Hei Yao’s beastmen were long accustomed to wearing clothes—at least a thin hide vest.

But these two didn’t. At first Qi Bai thought it was because of going into the water, but paired with their brands, it was clear: they were newly arrived slaves.

No wonder they feared punishment for breaking a cart.

Qi Bai made a deliberate noise. The youth flinched, but Qi Bai said gently: “Wooden carts break easily. Don’t worry. Hei Yao isn’t a cannibal tribe—no one here will eat you.”

The youth turned. “Really? Then... will they beat us? Starve us?”

“Hu, where are you?” a voice called.

The youth shrank again.

Qi Bai recognized it—Shu Lin.

Indeed, Shu Lin appeared, surprised and glad. “Bao Bai, you’re back!” he greeted Qi Bai, then turned sternly on the two. “Why are you here, in this state?”

Hei Yao was too big—clearly they’d gotten lost.

Qi Bai said, “Their wheel broke. Find someone to repair it.”

Shu Lin inspected and sighed. “Soaked through. The mok-hua will have to be dried again.”

Qi Bai pointed to Shu Lin. “See? Your captain won’t blame you. Just be careful next time.”

He was about to leave when the old beastman suddenly spoke.

“You became high priest... and won’t acknowledge us?”

Shu Lin frowned. “What are you talking about?”

The youth stared dazedly at Qi Bai’s hair. “You... you’re Mao Bai...”

The young man before him—elegant features, tall bearing, calm mastery in every gesture. If not for the white hair, if not for the resemblance to the boy in his memories, he could never have connected this man to the solitary cub he once knew.

To call him Mao Bai... Qi Bai quickly recognized them. He remembered only the old one’s name—Bao Huo. The weeping youth left no impression.

Shu Lin said, “Mao Bai? You’ve mistaken him.”

Bao Huo fixed her gaze on Qi Bai, searching for something—but found nothing.

“If you don’t wish to recognize us, why save us?”

“The one who saved you was not me.” Qi Bai’s smile faded. “From the moment I was cast out of Feng Bao, your lives and deaths ceased to matter to me.”

Through Qi Bai’s voice spoke Mao Bai’s true heart.

Did he hate them—for mistreating, abandoning, even indirectly causing his death?

Qi Bai thought, the answer was not simple hatred.

For when he saw their tribe, nearly extinct, only thirty-odd left, what welled up from within was not satisfaction but deep disappointment.

Mao Bai did not wish them erased. He wanted someone to remember his mother-father, the only one who had shown him gentleness.

But even after discarding him, they still couldn’t survive. Perhaps that was the saddest part of Feng Bao.

Qi Bai could not wholly grasp Mao Bai’s feelings, but he respected them.

Without the matter of Yu-shenshi, Qi Bai would not have saved them, nor killed them. He would only have watched them struggle at the edge of ruin.

Bao Huo shuddered, collapsing to the ground as if her strength had left her. “You are of Feng Bao. Your city has a piece of Feng Bao in it. You can never change that...”

“Nonsense!” Shu Lin snapped, stepping forward. “Bao Bai is of Heishan, Hei Yao’s high priest. Who needs your broken Feng Bao tribe!”