Chapter 186

That Zhi would propose trade with the Heishan Tribe—everyone had long expected it.

The Jufeng Tribe lived in isolation with no neighbors to interact with. Now that they’d encountered the Heishan Tribe—with its salt supplies—it was natural they’d want an exchange.

Heishan didn’t hesitate in agreeing to trade, for one crucial reason: the salt placed outside the Stone Forest by the hunting team.

That salt was intentionally left by Heishan. The Jufeng could’ve simply taken it, but instead they left meat as an offering. That showed they weren’t looking to take advantage—Heishan could trust them.

The trade terms were set quickly: Heishan would provide ten large baskets of salt—each basket containing ten times as much as the small baskets Jufeng had initially received.

But this wasn’t the usual barter. Instead, the tribes initiated a first-of-its-kind retail-style exchange on the Beastman Continent.

This format was chosen for the convenience of the Jufeng Tribe.

Normally, a trade of that scale would involve Jufeng offering materials—like beast hides or bones—in exchange. But that presented a problem.

The physically immense Jufeng people, as Diao Lan mentioned, were not craftsmen. Their towering “beast forms,” with hide thick enough to resist even a bull’s horn, made them formidable hunters—but tools and manufacturing? Not their strong suit.

Even basic tanned hides, familiar to most beastmen, they didn’t master easily.

This surprised Qi Bai. The earthen-yellow hide skirts they wore appeared soft, well-made, and consistent—impeccable quality.

But when Qi Bai tried to trade for those skirts, he realized they weren’t crafted hides at all. The Jufeng’s hide skirts were innate—part of their form—expanding naturally into massive coverings when they shifted into beast form.

Qi Bai glanced skyward—no beast god overhead delivered starter gear, including to giants! The tribe didn’t even have many hides, never mind other goods.

Then Qi Bai thought of another item: Jufeng’s healing medicine.

Examining Quan Liu’s and Ma Chong’s injuries, Qi Bai recognized, from his modern knowledge, that their devastating arm wounds were likely caused by frostbite. Without amputation, the damage would have become infected and spread.

But the Jufeng healer not only amputated cleanly—they applied healing powder that staunched blood loss and encouraged tissue regeneration.

Without that medicine, in a world without antiseptics, those injuries might have been fatal—even in Heishan.

So Qi Bai offered medicine in exchange for salt, even if in smaller quantities.

But Zhi shook his head. “One of the herbs is scarce—we haven’t found much in recent years. The remaining powder has been used to treat our wounded, so there’s little left. We cannot trade medicine for salt.”

Qi Bai negotiated a compromise: “Then trade in batches. You bring prey—meat—and trade it for salt. For as much as you bring, we’ll give the corresponding amount of salt, until the deal is done.”

Unlike with the distant Xi Shui Tribe—where travel took weeks—Jufeng were nearby. If they were willing, they could come trade anytime.

Zhi’s eyes lit up. “Agreed.”

“But,” Zhi looked to Lang Ze, “these locations,”—she mentioned a few—“are our hunting grounds.”

Her tone betrayed a hint of resentment—“So don’t encroach on our territory.”

Lang Ze agreed readily: “We won’t hunt there anymore.”

Those areas weren’t ideal for Heishan—the prey was sparse and the distance long. Lang Ze had only sent hunting teams there to ring-fence the Jufeng in case they fled.

Both tribes were satisfied with the outcome.

For the first time, Zhi allowed himself to take in his surroundings.

In just over ten days, land once blackened by fire had turned into verdant fields—greener even than the surrounding forest.

Seeing Zhi’s interest, Qi Bai stood and offered, “These are our crops. Feel free to walk the fields.”

He wasn’t afraid Jufeng would learn farming—there was plenty of unclaimed land. Since the tribes were so close, Heishan’s efforts were visible anyway. It was better to show openly than hide.

Jufeng had long wondered at Heishan’s tilled fields. So when invited, Zhi couldn’t refuse.

He rose and called to his companions, encouraging them to join him.

Though Jufeng had lived in isolation, many of the young ones were curious about the outside world.

Wei and Peng, the bravest, had slipped over from the forests near the Piranha River multiple times at night just to observe Heishan.

Zhi believed they’d want to come too. Yet when Zhi stood, he realized why Ai had been staring—turned toward the bamboo table, leaning toward the food.

The little beastman girl, Dai, was arranging delicate snacks in a row and explaining them; then breaking off a piece to offer each of the giants.

Wei and Peng held what looked like flower cakes—crumbly when bitten.

One hand held the cake, the other scooped up crumbs falling to the floor—nothing went to waste.

Dai then picked up a green, soft dumpling and lightly pulled it—yes, it was stuffed.

These delicacies hadn’t been in Heishan’s menu more than a few days. The Jufeng, used to roasted meat only, were awestruck.

Zhi’s eyes widened. “What are these foods?”

Qi Bai smiled and said, “They’re flower biscuits and herb dumplings—special to Heishan. Take some home. Consider it a gift for your elders.”

With that, he nodded to Diao Lan, who stood and headed off toward the tribe.

By the gate, Hou Yan and Yang Luo were scraping hides with bone knives.

While the Jufeng were guests, Lang Ze and Diao Lan had stepped away. Yang Luo could do nothing but fume from inside.

Hou Yan had climbed up the watchtower with use—only to see the pavilion roof and someone’s thigh. So he invited Yang Luo to the wall’s shelter to get busy—keeping busy helped the mind stay calm.

Diao Lan returned, and Yang Luo jabbed his knife into a wild boar to hang it, then rushed over, coughing as he ran. “How did it go? What happened?”

After learning that Diao Lan was older than him, Yang Luo had been awkward—but Diao Lan showed no sign.

“All done,” she said. “Qi Bai said to give you this—your first gift.”

Regardless, the Jufeng had rescued eight horned beastfolk from Heishan, fed them well, and returned them safely. Even with minor worries in between, that owe would not be forgotten.

So Qi Bai and Yang Luo had prepared a gift early. Unsure of Jufeng’s response, they made several options beforehand.

“Yes, right away,” Yang Luo nodded earnestly.

The first gift was the best: two glazed ceramic jars, a karo ape fang, and two high-quality hides traded from the War Bear Tribe.

Heishan had many treasures—but iron tools or bird bone trinkets were too precious for gifts. Ceramics were rare, too, especially the jars Qi Bai selected.

Since he’d improved the pottery wheel, Qi Bai had crafted these jars with a throw—true masterpieces for the Beastman Continent.

Yang Luo valued them like gold. He stored them in the warehouse wrapped in hide, worried about future earthquakes. Offering them now to Jufeng was both painful and prideful.

“See? We have these beautiful ceramics. You won’t find them elsewhere. Join us—like the Ox Tribe or the Horse Tribe—and work for our tribe,” he teased inwardly.

Qi Bai, if he knew Yang Luo’s big ambition, would’ve warned him: “High priest, please don’t get ahead of yourself. These folks have lived north for nearly fifty years—they didn’t arrive yesterday. Better not tell them we want them to join, or they might think we’re plotting to conquer them!”

Still, Yang Luo’s generosity paid off. These gifts from Heishan were well prepared.

But the tribe didn’t stop there. Soon after hearing about the reward, the eight rescued horned beastfolk brought their own gifts.

Beastfolk valued fairness—no favor went unthanked.

There may not have been fine ceramics, but one sent a chunk of cured meat, another a hide, and some even sent small salt baskets. No one pretended they didn’t know—they offered what they had.

Diao Lan then went to the main kitchen and asked Hu Xue and She Li for a small bamboo basket of snacks.

Qi Bai had taught the sub-beastfolk cooks how to make the new treats. With four large ovens, the kitchen could bake several batches daily.

Now, Hu Xue no longer had to deliver extras by hand. After morning classes, anyone heading out for work could grab a snack on the way.

So the gifts were grouped: one basket of gifts from the tribe, one from the rescued individuals, and a small basket of snacks. Diao Lan couldn’t carry it all herself, so she recruited Hou Meng and Niu Yong—two sixteen or seventeen-year-old horned beastfolk—to help.

Meanwhile, Qi Bai and Lang Ze led Zhi into the center of the fields. Qi Bai did most of the explaining; Lang Ze simply followed to ensure his safety.

Walking through the neat ridges, they passed by tribe members carrying buckets of water—busy with their daily work.

Finally, Zhi realized he hadn’t imagined it.

In just over twenty days, the crop seedlings had grown up to his calves. The melon vines were climbing the trellises.

Zhi crouched and turned his head, puzzling. “The plants on Heishan land grow faster than other plants?”

The workers nearby perked up, proud. They fertilized and watered carefully; even spacing between plants was precise. In the tribe’s view, crops needed to grow well, or their effort would go in vain.

That was Qi Bai’s philosophy too.

One small detail: though winter’s thick snow should have sustained soil moisture, not a drop of rain had fallen since spring. The ground was already dry.

In open fields, the sun had evaporated most water. But in Heishan’s fields, consistent, measured watering kept the crops vibrant.

Another key point: these plants, adapted to fighting for nutrients in the wild, were now getting good conditions—and they were growing with all their might.

The most obvious example: Qi Bai’s barter-acquired wild rice (xiang ge) seeds were growing faster than anything else—likely because they came from soil poorer than Heishan’s black earth.

Suddenly—“A rat!”

“Field mouse trying to eat the plants!”

“Howl howl!”

Voices of children rang out from the field’s edge. Zhi jumped up to look.

Jufeng kids were much larger; Zhi worried the young Heishan fluffs might be snatched by a rat.

But the children weren’t afraid. They raised their little bamboo bows and nocked arrows with practiced ease.

“Shoot it!”

“Shoot it!”

Whizz—dozens of arrows flew like shooting stars down the path toward the forest.

The kids then dashed to fetch their arrows—hitting the rat didn’t matter; they wanted to retrieve their weapons fast.

First to arrive at the thicket was Sun Qing. He pulled out a large wild rat about arm-length in size.

“Sun Qing Brother hit it!”

“Sun Qing Brother shot the rat!”

The children erupted in jubilation: They’d hit prey! They could hunt now!

The sub-beastfolk working in the field straightened at the celebration—smiling at the kids. Could they not be excited? After days of bow practice, finally even a “lucky shot”? And with several kids shooting! That single rat fueled their pride.

The adults chuckled. They’d better hurry up and practice more. Falling behind the kids in shooting? That would be embarrassing.

Zhi, just arrived in Heishan, had no idea of all this. He stared dumbfounded as the kids ran back, rat in hand, wooden arrows wobbling off the rat’s side.

Finally he understood: those weren’t toys—they were weapons.

For such young children to hit prey from that distance—Heishan’s craftsmanship truly was something special.