Chapter 142

Bang! Bang! Bang!

The battle had raged for hours. Horns had clashed nearly a hundred times, and the snow was splattered with streaks of blood.

The two four-eared rams broke apart again, staggering back a few steps. Their throats rasped with heavy, ragged breaths.

The ram leader paced in place, loosening muscles that had been locked in stalemate too long. These pauses had happened again and again — brief snatches of rest to gather enough strength for the next charge.

But this time, the stillness shattered.

Chuan Chuan suddenly lowered his head and lunged. His horns smashed brutally into the ram leader’s forelegs. The big beast stumbled, losing balance — and in that instant, Chuan Chuan reared, hooves crashing down on its spine.

Boom!

The leader, nearly a full size larger than Chuan Chuan, was slammed to the ground. It let out a pained, broken cry, its foreleg bent at a sickening angle. The fight was over.

Shaking, Chuan Chuan forced himself upright. He staggered to the open gate of the thorn fence, every step a strain. That last attack had drained all his strength, but still he lifted his head and bellowed toward the flock behind the fence.

“Baa—! Baa—!”

The sheep shrank under his cry, unease rippling through them. Heads lowered. Eyes darted nervously at the fallen leader, who lay helpless in the snow, unable to rise.

Mouse Lin clutched Xiong Feng’s arm so hard his nails dug in. He whispered, trembling, “W-what… what does this mean?”

Qi Bai didn’t even dare blink. Every nerve was taut, ready to rush in and drag Chuan Chuan to safety.

The valley fell silent.

At last, one of the sheep in front stepped forward. Slowly, it walked to the gap in the fence. It stretched out its head toward Chuan Chuan. For a long moment, there was no reaction. Then, carefully, it licked the blood at the corner of Chuan Chuan’s mouth.

A beat later—

“Hooh!” “Hooh! Hooh!”

The orcs erupted in thunderous cheers.

Xi Zhou jumped three feet high. “Good job, Chuan Chuan!” he shouted, voice breaking with excitement. He had been the one training alongside the ram these last few days while Wolfze worked at the kiln. Seeing this victory felt like winning it himself.

The truth was undeniable: the flock had accepted Chuan Chuan.

Qi Bai sniffed hard, eyes burning. He didn’t know why he suddenly felt so close to tears.

At Chuan Chuan’s call, the flock turned and trotted back to the center of the valley.

Qi Bai rushed forward, checking him over with frantic hands. The ram was spent, but aside from exhaustion, his worst injury was a bruised face — and even that blood had been licked clean by the sheep a moment ago.

Tún Quan ran up, eyes gleaming, and pointed at the fallen leader. “Priest Yang Luo, this one won’t live. Can we eat it?”

Yang Luo glared at him. As if he’d know what to do — no tribe had ever kept wild beasts penned like this before. And he remembered Wolfze’s words from last year: if the leader was killed outright, the flock couldn’t be kept.

No one moved until Wolfze finally spoke. “Bring it back.”

Last year they had kept the leader alive to maintain order, because killing it would only see another take its place — one that might not tolerate wintering in the valley. That would’ve ruined everything.

But now things were different. Chuan Chuan was the flock’s leader. The lazy, defeated old ram had no place here.

Xi Zhou and the others roared their agreement and hauled the broken beast away.

Qi Bai turned to the watchers at the thorn pen. “Chuan Chuan just joined them. Keep him here for a few more days, until the flock settles. Then move them into the stone pen. Sorry to trouble you.”

Truthfully, he wanted to stay himself, but as a sub-beastman, his snow leopard form was too small to matter if the flock turned rowdy.

Niu Cheng only grinned. “It’s no trouble. We eat better here than anyone else in the tribe. Watching sheep all day is easy.”

Four horned beastmen had been assigned to guard the thorn pen — one of the hardest jobs, so they were given extra rations. Even the ram’s carcass would be shared; Yang Luo had promised them a whole leg. Just one leg from that beast would feed the four of them in a sitting. Tun Quan and Niu Cheng were practically glowing with joy.

Wolfze, however, wasn’t relaxed. “Chuan Chuan wasn’t raised in this flock. A challenge could come any day. You must stay sharp.”

Tun Quan straightened immediately. “We won’t slack!”

Chuan Chuan, having rested, nudged at Qi Bai’s leather bag.

Qi Bai laughed. “Sharp nose, aren’t you?” Inside was the feed Xi Zhou had passed him earlier. He laid it out, smoothing the ram’s messy fur. “If danger comes, run first, understand?”

Of course Chuan Chuan didn’t understand. To Qi Bai, he was once again that little lamb leaning on him for comfort.

Opening the pen’s gate, Qi Bai let him bound into the valley. The flock still kept their distance from orcs, huddling away from the fence whenever they approached. Whether they would fully accept human presence now depended on Chuan Chuan alone.

When Qi Bai and Wolfze returned to the tribe, the square was already bustling with meat distribution.

Prey was scarce in winter, especially after the earthquake. There were far fewer animals than the year before. Still, the hunting teams sometimes brought home game, which Yang Luo and Hou Yan stored to add into the tribe’s ten-day distributions.

Tomorrow was supposed to be the next one. But with Chuan Chuan’s victory, they decided to celebrate early.

As his keeper, Qi Bai was granted an extra cut of fresh lamb.

Even so, the meat couldn’t quiet his restless mind. He paced the house until Wolfze pulled him close, arm around his waist.

Time, Wolfze decided, to distract him in other ways.

Qi Bai flushed. “I… I don’t need that.”

Wolfze only hummed.

The rest was muffled.

By dawn, Qi Bai slipped quietly out.

At the sound of the neighbor’s door, Wolfze’s eyes snapped open on his cold kang. He had been thrown out halfway through the night and hadn’t bothered with a fire.

He rose briskly, shrugging on a fur coat, and followed.

Qi Bai heard steps behind him, turned, and made a face before bolting ahead.

Wolfze chuckled, trailing at an easy distance.

In the Black Mountain tribe, most young ones didn’t live alone until adulthood. But since last year, they had allowed any cub over fourteen to claim a house if they wished. Because of that, when the tribe built homes, they built extras. Even now, several remained empty, repurposed for other uses.

The one in the northeast corner served as a feed store for the rams. The inner room was packed with fodder, while the outer held stone troughs for soaking with crushed stinkweed.

The stone-pen flock was tended by cubs, who fed them at midday. But the thorn-pen flock was too wary, too dangerous. Only adults handled their feeding.

When Qi Bai arrived, a cart was already waiting outside, a fine white horse hitched to it. Inside, he found Tuya and She Li at work.

Tuya grinned. “You’re up early today.”

Qi Bai scratched his cheek sheepishly. “Need a hand?”

She Li pointed at the few remaining wicker baskets. “Just load these.”

Wolfze entered without a word, and the three of them lifted the baskets onto the cart.

The horse flicked its tail and pulled them slowly through the snow.

“How long will this feed last?” Qi Bai asked. He wasn’t used to calculating rations.

“Three days’ worth,” Tuya explained. “The thorn-pen flock is pickier than the stone-pen flock. We’ll haul this up to the cliffside and dry it for two days first.”

Qi Bai nodded. That was no surprise. He still remembered how hard those first rams had been to care for.

Tuya glanced at Wolfze. “Usually we’d bring five days, but Wolfze said the flock may move into the stone pen soon, so we cut it down.”

By the time they reached the thorn fence, dawn was only just breaking. A faint glow flickered in the hut halfway up the slope. The old feeding contraptions Qi Bai had built were still in place. They scattered the dried fodder into the valley and laid fresh grass out to dry.

Qi Bai lingered until the sun rose fully, watching the flock emerge from their shelters.

At the fence, he shook a handful of feed. It was for Chuan Chuan alone.

The ram bounded over, tail wagging, bright-eyed and lively. He seemed to say, Look, I’m fine here.

Qi Bai’s heart eased — until a few days later.

For Chuan Chuan no longer came alone.

This time, trailing behind him, was a smaller, graceful young ewe.