Chapter 151

Chapter 151

Qibai carefully stepped around the tools scattered on the floor and examined the ballista sitting in the center of the room.

Calling it a ballista was probably a little premature. After all, what Monkey Su and Ciyi had made so far was only the frame and bow—something that looked decent, but in truth couldn’t fire at all.

Monkey Su shoved a long piece of wood into Qibai’s hands, pointed at one side of the frame, quickly explained a few mechanisms on the chassis, and then shamelessly said:

“Figure out a way to stick this piece of wood on there for me.”

The ballista’s structure looked simple, but actually making it functional and properly tuned was extremely complex.

Monkey Su rattled on endlessly at Qibai, even inventing a bunch of terms of his own. By the time he was done, Qibai was completely lost in a fog, hardly understanding a thing.

Still, he grasped Monkey Su’s main request: in one particular spot where the wood was too thin to use a mortise-and-tenon joint, two pieces of wood had to be joined together.

That was less of a ballista-design issue and more of a carpentry challenge.

“You don’t know how to fix it?” Qibai blinked in surprise and asked. “Then how did you normally attach parts together before?”

Monkey Su’s gaze flickered evasively. “My old crossbows weren’t this big. I’d just find a big chunk of wood and carve it out with a bone knife. Not nearly as troublesome as you’re making it.”

This new, large ballista frame he had built only thanks to learning mortise-and-tenon joinery from Foxfire after coming to the Black Mountain Tribe. Without that, he’d have wasted ages just finding the right-sized tree trunk.

Qibai picked up a small crossbow and studied it carefully. Just like Monkey Su had said, the grooves on the body were plentiful, but aside from the bowstring and limbs, the crossbow’s body was indeed carved from a single block of wood.

Many people believed that skilled carpenters could create intricate tools using just mortise-and-tenon joints. But in truth, if you wanted durability—making sure joints wouldn’t crack or if you needed to thicken boards by layering them—you needed glue at the connections.

Especially in tricky spots like the one Monkey Su had pointed out, glue would make the job easy.

Qibai explained, “It’s really hard to make a mortise joint here. But if you just have glue, you can stick them together directly.”

Monkey Su’s grin widened. “You’ve got snake-spittle glue?”

Qibai narrowed his eyes. “What’s snake-spittle glue?”

Monkey Su cleared his throat, stood a little straighter, and said, “Didn’t you just say it? That… glue water or whatever.”

Qibai gave him a half-smile and just stared until Monkey Su squirmed. Finally, Qibai said, “Not snake-spittle. Just glue.”

He wasn’t interested in Monkey Su’s little secrets. After a moment of thought, he said, “I get what you mean. I’ll try to figure something out for you.”

Only after Qibai left did Monkey Su’s nervous face break into a smile. He rubbed his hands excitedly and muttered, “If he really can give us snake-spittle glue, we could make the ballista even bigger.”

Ciyi already knew about it. Not because Monkey Su was generous, but because Monkey Su couldn’t keep secrets. With such a treasure in his possession, he often snuck looks at the little leather pouch that held it.

Sharing a room, how could Ciyi not notice?

Monkey Su had reluctantly shown him once, only because Ciyi had been obedient enough.

The so-called snake-spittle wasn’t actually spit. It was the venom sac of a massive serpent called the hui mang. After the snake died, the sac hardened into an amber-like lump over several years. Burn it with fire, rub it on objects, and it would stick them together.

But hui mang snakes were rare and lived deep in poisonous swamps. Only a few beastmen tribes resistant to toxins could even get close. That made the substance extremely precious anywhere.

Of course, Monkey Su would never waste such a treasure gluing wood. He wouldn’t even use it to glue the rarest bird bones.

With a scowl, he warned Ciyi, “If you dare tell anyone I’ve got snake-spittle, then—I’ll stop being your teacher. Got it?!”

Ciyi nearly said what he was thinking: Teacher, your acting was awful. Qibai’s so sharp, he definitely noticed you were hiding something. He just chose not to expose you.

—

Meanwhile, Qibai had just stepped out of Monkey Su’s house when he bumped into the returning hunting party.

His eyes lit up when he saw the wild boar they were dragging back.

Speak of the devil.

Before chemical glues ever existed, Chinese ancestors had already perfected woodworking for thousands of years, and their most famous adhesives were made from fish bladders and pigskin.

Qibai had just been thinking of asking the hunters to keep an eye out for boars—and now they’d brought one back.

He skipped happily toward the butchering area. Wolfze moved to intercept, but Qibai breezed right past him without a glance and ran up to Monkey Yan instead.

“Chief Grandpa, when are we slaughtering this pig? Can I have its hide?”

Wolfze touched his nose and followed silently. He didn’t feel wronged. After all, last night he had “pressured” Qibai into talking a lot, almost making him cry. If Qibai was sulking now, it was deserved.

Monkey Yan chuckled. “Alright. I’ll do the skinning myself today—guarantee you a fine hide.”

Qibai thanked him, about to explain he didn’t need a perfect pelt, when Wolfze pulled out his bone knife.

“I’ll do it.”

Qibai swallowed his words and just said, “I don’t want the fat, only the skin.”

Wolfze froze, then nodded quickly. “Okay.”

At least Qibai was speaking to him again.

Qibai tilted his head. If his throat and eyes weren’t still sore, he might’ve been fooled by this obedient big dog.

With Qibai watching, Wolfze’s bone knife seemed sharper than ever, and he swiftly peeled off a complete pigskin.

As agreed with Monkey Yan, the hide went straight to Qibai—he only needed to register it with Yangluo later. The pork itself was carried into the storage house, where a snow-packed corner served as a natural freezer.

Qibai held out his hand for the skin. Wolfze bundled it up. “It’s bloody. I’ll carry it. Don’t dirty your hands.”

And just like that, he followed Qibai back into his house.

Qibai had to suppress a laugh, though he kept a straight face. “Boil some hot water first.”

He wasn’t about to waste free labor.

Wolfze looked pleased just to be ordered around. So long as he wasn’t told to leave, he was content.

The boar hide was filthy—no way it could go straight into the pot. Once Wolfze boiled water, Qibai dragged out a big wooden basin.

He poured the hot water in, dumped the hide inside, and poked it with a stick until the skin stiffened and the hair loosened. Then he pulled it out again.

On the floor he laid a straw mat, spread the hide on it, found a not-too-sharp stone knife, and sat on a small stool to scrape off the hair and fat.

When Wolfze came over, Qibai shifted aside to share the stool.

Wolfze plopped down, rested his chin on Qibai’s shoulder, and rubbed his cheek against Qibai’s ear.

“Quit fooling around. Work.”

Wolfze grabbed another stone knife, tugged a corner of the hide toward himself, and scraped while asking, “So, what’re you making with this pigskin? Food?”

Qibai shook his head and told him what had happened earlier with Monkey Su.

Wolfze frowned. “Snake-spittle is precious. I wonder how he got it.”

Qibai shrugged. “Who cares? Let’s just pretend we don’t know—saves us from his scheming.”

Wolfze tugged at the hide. “You can make snake-spittle from pigskin?”

“How could that be?” Qibai rinsed the basin, added a bit of ash, and dropped the scraped hide back in. “The glue from this will only work for sticking wood. And I’m not even sure I’ll succeed.”

He’d never made pigskin glue before, but he had read about boiling donkey-hide gelatin. He figured he’d try the same method—better than nothing.

“If this doesn’t work, we’ll try fish.”

Fish bladder glue was the strongest, but since the piranhas hadn’t yet returned to the river, getting enough fish bladders would be tricky. Still, tricky didn’t mean impossible.

The next morning, Qibai went to the furnace house first to check on Niu Xi and the others, making sure the fire was going strong. Then he hurried back to keep experimenting with his glue.

The pigskin had soaked overnight in the ash water, leaving a greasy film on top.

Qibai boiled more water, grabbed a brush, and scrubbed the hide thoroughly. Without Wolfze’s help today, it took him more than two hours.

And that wasn’t the end—he then put the cleaned hide into a clay pot, added water, and began simmering it down.

Clay pots didn’t last like iron ones, and the open flames beneath them weren’t stable. Whenever he lit a fire at home, Qibai never dared to leave, afraid the pot would burst and burn his house down.

Snow outside meant he didn’t have to worry about neighbors, but still—this little house was all he owned on the Beastman Continent. He couldn’t afford to lose it.

He stirred constantly with a small spatula, watching as the clear water turned into a thick broth.

Honestly, he regretted soaking all the hide in ash water. He should’ve saved some to make pigskin jelly.