Chapter 154

Chapter 154

After soaking comfortably in a hot bath, Qibai poured the leftover glue dregs from yesterday into a clay pot, added water, and set it back to boil.

This second batch of pigskin glue was clearly producing less than the first pot, but—well, even a mosquito is still meat. And this wasn’t just a mosquito, but the remnants of an entire pigskin.

He carried over a small stool, sat by the stove, and left the door cracked slightly open while keeping watch on the flickering firelight beneath the hearth.

It wasn’t until near midnight that faint crunching footsteps in the snow reached his ears. If Qibai hadn’t been deliberately listening, he probably wouldn’t have noticed them at all.

He lifted the hide curtain at the door and poked his head out.

The white wolf, mid-step, froze.

Graceful in form, its white horn gleamed like jade, and its snowy coat shimmered silver under the moonlight… except for all the mud spattered across it.

Sensing Qibai’s gaze, the giant wolf rubbed its flank against the snow at the doorway, as if to erase the evidence.

Qibai opened the door wider. “I saw it already. Quit rubbing around—hurry inside.”

The wolf’s massive paw halted midair. Its tail swished once, and then it padded forward a few steps, transforming into human form before stepping indoors.

The tribe’s houses had high, wide doors and roofs, designed to let most horned beastmen enter even in beast form. But Wolfze’s wolf body was simply too large—if he tried, it would’ve been like cramming into a box.

Qibai weighed down the outer hide door with stones, closed the inner wooden door, and asked, “Weren’t you out hunting today? Why are you back so late?”

Beastmen lived by a strict routine. Hunting teams usually returned before sunset. Aside from the night sentries, none were in the habit of staying up.

It was nearly dawn now—if Qibai hadn’t stayed up tending the fire, he wouldn’t have even known Wolfze had returned so late.

“Mm. We were hunting,” Wolfze said simply.

Qibai opened the panel on the roasting stove. “Did you eat yet?”

It hardly mattered what the answer was—whether he had or not, Wolfze never wasted food if it was in front of him.

Wolfze sniffed the air, catching the fragrance, and smiled. “No.”

Qibai set up a small table for him: a steaming basin of braised pork knuckle with sauerkraut, a few sweet potatoes, and a plate of pickled greens. He had left it aside just for Wolfze, sealed in the roasting stove so it was still piping hot.

A midnight meal like this—even Qibai’s stomach grumbled at the aroma.

But before sitting down, he lit two oil lamps—placing one on the table and keeping the other in hand as he inspected Wolfze’s body carefully.

Beastmen never fussed about injuries. Unless it was a broken arm or leg, most horned warriors dismissed wounds as trivial.

But Qibai hadn’t forgotten Wolfze’s chest once covered in bruises, all while he pretended it was nothing. Only by checking for himself could Qibai rest easy.

Wolfze was wearing nothing but a beast-hide skirt conjured from his own pelt, which made inspection easier. Once Qibai confirmed there were only a few scrapes, he set the lamp aside, sat down on the stool, and peeled a sweet potato for himself.

“How’d hunting leave you looking like this?” Qibai asked.

It didn’t look like battle wounds—more like a fall.

Today, the hunting party had split into two groups. Niushuo led one onto the plains, while Wolfze took another half a day’s distance to the far side of Black Mountain—the very place they had once trained and first encountered the great antlered deer.

“That area’s all woods and flatlands,” Qibai said. “By now it should be buried under snow. Where’d the mud come from?”

Wolfze, clearly famished, bit into a chunk of pork knuckle before answering: “A fissure opened in the ground. It was covered by snow. Niuxin at the front didn’t notice and fell straight in.”

Qibai startled. “Is he alright?”

Wolfze scooped up some pickles. “He’s fine. Just took some time to pull him out.”

He said it lightly, but in truth the scene had been terrifying. A few young hunters had been badly shaken—and who could blame them?

They were running over untouched snow when suddenly the comrade ahead of them simply vanished. A moment’s delay, and they would’ve all plunged in too.

The ground beside where Niuxin fell had collapsed inward, a straight drop of dozens of meters.

The walls of the fissure were sheer, knife-like, leaving no footholds at all. Snow tumbled after him, but all they saw below was black earth, stretching into what looked like bottomless dark.

Luckily, the crack wasn’t wide. Niuxin’s yak-form got wedged tight, keeping him from plummeting deeper.

But that also meant Wolfze couldn’t let him change into human form—his smaller body might have slipped further.

And hauling a full yak beast out of a fissure? That was no easy task.

The hunters had nothing but the grass ropes used for sleds—and the sleds themselves had been left far behind.

Wolfze had to send men back to fetch the ropes, tie himself in, descend into the fissure, and lash Niuxin’s body before they could drag him out.

All that back-and-forth was why they returned so late.

Qibai frowned, recalling the terrain. “That place didn’t have cracks before. Must’ve formed after the earthquake.”

“I should’ve thought of that,” he said, brows knitting with guilt. “The Chihong Mountains collapsed halfway in the quake. No way the land around the tribe stayed unchanged. If I’d reminded you earlier, you wouldn’t have faced such danger today.”

Wolfze paused mid-bite. “Not spotting danger was Niuxin’s own mistake. He lacked caution. If this taught him a lesson, then it’s a good thing.”

“Hunters will face countless dangers outside,” Wolfze said, meeting Qibai’s gaze. “You can’t think of everything. Your knowledge has already given the tribe so much. Don’t blame yourself.”

The room was dim, but Qibai could see Wolfze’s eyes clearly. His restless heart gradually steadied.

Ever since arriving here, Qibai had absorbed or recalled fragments of modern knowledge, always pushing himself to apply as much as possible.

Not sensing the last earthquake beforehand had already left him guilty. Now hearing about fissures caused by it stirred his anxiety again.

But Wolfze was right—no one can do everything. And Qibai was just an ordinary man. He really had been wound too tight.

He exhaled slowly. At least everyone had come home safe—that was what mattered.

News of Niuxin’s fall spread quickly through the tribe.

It had to, since the hunters now trained extra hard because of it.

Their usual afternoon two-hour drills were extended with two new exercises: terrain scouting and vigilance. Naturally, people asked why. Word spread from one to another, until everyone knew Niuxin’s embarrassing mishap. He spent every practice blushing furiously.

Qibai, meanwhile, spent most of his days in the forge-house.

There’s a saying: life has three great hardships—rowing boats, forging iron, and grinding tofu.

Only after trying it himself did Qibai realize how true that was. Forging iron really was exhausting.

Even with beastmen’s natural strength, swinging a heavy hammer all day left Qibai’s muscles aching, his arms numb as if they weren’t his own.

But the hardship didn’t dampen enthusiasm. On the contrary, the horned beastmen treated smithing like another form of training. If they had spare time, they ran to the forge just to hammer a few blows.

Tools were limited, though—not everyone could take a turn.

Still, progress on forging ironware was fast.

At the furnace front now stood four ironworking platforms mounted on stumps. Glowing-hot iron blocks were laid out, each hammer strike ringing sharp and clear.

The wall beside them was lined with tools: hoes, spades, axes, hammers—even a sled nearly two meters long.

Most of what Qibai led them to make was still crude. The iron tools weren’t finely edged.

Not that Qibai didn’t want to. But just like their very first iron dagger, any unquenched blade dulled quickly, even bending. Often, bone knives outperformed them—bird-bone blades especially.

And mastering quenching wasn’t something one learned overnight.

Qibai pulled a blade from the water. Seeing this, Shulin and Niuxi instinctively stepped back.

Sure enough—the next instant, the blade burst apart, shards of iron scattering around the water trough.

Shulin hurried to collect the fragments with a piece of hide. “Water is so soft, yet it can shatter iron. Amazing.”

Niuxi nodded. No matter how many times they saw it, it was always shocking.

Qibai tossed the tiny remaining lump of metal into the scrap pile. “We’ll keep testing. One day we’ll find the right timing.”

He glanced at the clear water in the trough. Blades exploding like this wasn’t a sustainable method. Next time, maybe he’d try quenching with something other than water.

Still, the farming tools he planned to make didn’t need razor-sharp edges. Even if they wore down with use, it didn’t matter. They had their own forge now—repairs were always possible.