Chapter 174 – The Spring Festival and Recognition

Qi Bai and Lang Ze arrived at the curing room where Niu Xi had already brought a small team of sub-beastmen waiting for them.

Qi Bai placed down the large rattan basket filled with pig heads and trotters and said, “Sorry, but you can’t go to sleep yet. You’ve got to work with me a bit more.”

The tall, dark-skinned sub-beastman Niu Qiu quickly waved his hands and replied, “We’re happy to do food-related work!”

Niu Xi nodded, “Exactly! With the smell of meat in the air, I sleep even better.”

Even though they had milk tofu and fish every day and weren’t starving, Niu Xi still felt empty without real meat. Now that they were finally going to make a lot of meat dishes, he didn’t care how tired or sleepy he was—he was up for it.

Qi Bai smiled, “Then let’s get started.”

Lang Ze picked up a large bone knife and with a few heavy strikes, split the partially cleaned pig heads down the middle.

Others followed Qi Bai’s instructions: burning off the pig hair with torches, scraping off the charred bristles with the back of the knife, and boiling the cleaned heads and trotters in hot water from clay pots. That was the full cleaning process.

Then, Qi Bai handed out spice packets wrapped in small pieces of beast hide.

This curing room was originally used for pickling fish, so it had a full stock of seasonings.

Qi Bai filled each packet with green onions, ginger, garlic, Sichuan peppercorns, fennel seeds, dried red fruit, and a few other local herbs he didn’t know the names of—but the proportions were his usual blend.

Everyone took their packets and cleaned meat and returned home. That’s why Qi Bai had told Hu Xue earlier that they wouldn’t take too long—because preparing pig heads doesn’t actually take that much time. But the problem was, this wasn’t a job that Qi Bai and Lang Ze could do alone.

Each of the two large baskets had at least 10 pig heads and over 40 trotters. With only one clay pot in the curing room—and only one each at Qi Bai and Lang Ze’s homes—it wasn’t enough. Only by getting help from the community could they cook everything in one go.

After sending off the last villager holding a pig head, Lang Ze brought the ingredients they had kept for themselves home.

He added water to the stove, dropped in the meat and spice packet, and stoked the fire underneath.

Qi Bai covered the pot. From here, it was up to the pig heads to become delicious—the hard part was over.

It was already past 3 p.m., and in about three hours, the spring festival would begin.

Qi Bai didn’t care about the sunburn from working on the beach or the fact he’d been handling raw meat all day. He flopped onto the bed, mumbling, “Pig heads should be slow-cooked…”

Lang Ze turned to find Qi Bai already snoring mid-sentence, mouth wide open.

He leaned over the bed and gently pinched Qi Bai’s chubby cheek.

Thinner.

Lang Ze thought, his face wasn’t as round anymore.

He helped Qi Bai remove his beast-hide boots, then climbed onto the bed and gently pulled Qi Bai further in to keep him warm before lying down himself.

When the noises outside began to rise, Qi Bai was sprawled across Lang Ze, fast asleep. There was even a wet spot on Lang Ze’s beast-hide coat.

Qi Bai groggily sat up, wiped his mouth, and pretended he hadn’t drooled. He sniffed the air.

He wasn’t just hungry—the scent of pig head stew was overwhelming, seeping through the walls and even into his dreams. No wonder he was drooling; he had just been dreaming of gnawing on one of the pig heads, especially the red meat part.

That chunk of red meat was the essence of the pig’s head. His elders used to call it “red dates meat,” a treasured delicacy.

He swallowed hard. No—don’t think about it! Even in the dream, the more he ate, the hungrier he got. Now awake, his stomach was growling furiously.

He peeked outside—the sky was already darkening.

The village was bustling. He saw many people carrying firewood toward the square—likely for the bonfires they’d use to grill meat later.

He dropped the curtain. Despite all the noise, Lang Ze was still fast asleep, one big arm locked tightly around his waist.

Qi Bai loved seeing Lang Ze asleep and vulnerable beside him, but now wasn’t the time to nap.

With a mischievous grin, Qi Bai pinched Lang Ze’s nose.

That woke him up fast.

Before Lang Ze could react, Qi Bai let go and gave him a quick kiss on the lips. “Time to get up!”

When Qi Bai arrived at the square with steaming pig head meat and trotters, he realized he wasn’t the only one suffering under the delicious smell.

Niu Xi practically drooled as she asked, “Bao Bai, where should we put the cooked meat?”

Others around them turned to look, eager to hear when the food would be shared.

At any other time, the cooks might sneak a bite—after all, who would blame them for tasting the stew or nibbling on scraps?

But judging from Niu Xi and Niu Qiu’s solemn expressions, it was obvious these honest sub-beastmen hadn’t stolen even a sip of soup, let alone any meat.

Qi Bai felt a twinge of guilt—he had definitely snuck a bite. And dragged Lang Ze into it, too.

Good thing it was dark, or someone might notice the missing piece at the bottom of his basket.

He jerked his chin toward the back.

Lang Ze and Xi Zhou had just come from the classroom, each carrying a long log previously used as desks. They set them in front of the square to display the cooked meat.

Two logs were placed side by side. In between, they set large rattan trays full of pig heads. On either side, piles of pig trotters formed miniature mountains.

Qi Bai nodded in satisfaction. What kind of festival would it be without pig heads? Now this was the proper vibe.

Yang Luo arrived with five beastmen carrying goods.

Four were hauling nearly two-meter-wide stone slabs; one held two thick bamboo scrolls.

The previously chatty crowd quieted. Everyone recognized those slabs—they were the official record of labor points.

The slabs were set up around the bonfire, glowing from the flames and casting the etched names and numbers into sharp relief.

“Are those the tribe’s labor points?”

“That’s my name—Ma Ping! I recognize those characters! I have… 180!”

“180?! Isn’t 100 the requirement to join the tribe?”

“Yes, it is! Ma Ping, you can join!”

Everyone surged toward the fire, now searching for their own names. Even those who couldn’t read could still recognize the character for their beast form.

For example, Ma Ping had a simple name and had practiced tracing it in the sand every day, so he recognized it right away.

But not everyone was happy.

“Hey! Don’t just crowd around! Tun Quan, does anyone recognize these two characters? Help me find my name!”

Just like in modern times, some people love learning and others don’t. Tun Quan was the restless type who’d rather swing a hammer than sit in a classroom.

After months of classes, he only learned the symbols for the Mouse Forest clan, which he needed to read important messages left by his kind while traveling. Beyond that, he barely learned numbers—and even then, only enough to recognize them, not do any math.

He turned to grab Niu Xin beside him. “Where’s mine? Where’s mine?”

But Niu Xin hadn’t found his name yet either—and Tun Quan was already a Black Mountain member. He didn’t need points to join the tribe. Why was he even here?

Looking around for help, Tun Quan spotted the tiny leopard cub Bao Xing struggling forward, cheeks squished in the crowd.

His eyes lit up—this cub was always praised by teachers for learning quickly. Maybe he could help.

He lifted Bao Xing above his head and said, “I’ll carry you if you help me find my name, deal?”

Bao Xing sniffled, then nodded. “Okay, but turn me around first. I can only see your face right now.”

Tun Quan quickly spun him around. “Done! Go ahead!”

From the highest vantage point, Bao Xing waved cheekily to the other kids—then got to work.

He found his own name first and beamed. He had 50 points—not as much as the adults, but more than his friends, and that was enough.

Youngsters like him and Li Li, just five or six years old, didn’t have many work options. Before winter, they helped harvest grass. After winter, they fed the four-eared sheep. These weren’t daily tasks, and the tribe only awarded one point every two days.

Besides, they often used their points to trade for sweets or fruit at Yang Luo’s house, so they rarely had much saved.

Still, their calculations were more complicated than the adults’—and Yang Luo hadn’t dared fudge a single number.

Those two slabs only showed the summarized version. It had taken Yang Luo over a month to calculate the past six months of contributions from more than 300 people.

Before winter, it was easier to track. But after, the variety of work expanded—and once the children’s accounts were added, it became chaotic.

While the others made tofu and butter, Yang Luo sat by the fire calculating with stones and string. He wanted to use Qi Bai’s math methods—but hadn’t learned them yet. And he didn’t trust the cubs to help with such delicate work.

Only once he was done did he give the numbers to Qi Bai for verification. After they were finalized, Qi Bai copied the names and points onto the slabs and bamboo scrolls for public and archival use.

Tun Quan swayed Bao Xing above the crowd: “Can you or can’t you find it?”

Bao Xing pointed confidently. “Tun Quan, 215 points.”

Tun Quan squinted. “Really? You’re not lying?”

Bao Xing puffed up his cheeks, made Tun Quan put him down, and stomped on his foot before leaving. How dare he not believe me!

As it turned out, Tun Quan had picked the perfect assistant. Qi Bai had taught everyone to recognize their beast form’s symbol. But Tun Quan was the only capybara in the whole tribe—and he’d forgotten his symbol entirely. Only Bao Xing had remembered it.

While the bonfire area was bustling, Hou Yan arrived with ten horned beastmen.

Each one carried massive racks of raw ribs, almost as tall as a person.

They placed the bamboo poles across the bonfire stands. Instantly, everyone imagined the scent of roasted meat.

Of course, it wasn’t cooking yet. But everyone was starving—even the hunters hadn’t eaten like this in the wild.

Lang Ze nodded to Yang Luo, who stepped forward and raised his bear-bone staff.

He looked over the crowd with a rare, gentle smile.

“May the Beast God bless the diligent.”

He pointed at the slabs. “When you arrived in Black Mountain, we swore an oath. Only those who passed the tribe’s tests would gain the right to join.”

Eyes widened. Firelight flickered in their eyes, reflecting their burning emotions.

“Now, under the Beast God’s witness, I declare: every one of you has passed the great Black Mountain trial!”

“From this moment, you are all members of the Black Mountain Tribe. This is the glory your hands have earned. The Beast God shall bless each of you!”

“Beast God’s blessings!”

“Awooo!”

“Wooooo!”

“We’re members now!”

Cheers erupted. Qi Bai saw joyful, tearful faces.

Some embraced. Some jumped for joy. Some pounded their chests in silent pride. Some wept with smiles, thinking of lost loved ones.

Even years later, Qi Bai would remember this moment—their unity, their joy, and Lang Ze’s gentle smile beside him.

Yang Luo and Hou Yan were surrounded by the celebrating crowd, watching over their people with pride.

Six months ago, they were strangers. Now, they were each other’s family.

But this was only the beginning.

After the cheers settled, Yang Luo loudly announced:

“After the Spring Festival, we begin the planting season.”