Chapter 202

Qi Bai carried a large woven basket into the schoolhouse and lifted the lid. Inside lay a full bundle of shí liánhuā (stone lotus flowers)—petals as translucent as crystal, refracting brilliant colors in the lamplight.

“Xuě qú cǎo!” Zhi couldn’t help herself—she rushed forward, exclaiming, “You actually have xuě qú cǎo!”

Qi Bai’s heart pounded—not only from the exhaustion of running back and forth, but more so from inner anxiety.

He’d guessed they might have the herb the Jufeng tribe needed, but he had never seen it himself. All the way here, his heart had been in knots. If this turned out not to be the right herb, and yet it was already the height of summer with Hu Qiao and Tun Quan barely holding on… he dared not imagine the outcome.

Only now, with Zhi’s confirmation, did Qi Bai feel the weight lift ever so slightly. He wanted to say, “It’s a flower—why call it grass?” But he didn’t.

Had Wolf Kuang or Quan Liu not mentioned that the Jufeng tribe had gone to the snowy mountain peaks to find medicine and had rescued them by chance, Qi Bai might never have linked these translucent flowers to that winter herb.

Qi Bai took a deep breath: “Can we give them the medicine now?”

Zhi looked to Wurou; when Wurou nodded, she said, “Yes.”

The Jufeng healing method was simple. They didn’t even wash the wound of existing salves—Zhi pinched some herb powder and sprinkled it directly onto the wounds.

When Zhi retracted her hand, Quan Nan asked softly, “Is that enough?”

No more blossoms? No bandages?

Ma Mu, who had come to help, quickly grabbed Quan Nan—admittedly not knowing why she did so, just sensing that such words shouldn’t be spoken in front of the Jufeng people.

Fortunately, the Jufeng tribe didn’t take offense. Wurou thought for a moment, then handed his staff to Zhi.

Wurou moved beside Tun Quan and Hu Qiao, raised his hand slowly, and began turning in circles.

All the Jufeng tribespeople bowed their heads and clasped their hands together. At that moment, everyone believed these two would recover—because they were being blessed by the shaman.

Qi Bai quietly moved to Wolfze’s side. Wolfze’s gaze stayed fixed on Wurou, but when Qi Bai approached, Wolfze grasped his hand tightly.

Wolfze’s heavy eyelashes drifted downward, shadowing his sorrow-laden eyes. Qi Bai’s heart ached for him.

When they first arrived at Heishan, Wolfze’s aloofness kept most tribesmen away—except Hu Qiao. Hu Qiao and Xizhou were the first to step onto the stone altar, eager to learn hunting skills from Wolfze. To Qi Bai, Hu Qiao was Wolfze’s first friend in Heishan beyond himself. And Tun Quan, Ma Ling, Wolfji—they’d trained and hunted with him; they were brothers bound by trust.

Wolfze’s detachment was armor; beneath it, he was a youth barely two years into adulthood—vulnerable, sometimes needing support.

Feeling Qi Bai’s gaze, Wolfze quietly lowered his head. Qi Bai’s gentle smile met his eyes.

Qi Bai’s smile was not hollow. The fact that the Jufeng shaman was performing a healing ritual confirmed two things: they had no better medical method, and they truly believed in their herb powder.

Qi Bai wasn’t easily convinced by shamanism. He’d studied under Yangluo for half a year, learning how to fake rituals—but had never gained any spiritual power. Still, regardless of how the healing worked, the herb issue was solved—and with that, everything else would become easier. Aside from the stone lotus herb, the rest of the recipe ingredients weren’t difficult to procure.

Yangluo watched Wurou’s ritual intently. He longed to learn—shamanic techniques from other tribes were seldom witnessed, and for the Jufeng to heal such grievous wounds, Yangluo hoped to learn something.

When Wurou finally stopped, Yangluo took a few steps forward, smiling warmly:

“It’s late—please stay in Heishan. We’ll provide whatever tools or herbs you need.”

Yangluo laid it all bare—Heishan and the stone forest weren’t close. He basically said, “Just stay here and make the medicine; we need it ourselves.”

Wurou glanced at Yangluo. He didn’t need Heishan for other ingredients—it would be foolish to reveal the Jufeng medicinal formula. But the offer to stay in Heishan was tempting.

Not just to Wurou—every Jufeng tribesman had been slightly overwhelmed by this alien place. Heishan’s walls, houses, streets—all of it seemed dreamlike to them. If not for Wolfze’s cooling aura—like frost on the skin—they might still be lingering, memorizing every detail.

Wurou nodded and croakily said, “Thank you, Priest Yangluo, for your hospitality.”

Qi Bai, who had been watching Yangluo and Wurou closely, dashed out.

Bao Xing was quietly waiting on a stone outside the school, hoping for any news. At this point, they’d already entered night, and the Jufeng had worked most of the day with no proper food. They hadn’t complained—but Heishan had to make sure to serve them properly.

Seeing Qi Bai, Bao Xing hopped off the stone.

“Brother Qi Bai!”

Qi Bai ruffled his head. “Go to the main kitchen and tell Sister Huxue to bring the prepared food here.”

From the moment Wolfji and company returned until now, night had fallen. The Jufeng had worked tirelessly and still hadn’t eaten. Heishan had to be thoughtful.

Bao Xing nodded and ran off.

Before the Jufeng arrived, Qi Bai had already spoken to Zhu Zhu to prepare lodging. Whether the Jufeng shaman stayed or not, they had to have a room ready.

They’d thought it over—they realized only the cubs’ dwelling could house these large visitors, because the only two ten-meter fire beds were there.

When Qi Bai and Diao Lan entered the cub house, Zhu Zhu had already finished preparations.

Small fur bedding was neatly rolled at the edge of the beds. The cubs had little backpacks with their belongings—they didn’t want to lose anything precious.

The cubs stared at Qi Bai—some calm, some confused, and a few eager to help.

Indeed, a few new cubs from the cattle and horse tribes had just moved in, mostly from tents into brick rooms—this was a novel experience for many.

Qi Bai waved. “Go now. The cave beds might not be enough—you may need to share two or three to each. No fighting, understand?”

“Yes!” they chorused, then ran off with enthusiasm, their small packs and bedding in their arms.

They’d be staying in the original cub cave plus another one previously used for the wolf clan—both with double bunks and a stone table in the middle; more than enough room.

Zhu Zhu carried bedding for the little cubs to the doorway, then asked, “Will they really be okay?”

Now that even the Jufeng were in the village, those three horned beastmen returning must be severely wounded.

The last time the Jufeng had saved them, it was Tun Liu (who’d lost an arm) and Ma Chong—seriously injured—and yet alive. It was still surprising sometimes to see them energetic in the tribe.

Since then, Zhu Zhu couldn’t rest; she couldn’t focus on work.

Qi Bai answered solemnly, “They’ll be okay.”

Zhu Zhu nodded and left with the cubs.

In the past, she wouldn’t have asked—tribal bonds were freezing then—but something changed, and she now well understood caring for others.

After everyone left, Qi Bai and Diao Lan cleaned the room. There was little to clean—only bamboo mats remained on the two fire beds. A quick sweep from beds to floor made the room tidy.

Between the two fire-bed rooms sat the main hall, used in winter for grinding sweet potato flour—the millstones were gone now, moved near the kitchen and tofu room. What remained were a few sturdy wooden tables and benches—now the cubs’ dining area.

Qi Bai and Diao Lan pushed the tables together into a large surface. Just after placing an oil lamp at the center, Huxue entered with food.

One bamboo basket after another, she placed steaming hot dishes, asking, “Qi Bai, how’s this?”

Besides the stewed meat, veggie dumplings, and radish soup already familiar to the Jufeng, she also brought several large cakes—made from the tribe’s flour with meat filling.

Grain-based foods were rare in Heishan; even tribespeople seldom had it, so preparing real food was no joke.

“All looks good,” Qi Bai nodded. “Stay here and keep watch. If they finish, bring more—they need to eat well.”

Besides Wurou and Zhi, eight other Jufeng had come. Qi Bai didn’t know their appetite, but likely as hearty as any beastfolk. Since they were hosting them, they couldn’t be stingy—if they were hungry, they’d have to hunt, and that wasn’t a proper way to welcome guests.

When the Jufeng arrived and saw the spread, their joy showed in ways words couldn’t capture.

Wei held the soup like water and gulped it down. He had led Wolfze here earlier. He hadn’t had a drop all afternoon, so he was desperately parched.

Almost before he’d set the bowl down, Huxue refilled it.

Everyone realized—Wei’s large bamboo drinking vessel was filled with soup. Qi Bai wondered if that was too much; worried he might appear gluttonous.

Meanwhile, A

i

chomped into a meat pie, calling out, “Wurou shaman, try this—this is new!”

Huxue had already shared the ingredients and recipes—like the stewed meat—they had been cooking specifically because the Jufeng were coming, to make it soft and flavorful, with special spices unique to Heishan.

Heishan’s stewed meat was a hit even with Wurou, who rarely ate much. Normally he found tough roasted meat difficult, but this melted in his mouth—and he ate more than usual.

And learning that the cakes were made from a northern-unknown plant that Heishan had painstakingly grown warmed his heart.

After dinner, the Jufeng were full to bursting. It was late; they were led into prepared rooms—two large chambers, one for the giant-beastfolk, one for sub-beasts.

Wurou and Zhi sat on cool bamboo mats, studying the neat rooms and smooth fur blankets.

The blankets were folded carefully, each different—gathered from many households. Wurou had been right—once the cubs left, the room was empty; though blankets weren’t needed in summer, Heishan’s tribespeople still brought them—they were cleaner than before. Even unused blankets were clean—practical for the Jufeng to use as pillows or bedding, and very convenient.

Jufeng weren’t skilled in tanning—they had never seen such beautifully crafted fur.

If Wurou’s heart was cautious at first, by now it was moved. After the hearty meal and seeing these fine rooms and fur bedding, his resistance faded. He realized Heishan truly wanted them to be comfortable and was caring deeply—valuing the life of two former slaves.

In that regard, Heishan’s values echoed his own people’s lost traditions.

“Go get the xuě qú cǎo,” Wurou said gently. “Also—those lamps that light rooms—oil lamps, yes? Bring two of those too. Tell them we’ll prepare the medicine now—they’ll give them.”

Zhi hesitated. “Shaman, it’s late already. You can rest now; we can do it tomorrow.”

But Wurou shook his head. “Go now.”

At that moment, Wurou finally let go of his lingering wariness toward Heishan.