Chapter 204

Qi Bai and Zhi changed the dressings for Tun Quan and Hu Qiao in the schoolhouse, and soon Shali arrived.

Quan Nan waved at her and said, “It’s not your shift yet—why are you here so early?”

To ensure someone was on duty in the infirmary around the clock, Qi Bai had arranged three shifts: he and Wolf Ze took the night watch, Quan Nan and Ma Mu the early shift, and Shali with Diao Lan the evening shift.

It was still early in the day—Quan Nan had only just taken over—so Shali’s early arrival naturally raised eyebrows.

Shali fetched a bowl of meat soup from a wooden tub and sat beside Ma Ling. She carefully spooned it toward his lips.

“I asked Priest Yangluo for a break,” she said quietly. “I don’t have kitchen duties these days. I’m idle anyway—might as well help where I can.”

Her words weren’t empty; her companion Ma Ling lay unconscious in the schoolhouse. Clearly, Shali hadn’t slept much all night—she hurried here at dawn.

Zhi fastened the pouch of medicinal powder around her waist, then looked at Qi Bai thoughtfully. “To make the powder, we need dried leaves. We’ve used up our stock. Could you help dry some faster?”

“Certainly,” Qi Bai replied without hesitation. “You can use the cooking furnace—just use low heat and it won’t burn.”

Zhi was surprised at his confidence, though she hesitated—wouldn’t the leaves burn?

Qi Bai offered reassurance: “As long as the flame is mild, it’ll be fine; I’ve used it before to dry petals and fruits. How many leaves do you need dried?”

Zhi gestured toward the basket holding snow lotus herbs and said, “About that much.”

“Oh—that one furnace should suffice. Let me see if I can free up a spare room for you.”

He thought it best: better to isolate the drying operation in a separate room rather than have tribe members nearby accidentally discovering the secret formula.

Just as Qi Bai finished speaking, Wolf Ji raised his head. “Use my house.”

When Qi Bai didn’t reply immediately, Wolf Ji sat up and added, “I also dry fruit—I’ll help you.”

Qi Bai cleared his throat. Wolf Ze stepped forward and gently pushed Wolf Ji back down.

Grinning, Qi Bai said to Zhi, “Every household in the tribe has a furnace. If you don’t mind, you can use Wolf Ji’s. He’s currently unoccupied—he has no mate.”

At the mention that Wolf Ji had no partner, Wolf Ji nodded emphatically.

Wolf Ze cast him a sideways glance—such a fool when it came to the person he liked. Just moments ago Wolf Ji had claimed he couldn’t move, and now he was pushing himself up in excitement—utterly unsteady.

Good thing Wolf Ji had no idea what Wolf Ze was thinking—or Wolf Ze would have retorted in embarrassment.

—You who snuck like a mole to dig out cave for Qi Bai, hunted prey for him but forgot to deliver, even went far and beyond to pick flowers for him… For someone you like, all things are permissible—don’t let anyone laugh at you.

Qi Bai ignored their inner bickering. When Zhi agreed, he prepared to escort her to Wolf Ji’s house.

Zhi had no objections—after all, in his view, any tribehouse was the same; and Wolf Ji had once saved him, so lending his home for drying was natural.

Wolf Ji’s house wasn’t far. A quick walk along the main path reached the outermost house—Wolf Ji’s.

The door opened onto a room that hadn’t been lived in for over a month. A light layer of dust was visible, but the furniture was intact and well arranged. The kitchen included cabinets and a dining set—clearly a tidy, presentable home.

Qi Bai smirked—no wonder Wolf Ji wanted Zhi to see his place. He clearly took pride in his house, perhaps anxious for his beloved to know.

Qi Bai opened a cabinet against the wall. “Wolf Ji mentioned these are his own stock. If you get hungry using the furnace, help yourself.”

Inside were preserved meats, assorted plants, and a jar of salt.

Zhi simply glanced and didn’t seem very interested.

Qi Bai quietly closed the cabinet—he’d done his part.

With the Jufeng medicine plus Heishan’s pain-relieving herbal aids such as Wu grass and wooden flowers, Tun Quan and Ma Ling recovered quickly, visibly improving.

Eight Days Later

On the open plains, a massive caravan of over fifty wagons appeared.

Tribespeople working in the threshing ground heard the rumble and dropped their tools, sprinting toward the approaching caravan.

Finally, the trading team returned!

Shu Lin took off at lightning speed—rare to see him run so fast—and found his partner quickly.

Xiong Feng pulled a wagon laden with pelts. Seeing Shu Lin, the brown bear rushed forward and lifted him onto his back.

Shu Lin climbed onto the furry back and studied carefully—the bear was safely back home.

Not just he—others who had only heard that Hu Qiao and Tun Quan were gravely wounded felt the same relief. Even though Ma Ling said others were wounded less severely, seeing everyone return intact was a huge comfort.

The Heishan tribespeople shared a common sentiment: those Sanghuo people were utterly despicable. If not for their interference, the traders would’ve returned long ago without all this trouble.

Yang Luo, sitting under the shade, rose and gazed toward the caravan’s advance. When he saw Houyan leading at the front, he put his teacup down.

No need to rush—after all, the caravan was returning. They just needed to wait calmly.

But prior to today, Yang Luo had spent many half-days waiting for them here—these worries weren’t something to burden Houyan with.

Tribespeople lined both sides of the road, joyfully escorting the caravan into the village.

Several cubs hopped onto the wagons and waved excitedly from atop cargo of pelts and goods.

The mounted guards on the wall saw the caravan and sounded the horns.

The sound startled Wurou and Zhi in WolfJi’s house. Nervously, they ran outside—just in time to see dozens of wagons roll into the main road.

Speechless with shock.

But the tribespeople were too busy.

“No one got hurt—good. What did you bring back?”

“Fox Qi, the pelt we asked about—did you get it?”

They climbed onto wagons to peer at goods underneath pelts.

“Niu Xi, look—here’s some ointment from the Qiong tribe. Several colors you can paint on skin—do you like it?”

“I traded a glowing stone—someone said it came from a wanderer from a far-off city.”

They proudly displayed trades to their companions.

By the gate, Bao Yue directed traffic: “Move forward—can’t block the gate.”

Hu Meng perched on a tree branch at the front: “Come in more, our storages are open—don’t crowd! The priest said to stop at the square so everyone can see!”

That tells you how lively the tribe was now.

Wurou and Zhi stood gaping—trading day was supposed to be mutual exchange, but did the tribe empty everything?

But seeing over twenty wagons pass by, Zhi frowned. Half of them looked like fillers—while the front held pelts and meat, the rear wagons carried dried plants—yellowed and barely edible.

Firewood? Mountains have wood everywhere. Why trade for it?

Others wondered too.

Huan Ping scratched his head. “These are sugarcanes we gathered from last year. Don’t know why they look like this.”

Indeed, the sugarcane load was gathered on the return. Since not all wagons were needed for trading, they collected cane from the nearby fields. But unlike last year’s plump purple stalks, these were thin, dry, half wilted—hardly promising.

Qi Bai cut and chewed a piece. It was dry and less sweet.

He spit it out. “Still usable—the sugar yield will be less.”

Huan Ping chuckled: “That’s fine. We harvested plenty—22 wagons full.”

Qi Bai crushed a dried leaf between his fingers—cane needs moisture. With no rain all summer, poor growth is expected. But even a cane field by the Xi river is this bad—how much worse inland?

Ma Song chimed in, “You know how sparse plants are in the North Wasteland?”

Qi Bai nodded.

“Not many—now I understand why it’s called the North Wasteland. It’s so barren, tribes still fight over it.”

Ma Song shook his head, clearly thinking of the chaos.

Qi Bai frowned at Wolf Ze. Last year, the vegetation there was lush.

Niu Shuo explained: “This year’s different. On the road north of our path, vegetation thins quickly. West of North Wasteland is worse—some tribes say land is cracked everywhere.”

Qi Bai sighed. Though their village has drought, its proximity to coast and wide river made it manageable. But deep inland, flood then drought across years damaged vegetation and reduced game. Some small tribes may face extinction—plus Sanghuo’s pillaging, things look grim.

Just then, Hu Qiao, supported by Quan Nan, arrived at a wagon. He turned and asked, “After we left, did you get anything good from those Sanghuo people?”

Xizhou sneered: “They were so poor—only pelt ghosts.”

Hu Qiao glared. Last time fighting Amuo, they gained many spoils—but now, wounded and empty-handed—it felt wasted.

Xizhou agreed, furious: “Yes, and many arrows broke too.”

Qi Bai could only smile wryly—a total loss as he predicted.

Yang Luo walked up and patted both on the heads. “What use is that talk? Go back—there’ve been no classes so the school can help you heal. Don’t wander off.”

Then he called Qi Bai: “Come on—distribute and store the trading goods.”

Fifteen wagons of pelts, six of game, plus five of odds and ends—it would take a while.

Yang Luo couldn’t hide his smile: such a sweet burden—bring more anytime!

With the Jufeng gone, Heishan entered its busiest season.

First, the final autumn hunt—critical to store meat for winter. Then, last harvest from farm fields.

Though food in the wild decreased, carefully tended farmlands held strong:

Yams, sweet potatoes, wooden flower, and giant gourds that everyone adored.

These gourds came from seeds brought by the horse tribe. There were green gourds like winter melon and yellow ones like pumpkin—each over a meter long.

These alone filled an entire cave.

So regardless of droughts elsewhere, Heishan was prepared for winter.

Then that day a patrolman, Ma Xiang, came sprinting back.

“Bao Bai! Bao Bai! Priest Yangluo—we’ve got a big group of slaves arriving in our territory!”