Chapter 205

When Ma Xiang sprinted back with urgent news, Qi Bai’s first reaction was, “More refugees from the drought? Again?”

It wasn’t a surprising thought—according to the trading team’s reports, the North Wasteland had faced a severe drought.

“When people can’t survive, they move. If they lack food, it makes sense that survivors would flee south,” Qi Bai thought.

“Not that,” Ma Xiang panted, wiping sweat. He waved and stomped in anxiety. “In short, Wolf Ze told me to come fetch you—and to gather all the available horned warriors, along with sturdy grasses from the tribe, and bring them over.”

At the sound of his name, Ma Ling dashed from the shelter, steps light. She wanted to shout, “I get to go hunt!”

Ma Ling had spent her recovery weeks inside the tribe. No matter how much she insisted she was healthy, she’d never been allowed to accompany hunts.

It was especially vexing seeing Wolf Ji recover quickly—he regained flesh swiftly, while Ma Ling still showed hollow cheeks. Qi Bai suspected the difference wasn’t favoritism but biological: Wolf Ji grew up in the well-nourished Silvermoon Tribe, while Ma Ling had endured the hardships of slavery.

So although Ma Ling looked stronger now, when physically taxed, the difference showed.

Still, she could surely lead a hunting party, even if she wasn’t yet fit for combat.

Brimming with excitement, Ma Ling quickly assembled a group of 70–80 horned warriors. After roll call, everyone followed Ma Xiang toward the tribe’s southern border.

Rows of trees stood with stripped branches. Their beast-forms crushed frost-bitten leaves beneath—dry crackles underfoot. Though only days had passed since harvest, the world already felt in the throes of early winter.

Qi Bai lowered the fur curtain, added a coal to the iron furnace. This stove had been crafted for the trading team’s road cooking but now doubled as a heater.

Speaking of road gear, Qi Bai recalled his lottery of placement—he’d slipped into the wagon thanks to Priest Yang Luo.

Yang Luo, if relying on his own strength, might not have made it to the patrol area—too far at five or six hours away even by running.

So as the troops gathered, Xizhou tied a rope harness to the finest closed wagon—whether from concern or guilt for Yang Luo, Yang Luo praised him enthusiastically and even leaped aboard with panache.

Qi Bai grinned: with Xizhou pulling, this future transport would be a “Rhino Cart”—a noble beast with swagger.

Inside the cabin was charcoal Qi Bai brought, plus the bamboo basket Huxue had handed off with instructions—“A long journey, take this to eat!”

When he lifted the lid, heat billowed out—freshly steamed yellow-gourd cakes from the kitchen and a bamboo jug of hot water.

That batch alone could feed Qi Bai and Yang Luo for two meals.

As for the warriors? Huxue replied, “Not my concern—warriors always bring dried tofu or jerky as field rations. As long as they aren’t starving, that’s enough.”

These gourd cakes were made by steaming the pulp, mashing it into a dough with grain flour and goat milk, then steaming until firm.

You can imagine the fragrance fresh from the steamer.

So the moment Huxue opened the lid, Xizhou—pulling the wagon—couldn’t help drooling from the scent. What a treat! He would grab one once back home, for sure.

Yang Luo, bundled in his wolf-skin cloak, held a slice and warmed himself by the stove.

“It’s not snowed yet… It feels colder than winter.”

Qi Bai closed the stove door. “If last year’s pattern continues, this is already winter—back then, snow closed the passes around this time.”

Yang Luo squinted, fingers counting days. Five days remained until the mating ceremony—last year there was already heavy snow on the mountains.

He sighed: “I’m losing track of the calendar. Before the Great Flood, the mating ceremony came right after harvest in autumn. Now… it’s winter.”

Qi Bai laughed. Yes—once, Heishan celebrated mating in fall’s abundance. Now the seasons had shifted, winter arriving at least two months early.

Amid harvest quantities, they had no time for festivals.

“I’ll carve important dates onto the calendar block,” Qi Bai said. “Looking at it, you’ll never get confused again.”

Yang Luo nodded. Qi Bai’s system used thirteen slabs—each for a month. He had every date meticulously recorded.

Yang Luo realized it might be wise to check Qi Bai’s innovations. After all, learning calculation methods years ago now seemed insufficient.

With food, tea, and warmth in the wagon—aside from sore rears from bumpy roads—Qi Bai and Yang Luo’s journey was pleasant.

By dusk, the party finally arrived at their destination.

Qi Bai stepped out and first saw a mass of heads in the distance—dark, motionless—people huddled tightly together.

They were not alone; the wolves and warband stood ready.

The bundled shapes were drenched in mud from head to toe. From a distance, they might seem trembling—not certain from cold or fear.

Qi Bai estimated—over a thousand individuals.

Wolf Ze approached, ice in his gaze.

“Did you figure out who they are? Why are they clustered here? Where’s a chief or priest to speak for them?”

Wolf Ze drew Qi Bai close to shield from wind. “Look closer.”

Qi Bai blinked—why wouldn’t he talk straight? He moved forward, finally understanding: these people were forced into tight packs, kneeling, backs and cover bound with grass ropes.

Groups of about ten had been tied in circles, dropped together—some still twisted unnaturally.

But the herd wasn’t large. About three to four hundred had not been bound, but pushed together into the enclave forged by wagons.

They were asked: “What’s going on?”

Hu Meng, taking a rope from Ma Xiang, explained: “We saw tribespeople—old, young, even some with pelts—and thought they were refugees heading north. We planned to tell them there’s already a tribe in that direction and suggest changing course. But—they noticed our small numbers and packed wagons loaded with game, without a word they attacked to seize our goods!”

Apparently, as the Heishan patrol had just arrived, someone among them shouted:

“We can overpower them—shift into beast form and take their prey!”

At that, many had gone beast form and charged.

Even ignoring savage appearances, the oncoming force looked fierce.

“Wolf Ze shifted, jumping forward, swipe after swipe—two beasts couldn’t rise again.”

Niu Xin flapped arms dramatically—he already worshipped Wolf Ze.

“Exactly!” Zhu Ya added, excited: “We couldn’t let them take anything! We dealt with them immediately!”

Zhu Ya, still a minor, cheered—this was his first everyday patrol. What a scene to witness.

Qi Bai looked around at the huddled people and then the patrol squad—fewer than a hundred.

Last time, the trading party of one hundred beat Sanghuo’s three hundred by superior tactics. It was commendable.

Now—Heishan was fighting one versus ten.

Zhu Ya puffed with pride: “That’s not fair! We are the strongest horned warriors…”

Wolf Ze tapped Zhu Ya’s leg. Zhu Ya rubbed his backside, giggling: “Maybe ten is too many—but three? We can handle three.”

True, though the group numbers far more, their individual combat power could not match the hefty Mighty Boar Beastmen of Sanghuo.

Cowarded by the fight’s intent, the bound throng realized they were no match.

Abandoning the idea to loot, they turned and sprinted in the only direction they knew.

Recovering doesn’t get you far.

Wolf Ze immediately led Heishan’s enraged warriors flanking the group—blocking any escape.

Those trapped dropped to their knees and begged.

That’s why the patrol squad tied them, and Wolf Ze dispatched Ma Xiang to gather Qi Bai and Yang Luo.

Listening to the entire sequence, Qi Bai was speechless.

Ma Ling also shook her head: “What did they expect? We didn’t intend to harm them. Now they’ve caused trouble.”

From her point of view, these refugees were pure inconvenience.

First, they couldn’t be allowed to leave—now that they knew the tribe’s location, who knows what mischief they might try later.

But keeping them would also create risk: They’d compete for supplies or demand to join—requiring the tribe to feed them.

Though Heishan has ample stores now, they were collected for tribespeople to weather winter—not for outsiders.

It would have been ideal if the intruders, upon being warned, had simply left.

Zhu Ya and Niu Xin, overhearing Ma Ling, were stunned. They still wore the excitement of victory—and hadn’t weighed such worries.

Yes—and these guys: how can they confiscate tribe food themselves?

Which underscores Wolf Ze’s wisdom in choosing Ma Ling to lead—her judgment exceeded the others.

“Until we make a decision, don’t let them know the exact location of the tribe,” Wolf Ze remarked. “I needed to return with Ma Xiang and fetch you.”

As they spoke, they arrived before the bound crowd—but calling them “slaves” wasn’t quite right.

Most bound figures bore triangular flame-shaped burn scars on their left faces—indicating slaves of a cruel tribe that brands its slaves on their faces.

But the unbound, driven figures in the cart enclosure… had no marks. They likely weren’t slaves, or not from the same tribe.

As Qi Bai thought this through…

A figure in the cart raised his head, voice trembling: “Heishan Tribe—Heishan Tribe… I’m Yan. I’m Yan!”