Chapter 231

Steam rose throughout the Heishan Tribe, and the fragrance of food filled the air.

Bao Yue led the half-grown cubs, carrying the chopped firewood from the storage by the gate into the school hall.

White smoke already puffed from the chimney above the hall. Several elder beastmen waved woven fans at the great stove inside, and the surrounding fire-walls were beginning to radiate real heat.

Lu Guo and Niu Xi led the sub-beastmen in arranging the tables and benches—brought from clansmen’s homes—into groups of ten per table, just as Qi Bai had instructed. Today, they needed at least thirty tables.

The hall could only fit fifteen; the rest they would set up outside in the open square.

When the feast began, cubs and elders would sit indoors, while the younger beastmen would enjoy themselves eating in the brisk night air.

“Zhu Ya!” Yang Luo called to a boy sprinting past.

“Here, Priest Grandpa! What is it?” The boy dashed back, grinning.

He was shooting up like a weed—only fourteen or fifteen, but already nearly 1.8 meters tall.

Yang Luo took a step back, craning his neck slightly. “Everything’s ready. Go to the threshing yard and call back everyone not on duty.”

“Got it!” Zhu Ya replied cheerfully and bolted off, soon vanishing beyond the gate.

Meanwhile, at the small kitchen by the wall, sub-beastmen filed out one after another, each bearing a large wooden bucket.

First came the hot dishes: chestnut-braised meat, roasted lamb ribs, stir-fried pork liver with scallions, deep-fried smoked fish, pickled bamboo shoots with cured pork, black fungus stir-fried with beast meat.

Then two soups—radish-pork tripe soup and minced-meat kelp soup—followed by two cold dishes: a seafood platter and pickled vegetables.

This Heishan feast was genuine fare. Apart from the cold dishes, not a single item was purely vegetarian.

The main dish, prepared last by Qi Bai himself, was also meat: soy-braised beef.

Large chunks of beef were lifted from the broth, sliced thickly with a bone knife, neatly arranged on a tray, and a bowl of garlic-soy dipping sauce was placed in the center.

“I knew it! Whenever Qi Bai cooks, it’s the tastiest food!” Quan Nan circled the worktable, wiping drool from the corner of his mouth as he eyed the platter piled high with beef.

Qi Bai set down the last dish. “You’re exaggerating. This is one of the simplest things I’ve made.” He explained the method:

Whole beef shank into cold water, skim off foam, add pepper stems, tree bark, and other spices, then soy sauce and fermented bean paste. Cook until done, then leave it soaking in the broth to absorb flavor.

“Honestly, it’d be even better if it could sit overnight,” he added. “But today was rushed.”

Hu Xue shook her head with a smile. Easy to say, but as the one running the tribe’s kitchen, she knew how hard it was to prepare beef like this.

The precious part wasn’t the meat—it was the condiments.

Ever since Qi Bai made soy sauce, Hu Xue had eagerly awaited the harvest of soybeans and xiangke grain, hoping to learn how to brew it too. Only by trying did she realize how complicated it was.

How could Qi Bai’s head hold so many strange, ingenious ideas?

Qi Bai wanted to say—this is just the beginning. Once I make vinegar and cooking wine, the recipes will get even better.

That was how determined he was: to eat truly satisfying meals, even in the beast world.

Carrying the big trays, they walked toward the hall, chatting.

Inside, everyone had gathered. Ten dishes plus the main course filled every table.

Seating wasn’t formal—only the central table was reserved for the chieftain and priest. Everyone else sat wherever.

The liveliest spot wasn’t indoors, but outside, where the horned beastmen crowded together.

They ate with bowls in hand or clutching hunks of meat, listening intently as the warriors described the world beyond.

Stories of the great panda beast-forms, of the Sanghuo battles—cheers, gasps, and cubs’ giggles filled the night.

In the cold wind, it was a scene warmer than the firelight itself.

The last time they had all eaten together so merrily was at the spring festival. And now, with a blink, nearly a year had passed.

Thinking of the festival, Yang Luo recalled another important matter. He glanced at Lang Ze, casually saying: “Since the Sanghuo are dealt with, shouldn’t the tribe prepare for the Mating Day?”

At Qi Bai’s table sat ten: besides Hou Yan and Yang Luo, there were Hu Xue, She Li, and Diao Lan, the three production captains; plus Niu Shuo, Lang Ji, and Ma Ling, the three hunting captains.

Clearly, this was more than dinner—it was also a small council.

Breeding cubs was the foremost concern of beastmen. Mating Day was the tribe’s most important festival. But this year’s had been disrupted first by the influx of workers, then by the war against Sanghuo.

Now, with winter more than half gone, the young beastmen were restless.

But for Yang Luo, the key point was his punishment.

It had been promised that it would last only until Mating Day. Months had passed, and he was still getting only half rations. Just the thought pained him.

Lang Ze, calmly putting food into Qi Bai’s bowl, answered: “The Zhanxiong, Yungu, and Julu Tribes will come trade in five days. We’ll set Mating Day after that.”

Qi Bai’s cheeks were stuffed as he chewed quickly. Lang Ze kept piling food into his bowl faster than he could eat.

“Mm! Great,” Qi Bai said between bites. “I already arranged salt trades with Xiong Nuan and Lu Ming. But I think we should also hold a mini trading day. When those tribes visit, let our clansfolk bring goods to exchange. It’ll be fun.”

Many in the tribe had never seen a trade fair. A small one would be exciting.

Hou Yan agreed. “Ask the Jufeng Tribe if they’d like to join too. Good chance to meet the others.”

“Alright.” Lang Ze nodded, then retold what had happened in Sunset City.

At the mention of the slave illness, Qi Bai grew alarmed. He resolved to remind the squad leaders: hygiene and diet must be guarded carefully. In modern times, such plagues were deadly; in this world, with poor medicine, they could be catastrophic.

Yang Luo shivered. “Lang Ze is right. Check the surroundings at once.”

Ma Ling nodded. Patrols were his duty. Lang Ze had already spoken to him on the return journey. He would assign men tomorrow, especially to inspect cracks formed during earthquakes where foul odors sometimes seeped out—likely from fallen animals.

They had never cared before. But now, they must.

Afterward, they discussed details of the mini trade day and how to handle the new slaves.

When Qi Bai sensed the meeting winding down, he set down his chopsticks. “I’m done eating.”

Everyone turned to look at him.

Yang Luo muttered: “So what? Why announce it?”

Qi Bai smiled, tugging Lang Ze’s sleeve. “Are you done? Let’s go together.”

Lang Ze hesitated, then silently set his chopsticks down. “Mm.”

Yang Luo raised a brow. What’s this? The sun rising from the west? Lang Ze putting down his chopsticks—he’d always thought Lang Ze’s stomach bottomless.

Even more shocking: Niu Shuo also set his chopsticks aside. “I… I’m full too.”

The honest ox hardly ever lied. His stammering, blushing face gave him away.

Yang Luo looked at Hou Yan in confusion. What’s going on? A rare feast, and suddenly no one eats their fill?

Hou Yan only waved. “Go.” Then louder: “All of you, go. Take leftovers with you.”

But Niu Xu from the next table stood and said: “No need, Chieftain. We’ve food at home.”

Qi Bai grinned at Yang Luo. “We’ll head off then!”

Behind him, Lang Ze rose, and Niu Shuo, Lang Ji, and others followed. Soon, the ox and wolf clans were leaving en masse.

Even Yang Luo caught on now. He looked at Hou Yan. “There are ox and wolf slaves among the captives?”

Hou Yan smiled warmly. “Not many. Altogether, fifty or sixty. Easy to miss.”

Hu Xue and She Li also smiled, then sighed.

On such a vast beast continent, to find one’s kin again was rare indeed. If it were their own clans, they might be even more moved.