Chapter 234 

At dawn, the beast-skin quilt wriggled like a cocoon before Qi Bai’s head finally popped out.

The heated kang bed was warm, and from the kitchen drifted the fragrant smell of roasting meat.

Lang Ze lifted the hide curtain and pinched Qi Bai’s cheek. “Time to get up.”

Lang Ze had long since risen and even finished morning drills with the horned-beastman warriors.

Qi Bai sniffed hard, rolled over wrapped in the quilt, and grumbled, “It’s all your fault. I usually get up early.”

Lang Ze leaned close to his ear and murmured, “That’s not what you said last night. You said…”

Qi Bai’s eyes flew open, nostrils flaring as he snapped, “What did I say?” His whole look clearly warned: if Lang Ze dared to repeat it, he’d bite him.

Staring at his pouty mate pretending ignorance, Lang Ze simply scooped him up quilt and all, kissed the corner of his eye, and coaxed, “Mm, all my fault. Hungry? Want to eat?”

That familiar tone jolted Qi Bai right out of his sulk. He threw off the quilt, jumped down from the kang, and chased after him. “Lang Xiaoze, what do you mean ‘all my fault’? Where did you learn that? Are you just brushing me off?”

Though the morning began in playful chaos, Qi Bai still arrived at the schoolhouse on time.

But compared to before Lang Ze’s return, today Qi Bai was visibly more energetic, his whole presence glowing, enough that many sub-beastmen couldn’t help sneaking extra glances.

Not only him—other sub-beastmen with mates were also radiant, faces flushed and lively.

Zhu Zhu and Ma Qian, the older beastmen, exchanged knowing smiles.

They understood well enough—young ones separated for so long, of course they’d miss each other.

The morning meeting wrapped up under this subtle atmosphere. When the sub-beastmen stepped out, they crossed paths with the horned-beastmen heading out for patrol and work.

Over the past two months, the Heishan warriors had traveled far with Lang Ze, seeing and experiencing much. For many, it had been the first time leaving so far, or meeting so many outsiders.

But the more they saw, the more convinced they were: whether it was the so-called dominant Sanghuo Tribe or the once-mighty Beihuang Eight—Zhanxiong, Yungu, Julu, Xushan—none could compare to their Heishan Tribe.

They only had to look at the sub-beastmen stepping out of the school now. Every one of them wore well-fitted hide clothes, their backs straight, their eyes bright, even their steps carried a different kind of spirit.

It was confidence radiating from within—something those other tribes’ sub-beastmen, stuck in endless gathering and hollow days, could never match.

The warriors stared, stunned. It even seemed that while they were away, the sub-beastmen at home had grown even sharper.

Tun Quan and Hu Qiao, who had very specific crushes, were already scanning the group as they walked.

Just then, Ma Mu happened to glance up, meeting Tun Quan’s eyes directly.

Usually so straightforward, Tun Quan suddenly grew flustered, grinning like a fool. Ma Mu, puzzled, returned a polite smile before turning away to keep chatting about managing workers.

That one fleeting smile nearly made Tun Quan burst with joy. He looked ready to skip right past the upcoming trade with the three tribes and straight to the Mating Day festival.

Hu Qiao beside him wasn’t so lucky. His neck nearly locked from craning, but he couldn’t spot Quan Nan anywhere.

Quan Nan, meanwhile, was back in the schoolhouse, held for a smaller meeting with Qi Bai, the squad captains, and company leaders.

“You’ve all heard we’re holding a small trade fair here in the tribe before the three great tribes arrive, right?” Qi Bai asked.

Everyone nodded—yesterday Priest Yang Luo had mentioned it over dinner.

Qi Bai continued, “Besides individual stalls, we’ll also have a collective stall for the tribe.”

He wanted this not only to consolidate communal resources but also to inspire first-timers. After all, in self-sufficient Heishan, many people weren’t sure what could or should be traded.

Sure enough, several captains exchanged uneasy looks—they were exactly the ones still confused.

Quan Nan raised her hand eagerly. “Other tribes don’t have hide clothes. Could we make hide clothes to trade?”

That lit a spark in everyone.

The story of Hu Qiao using half a hide to make a coat, then trading it for five whole hides, had already spread across the tribe in half a day.

Who would’ve thought hide clothing could be so valuable? Until now, only absurdly costly linen had been used for such trades. Normally it was just raw hides.

Niu Xi looked at Qi Bai, hesitant. “Can hide clothing really be used for exchange?”

She doubted it—maybe Hu Qiao had just lucked into the only fool in Beihuang.

“Of course it can,” Qi Bai said firmly. “And not just hide clothes. Our woven baskets, mats—these will fetch goods too. They might even be more popular than clothing.”

Tu Ya swallowed nervously. Qi Bai really dared to dream.

Sure, baskets were rare, but materials were cheap—rattan and bamboo were everywhere. Even the dorm workers could make serviceable ones with a little practice.

Qi Bai shook his head, explaining patiently, “That’s not how to see it. Yes, they can make them, but compare theirs to ours. Could theirs match our quality?”

Shu Lin counted on her fingers: “Of course not. Our hide clothes are prettier, our baskets sturdier, different sizes and uses. We can make a dozen styles of dustpans alone!”

“Exactly.” Qi Bai smiled. “We’re not just selling things—we’re selling craftsmanship. And skilled hands never go hungry.”

His words lit a fire in Hu Xue’s eyes. “Then… what about our sweaters?”

Not long ago, the Third Production Team had spun all the tribe’s wool into yarn and begun making sweaters.

Last year’s wool yield had been small, just enough to clothe cubs and elders. But this year, with expanded herds, production had doubled or tripled.

Hu Xue had planned to distribute them, but now she saw a business opportunity. Sweaters were warmer and prettier than hide coats—and most importantly, unlike baskets or mats, sweaters were a processed good.

Even if traded out, no outsider could reproduce them without knowing the secret of spun wool.

“Of course!” Qi Bai encouraged. “Sweaters are unique to us. They’ll fetch far more than hide coats.”

He pressed the point: “Every beastman has their strengths. If we push those skills to the limit, whether weaving or knitting, everything can become trade goods.”

In fact, he wanted this division of labor to spread inside the tribe too. Right now, everyone knew a little of everything but mastered nothing. Life was better, but efficiency still lagged.

Since they were building a city, specialization was inevitable. This trade fair could be the start.

Hu Xue’s heart pounded with excitement.

Until now, the First and Second Production Teams had gotten all the glory—building dorms, taking in new members. But the Third Team, who made food and clothes, often went unnoticed.

Now, finally, they had their chance.

It was late to start preparing, but Qi Bai had said: quality over quantity. If they produced premium goods, they’d shine.

Once that was arranged, Qi Bai headed to Hu Huo’s carpentry workshop.

It was just a new brick room added by the wagon shed, but with neat tools, a stove, and heated walls, it was perfect for working in winter.

Hou Su, with his apprentice Ci Yi, had joined the tribe, and was openly jealous of the workshop. He demanded one too.

Qi Bai had shut him down neatly: “You want a workshop? Fine. But Hu Huo has over fifteen steady apprentices and teaches others too. You want one? Recruit more students first. I’ll even build you a bigger one.”

Because with the tribe’s growth, the demand for weapons was massive. Two smiths alone couldn’t possibly keep up.

Hou Su fumed, face red, but refused to yield. He went home grumbling, staring at his tiny house and nearly packing to leave again.

Setting that aside, Qi Bai now discussed the trade fair with Hu Huo.

If they were hosting, it couldn’t be a sloppy street market. No, they needed proper displays—long wooden tables, racks for clothes. Garments hung neatly, even tried on. That would dazzle the visiting tribes.

With the Zhanxiong, Yungu, and Julu tribes just enriched from Sanghuo spoils, Qi Bai was sure they’d spend freely.

He and Hu Huo pored over sketches and materials until the sun was nearly overhead.

Outside the workshop, the old cub caves had been converted into a communal area, now filled with wagonloads of loot.

Yang Luo sat on a cart of meat with bamboo slip and charcoal pencil, calling out items while Hou Yan carried them into storage.

When Qi Bai appeared, stretching in the sunlight, Yang Luo waved. “Done already?”

Qi Bai scampered over, peering at the slip. “Grandpa Priest, how’s it going? How much stored this morning?”

The slips were his design, like modern inventory logs, and they’d made Yang Luo’s life much easier.

“Only three carts cleared,” Yang Luo said with weary pride. “Since you’re free, come help us.”

This task was too important—he trusted only himself. Well, and now Qi Bai.

But Qi Bai only grinned, pointing at the sky. “Grandpa Priest, it’s noon rest now. I’m off!” And he bolted before Yang Luo could reply.

He wasn’t about to be roped into warehouse duty. He had a promise to keep—to bring lunch to Lang Ze and Aunt Lang Yao.