Chapter 272

The firewall burned hot, but the large bath barrel in the room had long since lost its steam.

Stir-fried dried tofu, minced meat with tofu, fried tofu balls, shrimp with soft tofu pudding—Lang Ze carried each dish to the table one by one.

Qi Bai had prepared the meal in advance. Wanting Lang Ze to taste the new tofu made in the city, he had gone all out with several varieties. But clearly, the dishes had been neglected for quite some time.

“Achoo!”

Lang Ze wandered about the house bare-chested without the slightest problem, while Qi Bai sat at the table wrapped in a blanket, sneezing heavily.

Sniffling, Qi Bai grumbled inwardly: We both soaked and fooled around in the bath—so why am I the one who ends up suffering?

Lang Ze sat across from him, setting down two steaming bowls of ginger soup. Qi Bai’s bowl was a deep brownish-red—the unmistakable mark of an extra-large chunk of brown sugar.

Taking it, Qi Bai gulped a big mouthful. At least Lang Ze hadn’t forgotten that ginger soup could ward off colds.

Qi Bai asked, “How’s the situation in the Northern Wastes?”

The hunting team had returned with a good haul, clearly having found the hunting grounds Warbear and Cloudvalley had mentioned.

“You guessed right—it’s bone dry there too,” Lang Ze replied between mouthfuls, never pausing his eating. “The smaller tribes in the Wastes held a minor trade fair at Xu Mountain. By the time we got there, it was almost over. I sent Yan and Zhao to look around—nothing unusual. The Upper City hasn’t caught wind of anything yet.”

Yan and Zhao were from the millet-growing tribe. They had always attended those trade fairs; Yan in particular knew many beastmen from other clans. The information they gathered could be trusted.

Qi Bai nodded. “And the Hemp Tribe? They weren’t there?”

For the great tribes of the Northern Wastes to migrate one after another, it was odd that the Hemp Tribe hadn’t seized the chance to dominate.

“No one’s seen them all year. Likely they bolted after discovering the destruction of the Sanghuo Tribe last winter.”

Qi Bai snorted. “Not stupid, at least. They had the closest dealings with Sanghuo. Even if we ignored them, the Upper City wouldn’t have spared them. By leaving the Wastes early, maybe they’ve clung to a sliver of survival.”

Though leaving hardly guaranteed safety. If they strayed into another tribe’s territory, their fate was anyone’s guess.

“We searched their old grounds for a day. Most plants around were shriveled and dead, but one low-growing plant was thriving. It might be the ‘hemp’ you spoke of.”

Qi Bai’s eyes lit up. “Did you get seeds?”

“Yes. The fruit had little flesh, just packed with seeds. We brought plenty back.”

Qi Bai clapped his hands. “Doesn’t matter if it is or isn’t—let’s plant some and find out.”

Flax was a treasure: fibers for weaving, seeds for oil. Hardy enough to survive in dry soil, it was ideal for broad cultivation.

Just then, Qi Bai suddenly tossed aside his blanket and pulled two garments from the wardrobe, holding them up in front of Lang Ze.

“Wool sweaters?” Lang Ze asked.

They’d had wool sweaters since the year before last, so nothing surprising there. These two didn’t look much different, aside from the colors.

Qi Bai blinked. “Look closer.”

Lang Ze set down his chopsticks and handled them. Immediately, he noticed the difference.

These clothes were softer, finer—none of the prickliness of regular wool. Especially the whitish one. He rubbed the fabric gently. “This isn’t just yarn, is it?”

Qi Bai grinned. “You guessed it.”

“This one here,” he shook the brownish sweater in his left hand, “is pure cashmere. One four-eared sheep yields just enough for a single sweater in a whole year. And this one,” he lifted the whitish garment in his right, “is woven from cotton fabric.”

Previously, they had spun wool and cashmere together—warm enough, but not nearly so soft. This year, Qi Bai had separated the cashmere to make two full cashmere outfits—one each for him and Lang Ze.

But Lang Ze was more intrigued by the cotton cloth—Qi Bai had long claimed they could make better textiles, and he had indeed pulled it off.

“The only problem is how slow it is. Two months’ work yielded just these two pieces. I’ve already given the loom designs to the Works Division. Once they make a proper loom, we can produce cotton and hemp cloth in real quantity.”

Qi Bai urged, “Enough talk—try them on!”

Lang Ze dressed layer by layer: cotton underclothes, a high-necked cashmere sweater, and finally the black leather armor and cloak Qi Bai had tailored for him.

He tugged uncomfortably at the high collar, unused to it. Damp strands of hair fell across his brow, deepening his wild and enigmatic aura.

Qi Bai stared, momentarily dazed—as if back in the modern world.

Snapping out of it, he straightened Lang Ze’s collar, beaming. “Perfect fit. Naturally—it’s mine.”

Lang Ze couldn’t help but smile. “Then you put yours on too.”

“Alright.”

Among beastmen—most of whom were rough and unkempt—their neat, sharp appearance drew stares wherever they went.

They didn’t linger, but went straight to the city walls.

The construction crews had gone off-duty, but that didn’t mean the walls were deserted.

Quite the opposite—the just-returned hunting warriors had crowded around, forming a solid ring.

“Step together!”

“Yo-ho! Yo-ho!”

As Qi Bai and Lang Ze approached, the rhythmic shouts grew clearer.

With a clattering sound, a massive machine slowly stirred to life.

“Wow!” “It’s moving!” “It’s really moving!”

The onlookers cheered wildly. Even Lang Ze was stunned. “What is this?”

He had seen the hulking frame from afar when returning with the hunting team and assumed it was scaffolding for the wall. Who would have thought it could move?

After two months away, his mate still found ways to astonish him.

Qi Bai’s nose reddened, eyes shining as he declared with pride, “This is our conveyor lift!”

The walls of Blackflame City weren’t built straight up, but sloped outward in tiers, each layer paved with massive stone blocks.

Even so, the stones were two meters long—far too heavy for most. Horned-beasts in animal form could manage, but sub-beastmen and others with less suitable beast forms struggled.

Training built strength; overwork destroyed it. Qi Bai would not allow back-breaking drudgery in his city.

Thus, the great contraption at the wall’s base: a stone conveyor.

Like a waterwheel, its chain of buckets carried blocks upward. Place stones in the buckets, tread the pedals below, and the conveyor hauled them up the slope.

Crude compared to modern cranes, but effective—two pedalers could deliver over a dozen blocks at once, sparing countless backs.

“Received! Stones are here!”

From atop the wall came a shout. The ground crew pulled a lever; the conveyor halted, waiting for stones to be unloaded.

Lang Ze breathed, “A fine invention.”

Qi Bai beamed. “Once Hu Bu builds a few more, we can raise both ends of the wall at once and meet in the middle.”

Indeed, he and Hu Bu had adapted the design from a waterwheel. Inspiration from Qi Bai—craftsmanship from Hu Bu. The young carpenter now outshone even his teacher, Hu Huo.

The clansfolk played with the new toy until nightfall, before returning for the first harvest feast.

It was then that Lang Ze announced to the Council and legion lieutenants: he and Qi Bai would soon embark on a journey.

Shock swept the room—for their destination was not the neighboring Wastes or Eastlands, but the distant Central Continent, a land most knew only from legends.

Each year, young beastmen set out to seek the fabled Beast God City. Yet none returned—save the half-mad Ma Li. Whether they perished on the road or stayed in splendor, none could say.

Yun Zhang cried in alarm, “City Lord, now is the critical stage of construction! You cannot leave us!”

“The High Priest has arranged all duties,” Lang Ze said calmly. “I’ve settled legion matters. As long as you follow the rules, the city will run smoothly.”

His sharp glance silenced Yun Zhang, who swallowed back the desperate thought—let the City Lord go alone, but leave us our High Priest.

Others clearly wanted to protest, but Lang Ze waved them down. “My decision is made. No more persuasion.”

Unlike Qi Bai, who discussed and compromised, Lang Ze was absolute. Once he decided, there was no turning him.

Priest Xiong Zi spoke gravely: “Then at least allow us to conduct a most devout send-off ritual.”

Lang Ze nodded. “Three days from now. After the ceremony, we depart.”

That night, back home, they checked their travel packs—already well prepared, thanks to Qi Bai’s foresight.

As they worked, a knock came at the gate.

“I’ll see,” said Lang Ze.

He returned shortly.

“Who was it?” Qi Bai asked.

“Lang Ji and Xi Zhou. They want to come with us.”

“Shall we bring them?”

Lang Ze shook his head. “We’re going to gather intelligence. A big group would draw too much attention.”

Qi Bai laughed. “Fair. We’ll scout first. If it’s truly dangerous, we can always return with reinforcements.”

Still, he hoped to outwit rather than fight head-on.

He thought the matter closed—until another knock came as they readied for bed.

This time Lang Ze brought the visitor inside.

Qi Bai raised a brow when he saw Hu Xiao. He doesn’t mean to tag along, does he?

But Hu Xiao only closed his eyes, speaking softly:

“In my prophecy, I saw the key to your journey.”