Chapter 299

The dank, fetid underground passage echoed with beastmen’s cries and wails.

“I don’t know anything! I really don’t know!”
“It hurts so much! Please spare me!”

A sub‑beastman propped his chin with one hand, idly toying with a stone bowl in his other hand. Another beastman leaned close and whispered in his ear. The man looked up, revealing a delicate face:

“Oh? They’re back already?”

At the far end of the tunnel, two figures emerged.

Zhao yawned lazily. “This is hardly a pleasant place. I didn’t think you’d bring him here.”

Lang Ze ignored Zhao’s teasing and instead looked at Lang Zhan.

Lang Zhan hurried over to report the information gathered over the past days. A step behind them, Qi Bai hesitated, then spun in place and sniffed the air deep in thought.

The mix of smells in the stone room was unpleasant, yet Qi Bai detected a faint familiar scent.

Zhao flashed a mischievous smile, gently shaking the item in his hand. “Were you looking for this?”

Under the firelight, the stone bowl cast a long dark shadow, but Qi Bai immediately recognized what was inside. He stepped forward, plucked a fruit from Zhao’s bowl, scrutinized it under the firelight, and raised it to his nose to smell.

“This stone room is where Wangu Grand Wu punished slaves,” Zhao said. “These powders were his torturous methods. Never thought you'd be interested in this.”

During the days Lang Ze and Qi Bai were away, Zhao had turned the Grand Wu’s quarters upside down, digging out all the tools of torment he used.

“Is it poison?” Qi Bai asked.

Zhao thought for a moment and replied carefully, “It’s medicine that causes intense pain.”

Indeed, when the powdered medicine was dissolved and applied to the face or wounds, it inflicted unbearable agony—but Qi Bai had never heard of any beastman dying from it.

“So this fruit isn’t poisonous?” Qi Bai zeroed in on the critical point.

Seeing Qi Bai eager to try it, Sun (the attendant) quickly interjected: “Even if it’s not poisonous, this spicy fruit still isn’t for eating.”

“Ah! It hurts, it hurts so much!” came a fresh chilling scream from inside the stone room, reinforcing Sun's warning.

While the cry made Qi Bai’s scalp tingle, he swallowed in anticipation. The acrid scent and the stinging sensation convinced him beyond doubt that the “spicy fruit” was—chili pepper.

Using chili water as interrogation torture? He marveled at whether Grand Wu was creative or wasteful.

“I know what you mean. How many of these spicy fruits do you have? Could you give me more?”

Zhao looked at him, half amused: “You trust me enough to eat what I give you now?”

Qi Bai admitted forthrightly: “Once I receive it, I’ll inspect it carefully. What matters is how much you can give.”

Zhao’s lips curved into a smile, his eyes growing brighter until he chuckled:

“If you’d come in autumn, you could have as many as you liked. But right now, they’re only kept in the Grand Wu Hall’s private storeroom.”

Brushing away tears from his eyes, Zhao instructed:

“Sun, later deliver plenty of the spicy fruits to the Silver Moon Grand Priest.”

“Yes, sir.” Sun didn’t know why Zhao was so delighted—but it had been long since he’d seen Zhao with smiling eyes. These chili fruits were well worth it.

Qi Bai waved: “What are we waiting for? I can’t help much here. Let’s go take a look.”

He winked at Lang Ze, who had just approached.

Lang Ze sniffed the fruit Qi Bai held and understood immediately—the chili peppers he'd been searching for across most of the Beastman Continent were right here, in a tiny interrogation room in Songwu.

Zhao, smirking, glanced over: “Your choice.”

With Zhao’s permission, Sun led Qi Bai into Grand Wu’s private storeroom.

Qi Bai headed straight for the chili peppers, filling a large beast‑skin bag to the brim—leaving only one for Zhao, who’d said Songwu had plenty anyway. No need for manners, he thought.

After bagging the chilis, Qi Bai explored the storeroom further.

Most of the plants were sun-dried. Even if Qi Bai saw them fresh, he might not recognize them; dried, identification was near impossible. But in the spirit of not wasting, he gathered a bit of each herb. If he didn’t know them, he could still send them to Lu Jian and Lu Teng for research. So he took samples of everything.

One discovery stood out.

“These are husk ears—traded from the western city. When fresh, they’re delicious. Over time they harden, but that’s good—they’ll last a year or two. Imported foods like these are precious to us, and only the Grand Wu and City Lord can store this many.”

Sun pointed at the husked ear cobs—long rods dotted with kernels of uneven sizes, bumpy and plain-looking.

Qi Bai didn’t mind their oddly dented appearance. It was like a plain version of corn—priceless treasure.

Corn kernels, pancakes, popcorn, cornstarch, cornmeal… The culinary visions raced through his head.

No wonder the food Lang Zhan’s group seized days ago was plentiful but ordinary—Grand Wu had hidden all the good stuff.

With glee, Qi Bai shoved over forty husked ears into a skin bag. No matter how hungry he was, he wouldn’t eat them now—they were for seeds. Maybe next year, he could achieve “corn freedom.”

Sun’s eyelid twitched, considering Zhao’s attitude, but he said nothing. Instead, he pointed at more items:

“These are Songwu’s unique orange fruits—after winter, they’re the only fruit left to eat in the city.”

Sun’s mention of orange fruit brought to mind persimmon cakes on Blue Star. A bit tricky to eat, but indeed storable through winter. Keeping most of them, Qi Bai collected as many as he could.

When they emerged from Grand Wu’s storeroom, Qi Bai was carrying two beast‑skin bags taller than himself—looking like a street vendor who’d just loaded stock.

Sun had a complex expression: “Want help carrying?”

“No need,” Qi Bai tapped the bags with ease—nothing for him. “Go on ahead—I’ll set off soon.”

As they neared the door, Shu sneezed so loud it echoed: “Achoo! What is this smell?” He grabbed a coughing beastman at the entrance. “What’s that? Achoo!”

Lang Sheng looked up through tears, blinking before recognizing the visitors.

A beastman in his twenties, modest-featured but with eyebrows always raised when speaking—never exactly solemn.

It was the Little City Lord of Qingchi City, who used to come over and have meals at the Grand Priest’s and Junior Clan Leader’s homes before they left the city.

Lang Sheng vividly remembered the Little City Lord—how could he forget? He’d never seen anyone with a greater appetite.

“Little City Lord Shu,” Lang Sheng teased, “our Grand Priest’s cooking something new—want to try?”

Shu’s eyes lit up: “You guys have a new recipe? I must taste it.”

Just as Shu prepared to step forward, a beastman—Ren—pulled his arm back: “Little City Lord, you really shouldn’t eat that. Remember the river snail you dragged us chasing after for days? You were in bed for two or three days saying you’d never eat weird stuff again!”

“What weird stuff? The Grand Priest’s cooking can’t be compared to a river snail.” Shu wrenched free. “Besides, I think that snail wasn’t the problem—it was your cooking causing my illness. Enough chatter. That smell is so strange—I must check it out. Achoo!”

Ren thought to himself: You’re talking nonsense. The Grand Priest’s meal is way more dangerous than your grilled snail.

Whatever. You can’t stop him—our little city lord is fearless about food. Anything unusual, he’ll eat.

Ren sighed heavily. He’d better go check how much powder Mu Shenshi had left and prepare some for Shu ahead of time.

When Lang Ze returned, he found Lang Sheng and the others huffing at the courtyard gate.

Inside, Shu crouched sweating, tongue lolling. He spat, then pulled up his sleeve and bit fiercely into a large skewer, chewing hard, then opened his mouth and spat again.

Zhao backed away with disgust—this guy was a mess. Saliva had pooled on the ground.

Qi Bai’s nose glistened with beads of sweat. His lips were soft and reddened. Through the smoke of roasting meat, he lifted his head:

“You’re back! Tastes this new skewer I made—seasoned with chili‑fruit powder.”

“What did you just say?” Ji’s smirk froze, turning awkward. “You used interrogation powder on food?”

Qi Bai handed a skewer to Lang Ze, then offered them to Ji and Zhao: “Trust me—eat. Little City Lord Shu already tested them. More won’t hurt.”

Ren nearly fell over internally. Grand Priest! We’re still here. You’re openly using our little city lord as a poison tester? Is that okay?

But Shu didn’t think it was a problem. Soon, he had another skewer in hand. Sniffling, he tilted Qi Bai’s bowl toward himself:

“A bowl of spicy stir‑fried meat, please.”

Qi Bai glanced at the stone pot: “I can spare only half a bowl left—we still have to eat.”

Shu wrinkled his nose like Qi was stingy, but finally pointed at the pot’s edge: “Then give me the thin slices—thick ones lack flavor.”

That guy knew food well—quickly picking up that not every meat slice soaks up seasoning equally.

Qi Bai reached out to Ji and Zhao: “Care to try?”

Ji and Zhao exchanged skeptical glances, then accepted the skewers.

Surprisingly… Qi Bai must’ve prepared them well. The marbled pork sizzled in their hands, oily and fragrant with a hint of spice invading their noses.

They looked—and smelled—delicious.

While Ji and Zhao were still hesitating whether to take a bite, Lang Ze had already finished his skewer.

The chili was too much for him—his entire ear seemed aflame.

Qi Bai quickly passed him a bowl of water:

“Drink more—that'll cool it. If it's too spicy, eat less.”

Whether Songwu’s chili or Beastmen’s sensitive palates, Qi Bai only added a pinch—but the heat was overwhelming.

Spice wasn't to everyone’s taste on Blue Star. On the Beastman Continent, where nobody had ever eaten it, it must’ve been even more alien.

Of all who tried, only Shu and Qi Bai could handle it—but chili’s magic was undeniable: once someone liked it, they couldn’t stop.

Lang Ze gulped a big bowl of water and exhaled: “Tasty... but a bread would make it perfect.”

Qi Bai grinned: “Glad you like it. When we return, I’ll show you more chili recipes—far tastier than this.”

“Excellent.”

Shu, crouched aside with a bowl in hand, listened to every word. Sniffing, he stuffed another slice of meat into his mouth.

Within moments, two people were streaming tears from spice.

Zhao, tearing up and reflecting: Were those beastmen in the stone room actually crying from pain? This chili‑meat flavor is strange… but strangely delicious.

Having confirmed chili was indeed chili, Qi Bai packed away all leftover fruits and seeds from cooking into a bamboo basket next to Lang Ze.

When they traded with Songwu again—whenever that would be—those seeds had to be well preserved.

---

On the third dawn after their return to Songwu, the Silver Moon beastmen set off with laden packs, bidding farewell to Songwu and Sheng Ling.

As Zhao had said, the household goods of Grand Wu and the City Lord were seemingly endless.

They had spent the previous day sorting provisions. Since the Silver Moon tribe wasn’t interested in ceramics or bone artifacts, they received the most food.

Although hauling those supplies was tough, not a single tribesman complained—such sweet burdens were welcomed by all.

At the city gate stood Ling Qiu and Wu Xun, watching the departing group with hopes and worries in their eyes.

Accompanying Silver Moon were not just Songwu’s Hu Liao and Sun, but also a Sheng Ling squad led by Ling Ping and Ling Ta.

A camel‑beastman squad also followed behind.

Ren watched the Little City Lord marching ahead—his rear end trembling oddly.

He couldn’t understand: despite the spiciness making him shed tears and cry that his butt hurt, why was Shu still so stubborn about following the Silver Moon tribe?