Chapter 313

The two migrating groups stopped on an open field a few hundred meters from the city walls. Most of the beastman warriors escorting them remained behind; only a small squad followed the white wolf into the towering walls.

“This is a city? It’s so beautiful! Are we going in there?”

There was no reply. Zuy Jian turned and saw the person beside him staring blankly. He tugged the other’s arm: “Yu, what’s wrong?”

Zu Yu pulled his gaze back. “Nothing. What did you just say?”

Zu Jian looked at the tall city wall, then asked in a voice so low it was almost inaudible: “Do you think the city will turn everyone into slaves?”

Zu Yu’s expression was indifferent: “Whether they make them slaves or not, it won’t change what we are.”

Zu Yu and Zu Jian were slaves of the Xu Hu tribe. At the start of their journey from Dong Yi, Xu Hu had been a medium-sized tribe with over a thousand people, nearly a hundred of them slaves. But now, fewer than three hundred remained. Of the slaves who had no individual masters, only Zu Yu and Zu Jian were left.

Zu Jian pursed his lips, then after a while forced a faint smile: “It’s still different. This city is so big—many beastmen never see one their whole lives. To witness it with my own eyes, even if I die, it’s worth it.”

Zu Yu silently watched the crowd. He did not agree.

Since the age of five, when their tribe lost a war and he and Zu Jian became Xu Hu’s slaves, Zu Yu had known that living was hard. They endured beatings, hunger, and several times during migrations were almost abandoned. But Zu Yu had never given up. He had never thought of dying. As long as he lived, there was hope. Wasn’t that true?

On the wall, Ma Ling had already spotted Lang Ze’s returning party and opened the gates.

Lang Ze shifted into human form and said to Ma Ling: “Summon all the council members to the council hall.”

Ma Ling asked softly: “Right now? Don’t you want to rest first?”

“No need.” Lang Ze refused, then asked: “Where’s the Great Priest?”

When Lang Ze found Qi Bai, Qi Bai was in the surgery room checking the progress of an operation.

Treatment in Hei Yao City was no longer what it used to be. In the past, treatment in beastman tribes was little more than crushing herbs into a paste to smear on wounds, leaving survival to fate and natural resilience.

And even such primitive treatment was not available to all, because healing knowledge was never passed on.

In the old tribes, only priests and their apprentices knew healing. When large numbers were wounded, a handful of healers could never cope, and many died for lack of timely care.

But a city was not a tribe. With more people, greater medical capacity was required. If they kept knowledge secret as before, the outcome would be even worse.

That was why Qi Bai had urged the five tribes to share their knowledge and to build a hospital. Though Qi Bai himself was not a healer, he could find ways to maximize care and efficiency with existing resources.

The results spoke for themselves. In this war, more than half of Hei Yao’s horned warriors were injured, yet all were properly treated—because Hei Yao had a fully equipped hospital.

The hospital had pharmacies for preparing medicine, wards for in-patient care, treatment rooms for dressing wounds, and, most importantly, surgical rooms. Even deep wounds down to the bone could be treated by surgery.

In one such room, a warrior lay on a clean stone bed with a wound more than ten centimeters long on his arm. Four people in clean hide garments and masks stood inside.

At the bedside, Ma Mu held a fine bone needle and thread of wooden fiber, carefully stitching the wound.

There was no fire wall or stove in the room, yet sweat beaded Ma Mu’s brow. Clearly, stitching a wound was not as easy as it looked.

On the bed, Tun Quan was anything but docile. He grinned and teased: “Don’t rush. Take your time. It doesn’t hurt a bit.”

This was not just surgery but also Ma Mu’s exam to qualify as a healer. Lu Jian, Lu Teng, and Qi Bai were observing as examiners.

Ever since the medical school had opened, Ma Mu had studied under Lu Teng. In Hei Yao, there wasn’t a rigid line between nurses and doctors—students like Ma Mu learned both. But to officially become a healer, they had to pass tests.

Over the past year, Tun Quan knew better than anyone how hard his partner worked. Ma Mu worked in the mornings, studied in the afternoons, and practiced sutures on meat at night, without missing a day.

Tun Quan believed no one was more suited to become a healer. He was proud to be Ma Mu’s first patient.

Meeting Tun Quan’s trusting gaze, Ma Mu blinked away sweat, his nerves easing.

He knew the anesthetic—herb-soaked cloth—wouldn’t numb pain entirely. Tun Quan’s words were just to comfort him.

Encouraged, Ma Mu’s movements grew steady and precise. Soon, the wound was fully stitched.

Lu Jian examined it, satisfied: “Beautiful suturing. Even I couldn’t do it this fast.”

Ma Mu’s ears reddened. “Priest Lu Jian, you’re teasing. I can’t compare with you.”

“I’m old,” Lu Jian chuckled. “I can still advise you, but my hands are no good. Good work is good work—you can’t hide it.”

Qi Bai smiled at Ma Mu: “Congratulations. From today, you’re an official healer.”

Tun Quan sat up excitedly, waving his arm. “I knew you could do it!”

Ma Mu’s eyes grew damp. It all felt like a dream. Only a few years ago, in his Xishui tribe, there hadn’t even been a priest. Now he mastered precious healing arts and was a respected healer.

Qi Bai left them to celebrate. As he turned, he saw someone waiting at the door.

“Lang Ze!” Qi Bai’s eyes lit up, and he hurried over.

Lang Ze had just returned, his clothes cold from the outside. But what made Qi Bai frown were the fresh wounds—at least fifteen or sixteen new injuries, two deep claw gashes across his abdomen the worst.

Qi Bai pulled him into the nearest treatment room and examined him carefully. The wounds had scabbed but reopened again and again, still seeping blood.

Qi Bai lowered his head, silently applying medicine.

Watching him, Lang Ze grew nervous. Searching for words, he leaned closer and asked tentatively: “What do you think about the Hong Chai tribe matter?”

Qi Bai’s hands didn’t stop. He had clearly already thought about it. “Mao Guang’s words can’t be wholly trusted, but they can’t be dismissed either.”

Relieved to get a response, Lang Ze’s tension eased.

Qi Bai continued: “While you were away, I interrogated some prisoners. Mao Fu and Mao Guang weren’t from an upper city but a small tribe that sought refuge with Cang Shensi. That tribe had barely a hundred when they arrived in Ji City. Mao Fu quickly became favored, and the tribe gained footing.”

The reason Mao Fu rose so quickly, they said, was his ability to control beasts. But Qi Bai and Lang Ze knew it was only the effect of wu wang grass.

Lang Ze thought a moment: “Their clansmen are in Hong Chai hands.”

“Though no one said it outright,” Qi Bai replied, “whether Cang Shensi killed Mao Fu or Mao Fu’s plan led to Cang Shensi’s death—either way, once word reaches the upper city, Hong Chai will not spare Mao Fu’s people.”

Cang Shensi killing Mao Fu wasn’t just rage. Mao Fu knew too much and wasn’t loyal like Chai Ding. Better to kill him than risk him falling into Hei Yao’s hands. But Cang Shensi hadn’t expected Mao Guang also knew so much.

“Mao Guang acted because he knew his tribe in Ji City had no hope, so he wanted us to destroy Hong Chai for him.”

Qi Bai concluded: “Upper city politics are tangled. We don’t need to confront them directly. Better to wait. If they want revenge for Cang Shensi, they’ll come to us.”

And Hong Chai, badly hurt, wouldn’t recover for years. By then, Hei Yao would be far stronger.

As for Cang Shensi’s death reaching them—both believed it inevitable. He must have had ways to send news. Even an insignificant scribe like Ji had beastmen with insects to transmit messages—Cang Shensi, a city’s high priest, would certainly have more.

Lang Ze agreed: “We delayed returning because we ran into migrating Dong Yi and Huai Yi beastmen.”

“Dong Yi and Huai Yi?” Qi Bai was surprised. Especially Huai Yi—far from Black Mountain.

Lang Ze explained their migration, then added: “I don’t intend to let them into the city.”

Hei Yao’s tribes, though diverse, had joined first under Black Mountain before merging. They had a sense of belonging. Especially former slaves, who knew they’d never have this life again if they left.

But the Dong Yi and Huai Yi five tribes were different. Homeless from disasters, suspicious of each other, with no ties to Hei Yao—letting them in directly might be trouble.

Qi Bai asked: “Then what?”

Lang Ze said: “The grasslands were safe not just because of Silver Moon, but because tribes united. Now we can defend ourselves. We no longer need to avoid others. It’s time to let tribes settle outside our territory.”

“Then we’ll decide where to place them.”

Qi Bai realized their rivalries could be useful, keeping each other in check under Hei Yao’s control. And having them outside would make it harder for armies like Cang Shensi’s to approach unseen.

Qi Bai mused: “You’re right. But we can be bolder in where we place them.”

At that moment, Ma Ling rushed in, only to freeze at the sight—Lang Ze hovering behind Qi Bai, pulling chairs, opening cabinets, even fidgeting like he wanted to embrace him.

When Lang Ze’s hand was about to succeed, Qi Bai spotted Ma Ling at the door.

Ma Ling coughed, embarrassed, but stood stiffly and reported: “The eight council elders are in the chamber.”

“Good,” Qi Bai nodded. “Let’s go.”

In the chamber, five priests and three elders sat. Priest Hu Xiao sat ready with his notebook to record.

Everyone exchanged glances. Since the council’s founding, this was Lang Ze’s first full meeting. Nerves were high.

When Lang Ze and Qi Bai entered, all straightened solemnly.

“You all know where the beastmen outside came from?” Lang Ze asked.

They nodded.

“What should we do with them?”

After murmuring, they thought two thousand more would be no problem. By custom, they could earn their way into the city.

Lang Ze looked at Zhi: “What’s your opinion?”

Zhi said frankly: “Their arrival is too coincidental. Letting them in is rash.”

“I agree,” Qi Bai added.

Everyone turned to him.

Qi Bai swept his gaze around, then smiled: “Hei Yao is the home we built together. Not just any tribe can join.”

The room lightened, everyone relieved.

They weren’t opposed to outsiders, but they couldn’t so casually accept strangers as kin.

Yun Tan declared proudly: “The Great Priest is right. Hei Yao is the finest city. To be a citizen is an honor.”

Lang Ze’s eyes warmed. This was their plan, but seeing Qi Bai say it with such gravity, he found him adorable.

Qi Bai ignored his gaze and continued: “The richer we grow, the stronger our enemies will be. You’ve seen upper city troops. We need more people to defend ourselves.”

Priest Xiong Zi frowned: “But not let them in, yet keep them? Isn’t that contradictory?”

“Not at all.” Lang Ze rose and pointed to the map. “We’ll settle them in villages outside.”

They wouldn’t be in the city, but still Hei Yao’s people.

The others gasped at the marked spot—half a day from the city.

“Two tribes that close?” Priest Yun Zhang exclaimed. “Never heard of it!”

“Why not?” Qi Bai countered. “Why does every tribe need such vast land?”

“For food, of course…” Yun Zhang trailed off, then realized.

Yes—food.

Ordinary tribes needed vast lands to hunt and forage. Even cities couldn’t avoid this—hence middling populations.

But Hei Yao was different. They could farm and raise livestock. Territory size no longer limited them. The same land could support far more.

That was Qi Bai’s idea. Cultivation and husbandry were their edge.

Villages half a day from the city would prevent overcrowding, ensure food, and maintain close ties. It was like the pattern of small towns encircling cities back on Lan Xing.

“Each village will have stationed warriors,” Lang Ze added. “Half a day’s warning is enough for us to prepare.”

Hou Yan clapped: “Indeed the best plan.”

The council set conditions for joining Hei Yao as citizens versus villagers, while Qi Bai and Lang Ze gathered the Seven Division Chiefs to draft detailed settlement plans.

They worked until deep into the night.

Later, Ma Ling carried his sleeping cub, meeting his partner just off duty. Watching Lang Ze drape a cloak over Qi Bai, he sighed: “Bao Bai and Lang Ze have such a good relationship.”

She Li scoffed: “Are you blind? Sure they haven’t quarreled?”

Remembering the scene at the infirmary, Ma Ling shook his head: “Impossible. No way.”

But the “loving pair” went home in silence. They cooked, washed, and lay down—all without a word.

Qi Bai suddenly turned and glared: “Why do you keep staring at me!”

After a long pause, Lang Ze lowered his head, rubbing his furry ears against Qi Bai’s neck. “Are you still angry with me?”

The soft touch made Qi Bai’s mind go blank. His big puppy was so cute… No, wait, what was he about to say?

Finding his voice, Qi Bai muttered: “I’m not angry with you.”

“Then why ignore me today?”

“I’m angry with myself.”

Lang Ze sat up, tense again. “Why angry with yourself?”

Qi Bai turned aside: “I know—you’re the only third-rank warrior, the only one who could fight Cang Shensi. And I know, with enemies outside, you had to lead the chase. But when I saw your wounds, I still felt awful. I thought maybe I should’ve stopped you, let those beastmen run…”

“You… why are you laughing? Don’t laugh!”

Lang Ze couldn’t stop smiling. He pulled Qi Bai tight into his arms, his heart brimming with warmth beyond words.

“It was my fault. I shouldn’t have gotten hurt. I shouldn’t have worried you.”

Hearing that, Qi Bai suddenly felt aggrieved. He hugged Lang Ze’s waist and whispered into his chest: “Lang Ze, I…” I’m scared. I don’t want you hurt.

But he swallowed the words. Their world was dangerous. He didn’t want Lang Ze to hold back because of him.

Sniffling, Qi Bai poked Lang Ze’s chest. “You’re mine. Your body is mine. You’re not allowed to get hurt. If you do, you must heal immediately. Got it?”

Lang Ze looked at his pouting mate, suddenly itching his teeth. He licked them. “I…”

Qi Bai slapped his paw away. “What do you mean ‘I’? You’re injured—go to sleep!”