Chapter 187

A vast valley entirely encircled by towering rocks stretched out below. Scattered throughout were caves of every size. Many giants stood outside these caverns, curiously watching toward the center of the valley.

Moonlight shone from above, pooling into a giant circular spotlight in the valley’s center.

Within that glowing circle stood four giants.

Three were Ai, Peng, and Wei—the same ones who had traveled with Zhi to Heishan. The fourth was a sturdy female warrior: Wei (pronounced “Wei”), the Jufeng Tribe’s hunting team captain and the trap-shifting giant who had led the rescue mission at Heishan.

Though Jufeng’s physique and beast form differed significantly from the more common beastmen on the continent, they still identified as beastmen.

Because their beast form lacked horns, their genders aren’t divided as horned and sub-beast forms. Instead, the distinction is giant-beastmen and sub-beastmen.

Typically, an adult giant-beastman stands about three meters tall in human form and can reach seven to eight meters in beast form. Sub-beastmen stand around 2.5 meters, and shift between four to five meters when transformed.

Giant-beastmen are comparable to horned beastmen—larger, stronger, well-suited for hunting. Sub-beastmen, while smaller, alone bear offspring—unlike other creatures on the continent.

Reproduction is sacrosanct among beastmen, so even in the grasslands, no one had ever questioned Jufeng’s identity.

Qi Bai assumed their unique ability to shift forms stemmed from a genetic mutation—a rare awakening of a variant beast form.

Wei’s gaze rested on the center of the valley, where two large baskets and one small bamboo basket lay quietly.

“Wurao has arrived!” whispers spread among the onlooking tribe members. Wei lowered her gaze, bowed, and hammered a fist against her chest.

Zhi guided the white-bearded elder Wurao up the steps. Wurao placed his palm down and said softly, “Please, sit.”

The four giants at the center stood, then sat on half-height rocks nearby, as if accustomed to such decorum.

Wei asked, “Zhi, what have you brought back from Heishan?”

Zhi looked toward the curious onlookers peering from afar, then raised her voice: “The tribe across the mountain is called the Heishan Tribe, and these are gifts presented to us in thanks.”

“Gifts?” murmured the giants among themselves.

“What are gifts?” Ai swallowed hard. Although he didn’t know what lay in the baskets, the aroma from the small basket was intoxicating—it smelled like the finest food he’d ever encountered.

Zhi stepped forward and gently opened the two large baskets and the smaller bamboo one—tools she’d used just once yet found astonishing in their utility.

Yet to the Jufeng, the proportions were almost comical. The bamboo basket seemed too delicate, and Zhi handled it with extreme care, afraid to break it.

“Wow!” “Wow!” gasped the giants as Zhi displayed the contents piece by piece.

First came two pieces of tanned hide—underneath them, gleaming ceramic pots. Moonlight glinted off their smooth surfaces.

“Grandfather,” a half-grown child grabbed the arm of a nearby giant and tugged at his ear, hesitantly speaking, “Outside… so beautiful!”

The giant understood—that seemed to be the child’s question: Were all things in the wider world so splendid? Were tools always so refined?

Honestly, he couldn’t recall, but he knew he’d never seen anything so beautiful.

But pottery and hides, as lovely as they were, didn’t excite them quite as much as what lay in the second basket.

Cured meats, salted neatly in layers, and packets of dazzling white salt.

Upon recognizing these, the Jufeng burst into cheers. Ai, still seated, beat his hands together in excitement.

Although the Jufeng had earnestly rescued eight injured horned beastmen from Heishan, some of their younger folk—especially Ai and Wei—had long hoped for their departure, mostly because they consumed so much food.

Ai, tasked with delivering meals, often wondered how such small creatures could eat so voraciously. The injured men demanded large amounts of food—every day a pork leg, no less, and grumbled if portions were small.

To cook for them, Zhi had even lent Ai’s large stone cooking pot. Only after their departure was the pot returned—Ai felt deeply wronged.

It wasn’t because Lang Ji and the others were picky—they needed calories to heal.

They had even volunteered to hunt, offering to share half the game. But Jufeng would not agree.

The location of the Stone Forest was a secret that only the Jufeng knew. Without them, no outsider could ever find the place. Knowledge of it was critical to their survival. So Lang Ji and the others had been confined to a pitch-black cave, even wrapped tightly in smelly hides when brought outside.

Now, seeing provisions, they felt able to forgive the visitors. After all, there was plenty of salt.

As the tribe’s eager eyes gleamed, Wurao raised his eyelids, his expression unreadable.

After fifty years of isolation, they were finally forging ties with the outside world.

When Zhi finished explaining the trade deal—salt for game—Jufeng voices rose:

“We hunt! And use Heishan salt!”

“Salt! Salt!”

Wurao tapped his staff lightly under his chin, voice hoarse: “Let them disperse.”

Wei rose and called out sternly, “Everyone return and sleep. Tomorrow morning I will distribute the salt.”

“Hey!” “Awoooo!”

Once the others dispersed, Wurao turned to Zhi: “Tell me everything since you arrived at Heishan.”

Zhi nodded and recounted every detail—from the tea pavilion to the bamboo bows and the fields.

Wurao eyed the ceramic pot on the hide. Zhi immediately approached and set it before him. He ran his hand gently across the smooth surface.

“These are pottery,” he said. “Only a few major tribes know how to make such things.”

Wurao, now elderly, had selected Zhi as his apprentice. He intended to pass on all his knowledge—even this. He never imagined he’d one day hold a ceramic pot to teach with.

But he’d seen very few in his life. If the former Jufeng chieftain were present, he’d be struck—the Heishan pottery was completely unlike anything he’d seen.

Zhi looked at another pot, hesitated, then voiced a question: “Wurao—when I was at Heishan, I saw strange markings.”

“What kind of markings?”

Zhi drew the shapes in the dirt, describing symbols seen on a Heishan beastman.

Wurao closed his eyes, pondering, then turned to Ai, Wei, and Peng: “What did you see?”

They looked at one another, confused. Ai turned red, rubbing his neck.

“I… I didn’t see anything,” he finally stammered. All he could think of was milk tea and flower cakes.

Even Wei, the hunting captain, showed a hint of confusion in her eyes.

Wurao shook his head and asked, “How many people bear these marks?”

“Many,” Zhi replied. “But I couldn’t see well—some were wrapped. However, the beastman who arranged the trade with me—behind his ear, I saw the mark.”

Wurao bowed his head for a long moment, then gave a low, muffled laugh.

Everyone leaned forward, puzzled.

Wurao spoke: “Remember when I told you about slaves on the Beastman Continent?”

Because of their unique beast form and their isolation, the Jufeng had never had slaves—not even when they still lived on the grasslands.

And after settling in the Stone Forest, fostering slaves was unnecessary.

Zhi had only overheard the word once—never seen a slave herself.

Could it be… they were escaped slaves who fled to the Beast God’s resting place?

Zhi wasn’t sure why Wurao was amused. Ai scratched his head.

“Slaves are bad,” he said quietly.

Wurao shook his head—he felt neither disgust nor fear. Rather, he felt relief.

At first, he’d thought they’d rescued just eight slaves. But now, he realized—it might be the entire Heishan Tribe were slaves.

He curved his lips slightly in a smile. “Good that they are slaves. It means they fear the outside. Perhaps we can be bolder in our dealings.”

—

At the base of Heishan, it was evening when they sent off the four Jufeng visitors.

Qi Bai and Diao Lan cleaned tea utensils under the pavilion. Hunting and gathering teams drifted in.

Lang Ji strode over from among the hunters, stunned. “Where did the Jufeng go?”

Qi Bai nonchalantly replied, “They’ve gone.”

Lang Ji didn’t respond. When Qi Bai finished clearing the table and looked up, Lang Ji had vanished.

They packed the tools onto the cart. Once the horned beastmen pulled it back to the tribe, that would be it.

While nothing en route would be stolen, the tribe insisted they bring everything back “themselves.” It was only safe when within sight.

Not just pottery or cups—even if enough carts existed, people joked they’d move the pavilion furniture back daily.

Qi Bai handed his wooden bucket to Diao Lan.

“You’re not returning with it?” she asked.

Qi Bai nodded. “I’ll go back with Lang Ze in a bit. Don’t wait up for us.”

Diao Lan glanced at Lang Ze beneath the melon trellis—she asked no more. With Lang Ze around, Qi Bai would be safe. Between them, partner matters were best left unsaid.

Once everyone departed, Qi Bai rubbed his cheek and headed toward Lang Ze.

You couldn’t blame Qi Bai for missing Lang Ji’s odd behavior. He simply had no bandwidth.

Though Lang Ze showed no sign, Qi Bai sensed something off in his mood lingering long after the Jufeng departed.