Chapter 195

The most vital resource needed to prepare for the trading day was salt. The day after setting the departure date, Lang Ze led a small group of horned beastmen to the seaside to harvest salt.

The salt field Qi Bai had devised earlier—where seawater was collected in coastal pits—proved invaluable. The dry weather had nearly evaporated all the moisture, leaving only a thin layer of damp, yellowish coarse salt. The team simply swept it into piles and scooped it directly into hide sacks with wooden shovels.

Thanks to this innovation, the salt gatherers no longer needed to crouch under the grass canopy and boil seawater for days. The amount that would have taken five or six days to produce by kettle was loaded onto the cart in half a day.

Everyone marveled at Qi Bai’s inventive mind. They buzzed: “What clever ideas he comes up with in that little head!”

That evening, the salt-gathering team stayed overnight by the sea to clear a channel to refill the salt pans from the tide.

Meanwhile, the tribe was abuzz with energy back home:

The clan was recruiting members for the trading caravan heading to Xushan Trading Day.

At the waterfall, a dozen sub-beastmen were rinsing hides in the shade. When the news broke, their work immediately stopped—they all looked up expectantly at Shu You as he brought the announcement.

One sub-beastman, still holding his mallet and damp with sweat, asked excitedly, “Our tribe is going to the trading day?”

This was his first time hearing of such a thing—his clan had only ever traded with the nearby Xiao Niu tribe.

Shu You, holding a wooden basin beside the waterfall, beamed and confirmed: “Yes! I just heard from Hu Xue in the kitchen—our team is already preparing provisions!”

An older sub-beastman chipped in: “Not surprising—we’d go anyway. But what do you mean by ‘recruitment’? Tell us more, Shu You.”

He explained, “Previously, the leader and hunting captain selected the caravan. This time, anyone can apply—there will be one hundred slots!”

A hush fell.

“But wait—it gets better,” Shu You continued, eyes sparkling, “Each selected member gets ten pieces of smoked meat!”

“What?” The crowd gasped, “Ten pieces?”

One young beastman almost thought he misheard. A single salted meat piece weighed about five jin; ten pieces amounted to fifty jin—a huge bonus!

In winter, an adult beastman’s daily meat ration was only three jin, so these extra rations meant fifteen days of food per person. That was enough to last one to two months!

Naturally, the prospect excited everyone—until one younger sub-beastman suddently despaired: “But only horned beastmen can apply. We won’t get any meat!”

Shu You’s eyes widened: “Who said that? Last year, some sub-beastmen went too—and this year we’re guaranteed at least thirty spots. I already applied!”

The crowd leapt into action: “Why didn’t you say earlier? Go go go!”

They ran off, hide-covered and still wet, to register. Even the elders couldn’t resist—the opportunity was too good.

Shu You chuckled behind them, then returned to his hide-cleaning.

Back in the tribe’s center, Qi Bai sat with a long line of applicants waiting to register their names. He’d expected fewer volunteers, especially after the avalanche tragedy.

Priest Yang Luo sat beside him, murmuring: “I said no need for extra incentives…”

But Qi Bai just smiled—if anything stirred enthusiasm, that was a good thing. The trading caravan risked weeks on the road; extra supplies weren’t a luxury—they were fair.

Ignoring the priest’s teasing, Qi Bai smiled at the next sub-beastman in line and wrote down his name: “Wait for news. Once the salt team returns, we’ll announce the selected list.”

That applicant nodded joyfully and turned to leave.

After an hour with no more registrants, Qi Bai stored away the bamboo slips and went to check on the kitchen and the cart shelter.

Inside, the kitchen bustled. She Li and her helpers sliced fresh meat into strips, delivering them inside to Hu Xue.

She placed the strips in a clay pot of simmering brine, cooked them for half an hour, then transferred them to grilling trays. By afternoon’s end, half a basket of smoky jerky had been prepared.

This dried meat would serve as emergency rations should the trading party fail to hunt enough wildlife on the road. Along with air-dried milk tofu and yak butter—compact and filling—they wouldn’t take much space in the carts.

The sub-beastmen laughed: “With this yummy meat, the journey won’t feel hard at all.”

Another sniffed the air: “So fragrant I can’t even work!”

She Li knocked the younger one’s head playfully: “Don’t pretend you don’t eat meat every day!”

Qi Bai peeked in from the doorway. She Li waved him in: “Come taste some jerky.”

Qi Bai shook his head with a grin: “Nah, just checking if you need anything. I’ll head to the cart area later.”

Hu Xue called back, wiping sweat: “Go ahead, we’re all set.”

Following a path behind the kitchen led to the cart shelter. There, over thirty shirtless beastmen were hard at work—sawing wooden boards and assembling them onto nearly completed cart sides.

This was built from Qi Bai’s wagon blueprints, styled after ancient Huaguo chariots—but with a full door for hanging breezy hide curtains instead of open windows.

Last year’s caravan suffered under the relentless sun, even with makeshift sunshades. This time, carts would have sheltered compartments.

Qi Bai planned for eight enclosed wagons—ample for a 100-person team. During the day they provided shade; at night, they became sleeping quarters. Their only drawback: they weren’t disassemblable. Crossing rivers like Xishui might challenge their size, but the plains beyond were open, and the destination not far ahead.

They might not look exquisite—they were rough, unpainted wood—but functional. More important was resilience: enduring rough terrain without breaking.

Despite their inexperience as carpenters, each craftsman was confident listening to Qi Bai. That confidence reflected Heishan’s spirit. A bit of raw wood became a reliable tool—as long as Qi Bai proposed it, they believed they could do it.

He believed utility mattered more than appearance.

When the salt team returned, they found their caravan fully equipped and imposing.

Eight wagons stood prominently: some without enclosed cabins to haul bulk goods—three loaded with salt and provisions, the rest with spare boards and wheels to convert into spare carts if needed.

But what amazed them most were the eight enclosed wagons. Their hide-fronted doors opened to cool, bamboo-matted interiors—and two even held iron stoves.

Thanks to Jufeng assistance, the tribe had plenty of red iron ore. In the past month, they’d smelted a good pile. That metal became stoves and pots for the caravan.

Each stove was a simple iron box with four legs, a door for adding coals, and a railing to hold the pot—designed for stability on the move.

Diao Lan admired them: “If we’d had these stoves last time, no worries about spills or embers setting wood ablaze.”

Qi Bai nodded—they’d avoided that risk this year.

Shu You beamed and proclaimed: “If it’s hot, just put me in that wagon—I’ll cook for everyone all the way.”