Chapter 197

Ma Shu moved aside with the bamboo in his arms and glanced back at the towering giant beside him—a strange look fixed on the beast’s face. Ever since the giant (Lang Ze in beast form) arrived and stared silently at him, Ma Shu couldn’t help but feel awkward.

Lang Ze, busy trimming bamboo leaves, lifted an eyelid and calmly asked, “Want to learn?”

Peng turned toward Lang Ze, excitement lighting up his expression, and nodded eagerly.

Earlier that morning, Qi Bai and Lang Ze had stood at the edge of the threshing ground discussing plans—proof that they intended to build a structure similar to the communal shelter over the yard.

The Jufeng giants had long admired the Heishan shelter. Some had even tried building wooden houses back in their home land, but quickly realized that replicating Heishan-style frame construction was no easy feat.

Jufeng homes were typically built in caves; younger generations hadn’t even learned how to pitch tents. Even those who once used tents couldn’t understand the Heishan structure—most tents were conical or solid-built with stone and wood, while Heishan’s homes used frames.

That was why, despite constructing a crude wooden house, it felt flimsy and lacked the beauty of Heishan’s work.

No wonder. The Jufeng clan wasn’t accustomed to using tools—basic tasks like drilling or smoothing posed challenges. Building a grass shelter was doable, but a Heishan-style wooden pavilion—resembling ancient Huaguo tea pavilions—exceeded their general construction know-how. It was entirely reasonable they struggled.

Lang Ze gave a light affirmative hum. Then he kicked several lengths of bamboo at Peng’s feet.

“Want to learn? Then help out—let’s see how far you’ll get.”

Upon hearing this, the Jufeng giants, who’d been eavesdropping, happily gathered around.

Though they visited frequently, without their usual familiar faces like Lang Ji and Niu Cheng, the Jufeng people felt awkward around the Heishan residents again. And because they weren’t sure if Heishan would willingly teach them, they hesitated—but Lang Ze’s open offer eased that tension.

Wiping sweat from his brow under the blazing sun, Ma Shu decided to teach them a bit. Splitting bamboo, cutting leaf notches, and halving lengths accurately—each step required skill and attention to detail. Ma Shu had apprenticed with Hu Huo before and knew how wasteful mistakes could be.

He handed out his two stone axes—he wouldn’t give away the only bone knife he owned—and said, “I’ll teach you how to split correctly.”

Under that oppressive heat, only the shelter’s shade or the tree canopy offered respite. The horned beastmen chopped wood and bamboo; the sub-beastmen relaxed in groups and chatted until afternoon light shifted—the hot sun moving westward.

Looking over the fields, they saw that Heishan’s planting area—only about thirty acres of millet—had nearly all been harvested by fifty sub-beastmen wielding bone knives.

But the grain was still moist; it needed one or two days to dry before threshing. After the horned and Jufeng beastmen compacted the threshing ground twice more, the sub-beastmen brought in small carts and wheelbarrowed in the harvested millet.

They tipped the stalks onto the threshing yard. Qi Bai sprinted over with a bamboo rake at his height, rustling the millet thinly across the ground. Long summer days meant the millet could dry thoroughly outdoors.

Everyone worked together under the sun until they’d fully completed the yard.

Once tools were stored and Lang Ze arranged for two horned beastmen to guard the yard overnight, others began to head back to the tribe.

At that moment, Ma Shu’s voice rose: “You’ll be here tomorrow, right? We’ll keep building the house—otherwise, we won’t work!”

The Jufeng giants looked at the half-built frame, hope mixed with concern—they didn’t want the house completed before they arrived, so they could contribute.

Mas Shu, sincere and firm, promised just that.

Priest Yang Luo and Hu Xue stepped forward, handing the Jufeng food-packed baskets filled with vultures. Yang Luo warned kindly, “It’s getting late—if you don’t leave now, you might lose your way in the dark.”

Peng held the basket with a goofy grin: “Don’t worry—I know the way even without seeing!”

He had learned well how these provisions worked: sometimes Hu Xue would pack food for them to bring back home if work ran late. The Jufeng valued take-home food even more than eating on-site—it meant they could share it with elders and cubs back in Stone Forest.

The giants stepped back; a group of seven-to-eight-meter-tall giants lifted the sub-beastmen gently into their arms and strode southward—fast and sure, like small hills in motion.

Tu Ya watched their retreating backs: “They run back and forth every day—must be exhausting.”

Shu Lin shook his head: “If I had neighbors like them, I’d run over every day too.”

Everyone laughed and gathered carts and tools, returning to the tribe along the mountain path.

Lang Ze queued for dinner like everyone else, while Qi Bai headed home first. Though they’d made their cave-homes upstairs for coolness, the brick homes near the wall felt more practical now—with tools, firewood, and visitors likely at any time—so they stayed on the lower level.

Qi Bai filled their water pot from the spring-heated pot. Morning’s boiling water had already been used up; he needed to prepare water for the evening.

The kitchen setup was clever: the stove connected to a kang heater via tunnel; he had blocked the kayak to the heater, but the direct channel from stove to kang remained open. Plugging that would risk dislodging their not-so-solid clay pot. So he left it be.

He used the stove only for cooking and kept sleeping and cooking separate—convenient and efficient.

He quickly added firewood, capped the pot, then flopped onto the kang, sprawling on the thick bamboo mat. The heat-radiated skin moistened by the cool mat felt blissful.

When Lang Ze brought dinner, he found Qi Bai flipping over like a pancake, searching for cool spots on the mat’s surface—the only relief when lying too long.

Seeing him, Qi Bai sprang up and asked eagerly: “What’s for dinner?”

Lang Ze presented a tray: two large bamboo bowls filled with green onion–topped beef meatball soup; a clay dish with six nuogen cakes; and four charred long ribs.

Heishan’s communal meals were generous—those meatballs were packed tightly, nearly hiding the soup beneath them.

Qi Bai’s hunger grew visibly. He slipped into straw sandals and said cheerfully, “I’ll whip up two quick cold dishes and be right back.” He dashed to the next room.

The spring water was boiling. He filled the water jug with it, then dropped in kelp (which he’d soaked earlier). While it simmered, he minced ginger and garlic, sliced green onion, and washed a serrated-leaf wild vegetable used by the tribe—known as “tooth greens” (chi-cai).

Once cooked, he cooled the kelp with water, shredded it and the greens into thin strips, sprinkled in aromatics, and added salt, sugar, oyster sauce, and soy sauce.

In ten minutes, he had two refreshing side dishes ready.

He fed a piece of kelp to Lang Ze with expectation: “Try it—good, or need more salt?”

Lang Ze shook his head: “Perfect as is.”

To him, anything Qi Bai made was the best—even leaves tasted more fragrant when Qi Bai prepared them.

Qi Bai tasted the tooth greens. Slightly bitter, but the sugar balanced it, leaving a unique grassy aroma. And those fresh leaves—crisp and invigorating.

They carried their bowls and jug inside the warmth of home—finally ready for the richly deserved dinner.

Over the next few days, Qi Bai and Lang Ze rose early each morning. Lang Ze worked on the wooden shelter next to the threshing yard; Qi Bai vigilantly oversaw sun-drying the millet stalks—turning them, rolling the stone mill over them.

On the third morning, Qi Bai pinched a firm grain between his fingertips and called excitedly: “It’s ready! Time to harvest the millet!”