Chapter 203

Early this morning, Lang Kuang and Quan Liu brought food and water to the cubs’ house. They planned to drop it off and leave, but just as they opened the door, several giant beasts were squatting inside, tilting their heads to examine the wooden tables and benches.

The Ju feng beasts had only ever seen the shelter or the threshing houses—frames of rough wood decorated with bamboo, with furniture also made of bamboo that kept cool. This was their first encounter with solid wood furniture.

Though there had been oil lamps last night, the light was limited and couldn’t fully illuminate the room. Now, with daylight, the Jufeng tribesmen—excited from a long night of slight sleep—couldn’t contain their curiosity and climbed out of bed to inspect everything.

Inside, they carefully lifted bamboo mats to reveal dried grass and yellow mud underneath.

They leaned in together, silent nods. The sleeping platform was built of earth, with different mud texture on the wall. That seemed odd.

When they saw Lang Kuang and Quan Liu at the door, they shrank back and looked at each other uncertainly.

“We’re just looking—didn’t break anything, right?”

Lang Kuang saw they’d already risen and smiled immediately.

He had been one of the eight horned warriors healed by the Ju feng. Though they’d been confined to a dark cave for a month or two, after Zhi and Wei explained, Wolf Kuang had expressed understanding. Truthfully, if it were himself, he couldn’t know whether he’d have sacrificed such precious herb powder to strangers—so he had a natural fondness and gratitude toward the Jufeng people.

That’s why Qi Bai had intentionally chosen Lang Kuang and Quan Liu to escort and receive the Jufeng.

Lang Kuang motioned with the food in his hands: “You must be hungry. We brought this morning’s food for you.”

Before the giants could respond, the room next door’s door opened. Zhi walked out holding a small fur pouch, then gently closed the door.

Wurou had worked most of the night and only managed rest at dawn—so the Ju feng insisted on quiet.

Zhi greeted Lang Kuang and Quan Liu: “We ate a lot of food yesterday. There’s no need to prepare separate meals now—our people can hunt for themselves.”

Quan Liu waved: “It’s not about separate meals. Everyone in the tribe will share equally in the food.”

Wolf Kuang added with a smile: “Bao Xing said you all worked hard coming here. This is only what we should do. If there’s anything else you need, just let us know.”

Ai, towering at the table, rubbed his hands eagerly: “Can we go outside?”

Before arriving at Heishan, Wurou had warned them to observe etiquette. They assumed, since Ju feng didn’t invite outsiders roaming freely, Heishan likely shared that.

So even curious, none of them slipped out uninvited.

But, unexpectedly, Quan Liu answered without hesitation: “Sure—you can go. Eat first; we can take you out anytime.”

Qi Bai and Lang Ze had already told them that they might be busy over the next two days. If the Jufeng got bored, Lang Kuang and Quan Liu could show them around—or if the giants wanted to join tribe hunts—they could decide for themselves.

After their briefing, Yang Luo quietly reminded: “Stay close, and be mindful—don’t let everyone go sightseeing!”

Yang Luo’s words made Lang Kuang and Quan Liu consult briefly.

Heishan’s tools—dustpans, baskets, wagon parts—were already known to the Ju feng, and Lang Ze had even taught them how to build wood shelters. So those were fine.

But “not the kiln area,” they decided—pottery, forge, and sheep pen were off-limits.

After breakfast, the Jufeng were taken on a tour of the tribe. All except Wurou received food; candy for Wurou resumed later.

This group looked like a sightseeing troupe.

Zhi chose to step aside—she’d identified the location of the injured—and, carrying finished medicinal powder, headed toward where Quan Liu had pointed.

The cub house was right next to the school. Passing two large trees in the square, they saw elders under shade, scrubbing bundles of downy wool with a wooden slat. Zhi glimpsed and looked away, curious about this Hoisan tradition.

Walking along, Zhi thought: perhaps later she could ask Qi Bai for help with the medicine—she had an odd feeling he could assist.

After Zhi left, towering Jufeng giants stared at Wolf Kuang and Quan Liu. Wolf Kuang felt uneasy—surrounded by giants, he felt like he’d fallen into a pit. Should he say something? But what?

At that moment, cubs emerged from the cave. Seeing the giants at the door, several cubs ran over—Bao Xing grabbed Ai’s leg. “You’re my friends!”

Now Wolf Kuang and Quan Liu’s job became easy—they just followed the Jufeng and cub parade.

All morning, the Jufeng experienced a brand-new world.

Cubs perched on giant necks, pointing as the giants turned to look. Bao Xing never paused narrating.

“Our roads are flat,” Bao Xing pointed to the smooth main street and intersecting alleys. “They’re paved with stones—the kind used to press husks in the threshing yard.” He mimed a snowplow: “If you came in winter, we’d use huge snow plows to clear deep snow. That’s amazing.”

At this, the giants looked at him in wonder.

Bao Xing continued: “These houses—see, they’re built with bricks. With mud alone, they’d collapse in rain.”

Ai curiously stared at a dustpan; Bao Xing said: “That’s a dipper like the one Qi Bai used to dry apricots. You can stack dippers on racks like these, so there’s space to walk.”

As they walked to the outermost rooms—empty before the tribe grew—they passed the main kitchen, dairy hut, milling room, and hay store. Each doorway had a bamboo sun shade. People came and went—it was grand.

To modern eyes, it was akin to a small shopping street.

Inside, seated under shade, sub-beastfolk washed dishes with buckets, butchered and seasoned meat, and ground tubes of dried vegetables into powder. Some lathered spice mix onto meat strips.

Pong whispered, “Why season meat like medicine?”

The butcher laughed: “Not medicine—we made this seasoning. It makes grilled meat taste better!”

The giants’ mouths dropped open.

“Beast God, no wonder Heishan food tastes so good—they make food with artistry. Everything takes multiple steps here.”

They watched the dairy hut in stunned silence—never had Jufeng seen such ‘luxury.’ They assumed it was milk for cubs, but here it was struck, churned, boiled in wooden buckets—like a precious cub’s nourishment.

Watching made their hearts ache.

Bao Xing waved dismissively: “Don’t worry. We have plenty of goat milk here. We drink it every day.”

The Jufeng sightseeing ended at the signature wall on the tribe’s wall. The cubs perked up—Wolf Kuang and some cubs strained to listen as Bao Xing explained how the wall was built and how every tribal member’s claw print was embedded—along with 3-year-old Xia.

These were founding memories of the tribe—their identity.

Quan Liu listened raptly. He never knew Bao Xing knew so much.

Every word touched Quan Liu deeply.

When they first came, they only had a broken cave. Now there was a grand tribe and cultivated land. They rarely noticed changes in daily life—only now, through foreign eyes, did they see how much progress had been made in just two years. Heishan had become something others envied.

Quan Liu felt proud—Wolf Ze especially had made the forward-thinking choice to join the tribe.

Yet Qi Bai and Wolf Ze didn’t notice any of this—retracing their path through the schoolhouse, they found Wolfji awake, struggling to grip Zhi’s arm.

“You…,” Wolfji whispered hoarsely, “help me too.”

Wolfji lay on a temporary cot. Though his features resembled Wolfze’s—deep, exotic—they were encircled by large dark circles. If not for Qi Bai’s aesthetic sense, Wolfji might have seemed handsome in frailty.

Zhi, however, wasn’t aligned—he was small, scrawny even, shorter than her. No air of beauty. To Zhi, he simply looked vulnerable.

And Wolfji—there’s some injustice there.

His injuries were severe, but he’d been weak from exhaustion—his once-fleshed frame nearly wasted after days of harsh travel.

Zhi stopped and frowned: “When I treated you last night, there were no wounds.”

Wolfji pushed on softly: “Then why can’t I get up?”

He’d never sounded this helpless—Quan Nan, feeding Hu Qiao broth, nearly dropped her ladle.

“Let me check your leg,” she said urgently, kneeling beside him.

Qi Bai, exhaling small relief, noted that Fox Qiao and Wolfji were now conscious and even beginning to whine for attention.

In two or three hours of rest after Yangluo and Wolfze’s watch, both had recovered enough to voice complaints.

In beastfolk, the body is resilient—blood loss and infection, not wounds themselves, kill. Heishan’s tribespeople were well-practiced. Though Fox Qiao and Tun Quan had serious wounds, they were treated promptly and bleeding stopped. The Jufeng medicine served to suppress infection and perhaps reduce inflammation.

Since dosing them last night, Fox Qiao and Tun Quan—though still feverish—remained conscious. That was itself a major success.

As for Wolfji and Ma Ling, they weren’t wounded—but fatigue left them collapsing. Physical exhaustion, though invisible, causes serious harm if unchecked. Without fitness training, they might have collapsed entirely.

Qi Bai still placed them in the temporary infirmary, with mild saline and sugar water for electrolyte replenishment once they awoke.

Qi Bai recalled when Wolfji first came to the tribe—he’d run to ask where the Jufeng were. Now, reflecting on his voice, Qi Bai realized Wolfji’s urgency likely came from missing Zhi—and the failure to find her had left him forlorn.

Qi Bai thought to himself: the boy has big ambitions indeed…