Chapter 211

With Niu Xi’s shout, all the squad leaders at the threshing ground turned their attention her way.

Now the freshly appointed notetakers had to hustle. They clutched charcoal pencils and bamboo slivers, trailing behind the sprinting squad leaders:

“Don’t dash off before reporting your counts! If you don’t record properly, you won’t get your food token—do you want to go hungry?”

Running through their reply, the squad leaders called back, “Food’s on its way! No rush—we’ll report soon!”

Everyone needed tools—stone knives and axes—and if they didn’t hurry, they’d be left with nothing to even chip.

But as they were still running and complaining about the delay in food, several carts arrived.

Heads turned. Workers paused. Everyone recognized the carts instantly—the wheels and construction were unmistakable.

Though many still didn’t know even their squad leaders’ faces clearly, there was one person so familiar he was etched in memory.

As soon as Hu Xue stepped down from the cart, nearly a thousand eyes lit up in recognition.

She didn’t yet realize that to these workers, she already equaled food itself—they had been waiting all day for her.

Having only had porridge last night and worked all day, everyone’s arms were weak—but tonight’s dinner? That’s what kept them going.

Thanks to yesterday’s lesson, they knew better than to crowd around food—they would only get fed under squad leader guidance.

Meanwhile, Shali and Diao Lan were inside discussing workflow and tomorrow’s adjustments.

The biggest concern? Keeping the workers warm.

Dormitories couldn’t be finished in merely ten days, so they couldn’t leave laborers dwelling in sun shelters overnight.

The weather was frigid. Even the wide “Man-Eater River” had begun forming solid sheets of ice—blocks of it—rather than fragile thin ice. In just a few more days, even fetching water would require chopping ice.

The old sun-shelter roofs had never been built with warmth in mind—just shade or rain cover. Walls were made of loosely bound bamboo twigs—perfect for summer, terrible for winter.

Today Diao Lan saw many workers with blue, swollen fingers—frostbitten from the cold. They paused frequently to rub their hands.

Many were former slaves, resigned to injury or frostbite. But Heishan wouldn’t stand by idly.

So that evening, when the team discussed warming plans, Hu Xue descended the mountain with food just as they decided to build fire pits.

Qi Bai broke away from conversation. He dashed toward the broken stone pile: “Quick—lead your teams to eat! I’ll guard these stones.”

Notetakers perked up. Spotting Qi Bai felt like seeing their anchor.

“How much can we take?” they asked.

Qi Bai patted his chest: “Don’t worry—I’ll divide them equally. Your squad leaders will come by to collect. Everyone will get their fair share.”

Niu Xi was surprised her randomly collected stones were so prized: “I still need to fetch more tomorrow. I’ll bring more rock fragments.”

When people heard that, they cleared haste from their faces and turned back to surround the team leaders and notetakers.

Bao Xing on the left felt a tug: “I already helped my squad finish their ten tasks—and did extra—count that!”

On the right, another tugged at Bao Xing’s fur coat. “Quit dawdling—give me your food token!”

Bao Xing pressed the token deeper inside his coat. Excuse me, who’s dawdling here? Adults can be unreasonable.

Meanwhile, workers building bricks and digging outside the village gate behaved more orderly.

Notetakers who’d reported at noon had already counted their bricks. Now, many workers stood waiting at the food wagons.

Today’s fare: a full bamboo measure of grain porridge, plus a spoonful of dried fish with radish stew.

This morning, Hu Xue had dug into the warehouse and produced all stored dried “small fish”—from both freshwater river fish and sea fish, salted and dried.

Soaked, drained, then simmered in radish and pork lard for half an hour—Qi Bai had insisted on fat in their meal, saying without fat, people stay hungry, even after eating a lot.

Hu Xue added a little fat to the broth—tiny ox-eye pearls of oil glimmering in every cup.

By the first bite of fish, tears streamed down some old warriors’ faces: “Salt… the fish is salty… sob…”

They had never tasted such flavorful fish before—and with salt! The Heishan tribe had gone to lengths to feed slaves with salt.

Yang Ling looked at them and recalled his days in bondage. But oddly, the memories of hardship had blurred to nothing—what lingered were the memories of life in Heishan, those remained vivid.

Yang Ling smiled and scooped another ladle of porridge. Soon, the others would know that feeling too.

Under the night sky, the threshing ground echoed with rhythmic blows.

For the first time in a long while, everyone was truly working from the heart.

Though unspoken, the workers sensed it: Heishan was unlike any tribe they’d known.

This tribe didn’t exploit them.

They gave the workers the very bamboo they gathered from the forest.

They lit warming fires under the working shelter.

And when all the bamboo was processed, they realized the shelter floors—warm where fires had burned—radiated heat that seeped through to their feet.

Better still, even after bedtime, the fires before and behind houses stayed lit—plenty of embers still glowing.

Patrol warriors routinely tended the fires on their routes.

That night under those wood shelters, there was serenity—no curled-up trembling, no waking from icy chills, no nameless fears in the dark.

It was a long-lost warmth and a deep comfort.

At dawn, Hu Xiao opened his fox-like eyes and stretched all four limbs—he’d slept right through to morning, something unthinkable for always-alert Hu Xiao.

Before he could process it, the mountain carts returned—this time with wood tables from the wagons loaded down.

Still in beast-form, Hu Xiao peeked through the bamboo shack slats. He watched Heishan’s people expertly slide aside the original bamboo beds, line up the sturdy wooden tables in a neat row, and add chairs…

It dawned on Hu Xiao: these people truly know how to build a home.

“Hu Xiao—stop spacing out. The squad leader’s calling.” A sub-beastfolk nudged him. “There’s food this morning. Let’s go!”

“Mm.” Hu Xiao pulled himself up and transformed back to human form, joining the crowd.

The small bamboo hut under the sun-shelter—once for threshing-night watch—had become a makeshift office for cubs. The cubs were thrilled. They fingered everything—they’d never be surrounded again like last night.

Because from now on, after squad leaders complete tasks, they’d come into the hut to check in.

Similarly, returning work squads would only leave with their goods once approved by the cubs.

Bao Xing rubbed his still-flushed cheeks—finally no adults pinching them.

Meanwhile squad leaders moved more cautiously—yes, because they’d been scolded for grabbing stones yesterday.

Qi Bai’s phrase? Something about “leading by example.” If they wanted discipline, they themselves must follow it. Any further rushing or queue-jumping—and their work points would be docked.

Squad leaders vigorously waved, “We get it! Next time we report and never mislead the workers!”

Since then, the threshing squad was more orderly than in past days—and productivity soared.

Within half an hour, all had received breakfast, and outdoor crews were gathering to depart.

The escaped North Wasteland people adapted quickly to Heishan’s rhythms.

But Ma Ling’s returning party approached the village in shock.

Just ten days ago, the open space opposite the farmland was a bare grove.

Now rows of stone walls stood where brush and grass once grew.

Xizhou stared blankly—had it even been wilderness before? He thought he remembered a few small trees.

Ma Ling hurried ahead and tightened her fur coat. “What are they building—sheep pens?”

Heishan only had four-eared sheep living in stone houses.

“Thank goodness you’re back—I thought I heard your voices.” Xiong Feng peered over the wall and hurried to lead them inside.

“These stone houses are not sheep pens—they’re new homes for workers,” he explained. “Speaking of workers—that group from the North Wasteland.”

He checked with the returnees: “You’re all safe? No trouble on the way?”

Ma Ling quickened her pace: “Safe—no trouble at all. Quickly—take me to Wolf Ze.”