Chapter 134

Qi bai had hauled in two large stone slabs, each about fifteen centimeters thick, shaped roughly like round cakes.

He took a length of grass rope to use as a compass, drawing two concentric circles on the slightly larger slab. That one would serve as the base of the stone mill. On the slightly smaller slab, he drew a single circle for the top piece.

Then, using a short piece of red bird bone as a chisel and a small stone hammer, he patiently chipped away, smoothing the edges and faces little by little.

The base of the mill had a raised center to lock the two stones together. He hollowed out the concentric circles and carved a small opening at the edge for the flour to spill out—thus completing the base.

The upper millstone needed a corresponding groove to sit on the base, along with a feeding hole through the center and a handle for turning.

Once he fitted the upper stone onto the base, Qibai pressed down and turned the handle. The mill rumbled into motion.

From the heated kang-bed, several people perked up at the sound and crowded over. “Is it ready?”

It had been four whole days since Qibai first brought the stones inside. As the rough shapes slowly turned into proper millstones, curiosity in the house had only grown.

In that same time, the clansmen had already spun all the Four-Eared Sheep wool into coarse yarn. Now they sat with bamboo sticks, clumsily learning to knit sweaters.

Qibai had picked up knitting years ago from his college roommate in textile design. That guy had spent an entire semester knitting in their dorm just to complete a course project. Qibai, watching every day, had ended up learning how to cast on, bind off, and make simple patterns.

He wasn’t skilled enough to knit a whole sweater yet, but he figured with practice, he’d manage eventually.

Now, he broke apart some dried sweet potato, tossed it into the mill’s feeding hole, and gave the handle two turns. He frowned. “Not good yet. The food isn’t grinding into powder. I’ll need to rethink this.”

Bearwind had just returned from carpentry work, coming to fetch Shulin and Little Bear Mountain. Scratching his head, he said, “If you want the sweet potatoes crushed, just give them to me. I can pound them into powder with a rock.”

He didn’t quite understand why Qibai went through all this trouble to make a tool.

Qibai only smiled. “Powder from pounding isn’t even, and it wastes too much time. Right now food is scarce, so we make do. But later, when we harvest much more, we can’t rely on brute force every time.”

Whether it was the grain they’d bought from Xiangke Tribe or the sweet potatoes growing wild nearby, Qibai intended to plant both in bulk this spring. By next year, the tribe would surely reap plenty.

So even if making a mill took time, it was worth it.

He lifted off the top stone and studied the contact surfaces. He remembered seeing an old abandoned mill in the countryside once, covered in strange patterns.

His eyes lit up. “That’s it—grooves.”

The problem was that the two stone plates were too smooth. Food just slid across without being drawn between them. If he carved thin ridges into the grinding surfaces, they would catch and pull the food inside. Slanted grooves could also guide the ground flour outward into the base’s groove.

With this new idea, he spent the next day chiseling fine lines across both stones.

When he reassembled the mill and turned the handle, the dried sweet potato chunks fed in and disappeared. Soon, fine white powder began to spill from the edges.

Wiping stone dust from his face, Qibai grinned. The mill had finally worked.

Back in the modern world where he was born, mills like this were nearly obsolete—anyone could buy machine-ground flour in a store. But only by making one himself could he truly appreciate the ingenuity of the ancients.

Yangluo pinched a bit of the powder. “How do you make food from this?”

Qibai grabbed the old priest’s arm and shook it playfully. “Grandpa Priest, bring a basket of sweet potato chips from the storehouse today. I’ll make sweet potato noodles for you.”

Yangluo gave him a sidelong glance. As if Qibai needed that much just for himself—obviously he wanted everyone to try. The priest waved him off. “Go, go.”

Qibai jumped to his feet. “Alright!”

Huxue quickly set aside the half-knitted sweater. “I’ll come with you.”

They bundled into fur coats and hats.

When Qibai opened the door, icy wind cut across his face. Snow had been falling heavier each day; even though everyone cleared their doorsteps daily, the ground was still buried under thick layers.

Pulling his fur hood down to reveal only his eyes, Qibai stared out at the swirling snow.

Huxue shut the door behind them and glanced at him. “Worried about Langze?”

Qibai trudged through the snow, boots crunching. He sniffed and smiled. “I was just thinking—when Langze and the others come back, will they be mad if we’ve already eaten?”

In truth, his heart held many worries. Was Langze warm enough? Had he eaten? Could he get lost in the blizzard? But Qibai kept those to himself—no point making everyone else anxious too.

Huxue’s voice drifted in the wind. “Then when they return, we’ll just cook again.”

The stone storehouse was colder than outside. The two found a basket of dried sweet potato along the wall. Fresh tubers and radishes had been stored in a heated cellar to prevent freezing, while the warehouse only kept meat and thoroughly dried slices.

Because the door wasn’t fully sealed, Yangluo inspected it daily to make sure mice hadn’t stolen anything.

Qibai and Huxue carried the basket back, wrapped the slices in a clean hide, and gently pounded them with sticks until they shattered crisply.

Feeding them into the mill, they soon had a steady flow of sweet potato flour.

The children’s eyes lit up in wonder. Qibai pointed at the handle. “Who wants to try?”

“I do!” “Me!”

Laughing, he stepped aside. What felt like hard work to humans was nothing but play to strong beastmen who had never seen such things. Those left waiting even pouted as if missing out.

Qibai brushed the flour into a big wooden basin, added water, and began kneading.

With so many mouths to feed, he chose the simplest dish—sweet potato noodles.

Pure sweet potato flour had no gluten, so it couldn’t be rolled and cut like wheat dough. Instead, Qibai improvised: he punched holes in a bamboo sheet with a hand drill, making a crude grater.

He pressed the dough back and forth across it, and smooth strands of noodles fell into a basket.

When the clay pot of water boiled, he dropped the noodles in. Soon they bubbled and cooked through. Scooping them into cold water gave them a glistening, springy look.

Yangluo elbowed his way to the front, grabbed chopsticks, and lifted some into his mouth. His eyes widened. “This… this is sweet potato?”

The noodles were bouncy and slightly sweet. If he hadn’t seen them made step by step, he would never have believed it.

Qibai carefully scooped out the rest, reminding, “Grandpa Priest, plain noodles are a bit bland. They taste best with toppings.”

As if struck by inspiration, Yangluo ladled half a bowl of noodles, then poured salty braised broth over them. Sweet and salty flavors melded perfectly.

He slurped down a full bowl. But the loudest swallowing came not from him—everyone else in the room was watching hungrily, throats bobbing.

Still, no one dared speak while the priest ate.

Yangluo drained the last of the broth and smacked his lips. He could have eaten two more bowls.

Finally, he declared, “Everyone can have a small bowl tonight.”

Qibai added, “I’ll set the mill outside. Anyone can grind flour whenever they want noodles.”

The method wasn’t complicated, and with today’s demonstration, most had already learned.

That was Qibai’s real aim—to show the tribe that plants weren’t limited to a single way of eating. If they enjoyed these foods, they’d be more eager to farm them.

Yangluo nodded, then announced: “For creating a new food for the tribe, Baobai will be rewarded with two fine hides.”

The tribe had strict rules: contributions were always rewarded, whether with food, hides, or entry points for new members.

This time Yangluo personally handed him two thick hides—the ones they had traded from the War Bear Tribe. Truly first-class.

That night, holding the hides in his arms, Qibai thought to himself: tonight, I’ll put these to good use.