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Mang Jiu’s expression was cold and his tone icy; he spat a single—“Get lost”—straight into Mang Er’s face.

But such coldness couldn’t dampen Mang Er’s enthusiasm; he was determined to give him a hug no matter what!

After all, they were blood brothers—the very brother he’d feared would starve to death during hibernation!

“Little brother!!”

Mang Er lunged forward.

A vein throbbed on Mang Jiu’s forehead as he raised his hand and landed a punch.

K.O.!

Mang Er clutched his jaw where he’d been struck, his eyes brimming with tears from the pain.

“Why did you hit me?” he whined, looking utterly wronged.

Mang Jiu was cold and ruthless. “You’re annoying.”

Mang Er pouted, rubbed his chin, then turned to the stunned Zhang Shuguang and said, “Shuguang, look, I got hit. Can you let me stay for a meal?”

Zhang Shuguang closed his mouth, which had been hanging open in shock, and shot a helpless glance at Mang Jiu.

Born of the same mother—albeit a few years apart—how could these two brothers have such different personalities? Could it really be due to a genetic mutation caused by their father’s lineage?

The thought flashed through his mind, but facing the beaming Meng Er, Zhang Shuguang nodded and said, “Alright, Brother Meng Er, you brought me so much fish; it’s only right that I invite you to stay for a meal.”

Mang Jiu snorted coldly, “Didn’t you eat your fill while hunting?”

Meng Er chuckled, unfazed by his brother’s attitude. He just smiled warmly at Zhang Shuguang and explained, “Whatever Shuguang cooks, I can eat it even if I’m already full.”

Mang Jiu clenched his fist tightly, itching to punch him again.

Zhang Shuguang didn’t notice Mang Jiu’s surging emotions at all; having his cooking skills acknowledged and praised, he was beaming with pride.

“I’m planning to make something special for lunch—something you’ve definitely never tasted before, Brother Mang Er.”

Meng Er nodded repeatedly. “Right, right. Shuguang, you’re really amazing—you know how to make so many things. Oh, right,” he said, as if suddenly remembering something. He rummaged through the few intact, grayish-yellow short-haired hides that had been tossed on the ground, pulled out two twigs, and handed them over. “See if these will work.”

Zhang Shuguang took them, examined them first, then gave them a sniff.

“Hm?” He tilted his head, a flicker of confusion in his eyes, then leaned in to sniff again. He broke off a small piece, put it in his mouth, and chewed it.

Mang Jiu reached out to stop him. Who knew what it was—how could he just put it straight in his mouth?

Zhang Shuguang, his wrist held fast, saw Mang Jiu’s stern expression and chuckled. “It’s fine, it’s fine. I was just tasting it. Anything Meng Er brings back can’t be poisonous. This twig has a very distinctive scent.”

“Where did you find it?” He looked at Meng Er.

Meng Er scratched his head. “I don’t know.”

Mang Jiu snorted again. “What would he know?”

Mang Er felt a bit awkward, too. He really didn’t know where the twig had come from. He’d been pretty full at the time, so he’d been wandering through the woods to help his food settle, and the twig had gotten caught on his scales and rubbed off. He hadn’t even noticed it until he’d shifted back into human form.

It smelled pretty good, so he brought it back to Zhang Shuguang, thinking that since the other guy knew so much, it might come in handy.

Zhang Shuguang felt like he’d tasted this flavor somewhere before, though the shape might not have been exactly like this.

Suddenly, a thought struck him. He examined the slender twig in his hand with surprise, then held it under his nose and sniffed hard. “Cinnamon!”

“Huh?” The two brothers turned to look at him.

Zhang Shuguang grabbed Mang Er’s hand and asked excitedly, “Second Brother, you really can’t remember where you picked this up? Think hard—this is a very important spice!” If it really was a cinnamon tree, his stewed meat would smell even better from now on! Plus, he remembered that cinnamon had medicinal uses.

Mang Jiu’s expression changed. He reached out to pull Zhang Shuguang back a bit and said, “I know where to find that tree. I’ll take you there tomorrow.”

Meng Er blinked. Wasn’t he asking him? But thinking of how rare it was for his brother to take the initiative to get close to a Sub-Beastman, he smiled and said, “Right, I really don’t know where I picked it up, but it should be over by the Wild Plains. That’s the route our hunting party took on the way back this time.”

Zhang Shuguang turned to look at Mang Jiu. Mang Jiu glanced at Meng Er and said, “We usually hunt further out. The Wild Plains are near the Black Forest—there are plenty of trees there, so you can go look around. Even if you don’t find it, you can check if there are any other fruits. You wanted that pumpkin, didn’t you?”

Zhang Shuguang nodded. Right, there’s also the pumpkin. He’d have to weave a bamboo basket this afternoon; otherwise, if they found something good tomorrow, he wouldn’t be able to bring it all back.

Meng Er stood nearby, staring at Mang Jiu in utter astonishment. He seemed to have just heard Mang Jiu say a lot of words—how was that possible? Wasn’t his brother the laziest when it came to opening his mouth?

Mang Jiu shot Mang Er a sidelong glance.

Zhang Shuguang ignored Mang Jiu’s one-sided disdain for Mang Er. With a cheerful expression, he carried the few large fish Mang Er had brought back, humming a tune as he went off to clean them.

Mang Jiu couldn’t be bothered with his brother. He walked over to Zhang Shuguang and asked, “What can I do?”

Zhang Shuguang slit the fish open, removed all the innards, scraped off the scales, and placed them on the cutting board beside him. Holding a boning knife, he turned his head and said, “Look, like this.”

With a swift stroke of the knife, he sliced off two pieces of fish meat and set them aside, then tossed the fish head and tail—still attached to a bone—directly into the stone pot filled with water nearby.

He continued processing the fish, slicing the flesh into thin strips and placing them in a wooden basin nearby.

“Can you handle it?”

Mang Jiu nodded. “Sure.” He picked up a slightly larger boning knife and began slicing the fish even faster than Zhang Shuguang had been.

Zhang Shuguang raised an eyebrow. “Your knife skills are way better than mine.”

Mang Jiu curled his lips at him. “Are you going to scrub those crayfish? Have Mang Er help you with that.”

“Alright.” Zhang Shuguang nodded with a smile.

Zhang Shuguang used a brush made of prickly grass to scrub the crayfish and found it worked quite well; the crayfish here were large, making them easy to scrub.

Mang Er scrubbed a few himself, then said to Zhang Shuguang, “You go handle other things; I’ll take care of these.”

Zhang Shuguang didn’t hesitate to let him take over, since he planned to prepare three dishes and a soup, and still had other things to get ready.

Fish soup was already simmering in the stone pot. The broth, made from fresh fish heads and bones, had turned a milky white, which surprised the two brothers standing nearby.

Zhang Shuguang tossed two Sichuan peppercorns into the soup, then added the sliced bamboo shoots to cook together.

“It’d be nice to have some other vegetables.” For the past couple of days, aside from potatoes and bamboo shoots, they’d had nothing but wild greens, and eating the same thing meal after meal had left him a bit sick of it.

Mang Jiu, who’d been listening nearby, said, “There aren’t many wild vegetables or fruits after the snow season.”

“I know. Spring is the season of new growth.” Zhang Shuguang pouted slightly. Seeing that Mang Jiu didn’t quite understand, he smiled and explained, “We divide the year into four seasons: spring, summer, autumn, and winter. Spring is what you call the time after the snow season, when the snow melts; summer is what you call the rainy season, very hot and rainy. Autumn is the period between the rainy season and the snow season—the season when wild vegetables and fruits ripen the most, and it’s also the harvest season; winter is the snow season, very cold with snowfall, though not every place gets snow in winter, but the temperatures are very low.”

Mang Jiu nodded slightly. “A year?”

“Yes, twelve months make a year. I’ll teach you when no one else is around—and the numbers and writing too. You’re so smart; you’ll pick it up quickly.” Zhang Shuguang was eager to get started; he had suddenly found a source of joy since arriving in this strange world.

Mang Jiu smiled faintly. “Alright, you teach me.”

Mang Er glanced up at the two figures huddled together, whispering to each other, and pursed his lips.

He was just the third wheel!

“I’m done. There’s hardly any meat on these—how are we supposed to eat them?” He tossed the last crayfish in his hand into the bucket. “And what are these?”

Zhang Shuguang explained, “Those are snails. We can’t eat them yet; we have to let them sit overnight to spit out the sand. Otherwise, there’ll be too much grit, and they’ll scratch your teeth.”

Mang Er nodded, looking a bit confused.

Mang Jiu: “Don’t mind him. The fish is cut up—how should we cook it?”

“I’ll handle it. You two probably haven’t seen each other in a while; you should go sit over there and chat.” After saying this, he placed the thick bamboo tube used for water and two cups on the table. “Have a drink while you talk.”

Mang Jiu shot Mang Er a disdainful look, but Mang Er sat down at the table quite naturally. He ran his fingers over the scaly tabletop and asked in surprise, “Did you bring back a terror bird?”

“Mm-hmm.” Mang Jiu poured a cup of water, turned, and handed it to Zhang Shuguang. “Have some water.”

Zhang Shuguang thanked him, drained the cup, and handed it back. Then he picked up a large, thick bamboo tube and began cracking duck eggs into it.

He cracked twenty duck eggs in a row before stopping. Meanwhile, Meng Er was all eyes and ears, clearly astonished that Meng Jiu and the others had managed to hunt down a terror bird.

“No one got hurt?”

“Hmm,” Mang Jiu replied obligingly, “Mang Yue and Lang Qing didn’t move.”

“Didn’t move?” Mang Er furrowed his brow, turned his head toward the direction of Lang Qing’s mountain cave, then turned back to Mang Jiu and said, “Actually, Lang Qing isn’t exactly a youngster anymore; it’s already quite impressive that he can still go out with the hunting party.”

“Same goes for Mang Yue,” Mang Jiu added. “They’re the same age.”

Meng Er leaned in closer, stealing a glance at Zhang Shuguang, and whispered, “I ran into people from the Ivory Tribe on this trip.”

Mang Jiu: “Hmm.” Some of their hunting grounds overlapped with those of the Ivory Tribe, so if Meng Er’s hunting party had gone to the Black Forest this time, it wasn’t surprising that they’d run into Beastmen.

Mang Er shot him a glare and nodded toward Zhang Shuguang. “Xiang Wen asked me to ask you when you plan to have a kid with his sister.”

“No time,” Mang Jiu said coldly. “It’s impossible.”

“If it’s impossible for you, then who could it be?” Mang Er asked with a smirk. “Could it be Shuguang?”

Mang Jiu ignored him and didn’t answer.

Mang Er raised his hand and patted him on the shoulder. “You, huh.” What a hypocrite.

Mang Jiu stood up. He really couldn’t stand chatting with him anymore, so he decided to head down the mountain to gather firewood—to keep himself from kicking Mang Er down the mountain.

Mang Er took a sip of water, stood up, and followed him down the mountain. He even thoughtfully said to Zhang Shuguang, “Mang Jiu and I are going down the mountain to gather branches.”

Zhang Shuguang acknowledged him with a nod, added some chopped lemongrass to the egg mixture, and stirred vigorously inside the bamboo tube using two long, thick, peeled branches.

He didn’t dare add too much, afraid the lemongrass scent would overpower the natural aroma of the eggs.

The frying pan had already been washed clean. Zhang Shuguang placed it on the small stove he’d set up nearby earlier, then picked up a few burning sticks and placed them underneath to heat the pan. He ladled some oil into it to melt, and after the oil had heated for a moment, he poured in some of the egg mixture, stirring it gently with chopsticks.

The duck egg mixture quickly set, and a familiar, toasty aroma wafted up. Zhang Shuguang took a deep breath.

Delicious!

So delicious!

He took a bite, and the corner of his mouth twitched.

He’d forgotten to add salt, but the flavor was truly excellent, and the eggs were very tender.

That bright yellow color was unmistakably from free-range duck eggs—they tasted absolutely amazing.

He turned to fetch the conch shell holding the salt, pinched some fine salt into the bamboo tube, stirred it briefly, and set it aside.

Scrambled eggs really taste best when made fresh; he’d just been too eager to know what duck eggs paired with lemongrass would taste like, so he couldn’t resist making a small batch to sample first.

He moved the wooden stick from under the small stove back to the large stove and placed it over the stone pot where the fish soup was simmering. Zhang Shuguang used a ladle to scoop the shredded bamboo shoots out of the pot and place them in a wooden basin. Then he added the fish slices Mang Jiu had cut into the soup to blanch them. Because they were cut so thin, the fish curled up the moment they hit the hot broth, so Zhang Shuguang quickly scooped them out and placed them on top of the bamboo shoots in the wooden basin.

Several fillets had lost quite a bit of meat, so Zhang Shuguang blanched all the fish until cooked, then ladled the fish broth into the basin.

He peered down the cliff but didn’t see Mang Jiu or Mang Er, assuming the two had gone to the back mountain to gather firewood. After carrying the bowl of fish meat to the table, Zhang Shuguang added oil to another stone pot. Once the oil had melted, he tossed in a handful of Sichuan peppercorns.

With a sizzle, he stirred the pot with a slotted spoon, and the pungent, numbing aroma spread through the air.

“Achoo!”

“Achoo, achoo!”

“What’s that smell?”

“It’s so pungent!”

“Is Shuguang cooking something? It’s so pungent!”

“Mang Jiu!”

“Mang Jiu, go control your sub-beastman!”

“Oh my god, this smell is so strong, my eyes are burning!”

The valley echoed with wails and a barrage of sneezes.

Zhang Shuguang was also choked into turning his head and sneezing a few times. He tossed in some lemongrass and two small green lemons, then poured the crayfish back in to continue stir-frying.

Once the blackened crayfish shells turned orange-red, he added some salt, poured in water, and let them simmer.

He bent down to add some twigs and kindling to the stove to make the fire burn even brighter. Zhang Shuguang then began slicing potatoes and wild greens into thin strips. He poured some fresh water into the stone pot he’d used earlier to simmer the fish soup and brought it to a boil. Once the water was boiling, he tossed in the potato and wild green strips to cook together. He kept them simmering until Mang Jiu and Mang Er each brought up two tree branches, then poured some beaten egg into the pot and stirred it in.

After adding salt, a pot of this unique version of egg drop soup was ready.

Meanwhile, the crayfish simmering in another pot were done. Zhang Shuguang pushed aside the shell-covered lid, and a pungent, spicy aroma immediately wafted out.

Mang Er had never smelled anything like this before and sneezed several times in an instant.

Mang Jiu, however, took a deep, satisfied breath. He walked over to Zhang Shuguang’s side and took a look, noticing that the crayfish in the pot were a tempting orange-red color.

Zhang Shuguang picked one out, blew on it to cool it down, then pulled off the tail and set it aside. He extracted the meat, raised his hand, and held it right up to Mang Jiu’s mouth. “Have a taste.”

Mang Jiu opened his mouth and took the shrimp meat.

The fresh, numbing, sweet, and savory flavor spread through his mouth; the meat was small but packed with salty umami.

“Delicious!”

Zhang Shuguang withdrew his hand, sucked his finger, and licked his lips. “It is pretty fragrant, but it would be even better with some spice.”

“Spicy?” Mang Jiu stared at his finger, feeling his mouth go a little dry.

“Spicy means your mouth feels like it’s on fire, with a stinging sensation. I’ve planted some in my field; if they ripen and bear fruit, you can give them a try,” he pointed to the bowl. “Take this over and have some. You can eat the heads too—not by just eating the shell, but by sucking out the shrimp brains inside first. Then the meat will taste even better.” Zhang Shuguang picked out another small crayfish, pulled off the head, and handed it to him.

Mang Jiu reached out to take it, but Zhang Shuguang dodged his hand.

Zhang Shuguang glanced at his hand with disgust. “It’s filthy.”

Mang Jiu hummed in response, then opened his mouth, letting Zhang Shuguang feed him.

He sucked on the head, ate the meat, and looked at Zhang Shuguang with pleading eyes.

Zhang Shuguang chuckled. “Wash your hands and eat by yourself. I’m going to make some stir-fried duck eggs. Help me fetch a basin from the cave, and grab a few short bamboo tubes too.”

Mang Jiu nodded and turned to wash his hands.

Zhang Shuguang poured the soup into a wooden basin, which Mang Jiu carried to the table. He then handed one of the short bamboo tubes to Meng Er.

Meng Er looked at him in confusion. “What’s that for?”

“A bowl,” Mang Jiu replied.

Meng Er went, “Oh,” and promptly found two twigs to use as chopsticks.

Zhang Shuguang heated some oil, then scattered a few Sichuan peppercorns over the fish fillets and poured the hot oil over them. “Sizzle~”

Meng Er’s eyes widened. “You can do it that way?”

“Yeah, this is called Fragrant and Numbing Fish,” Zhang Shuguang said with a smile. “You guys eat first; I’ll finish stir-frying the duck eggs.”

The scrambled duck eggs were ready in no time. He didn’t bother transferring them to another dish; instead, he simply placed the skillet directly on the table. Wiping his hands, he sat down next to Mang Jiu, holding a bamboo bowl in one hand and chopsticks in the other. Seeing that the two brothers hadn’t started eating yet, he chuckled and said, “Let’s eat!”

Zhang Shuguang’s meal was so fragrant that Mang Jiu and Mang Er couldn’t stop eating once they started.

Mang Jiu took a bite of the scrambled eggs, paused, then turned to Zhang Shuguang in surprise and asked, “Why doesn’t it taste fishy?” He’d eaten plenty of eggs—chicken, duck, and bird eggs—and they’d all been fishy.

Zhang Shuguang couldn’t help but laugh and sigh, “Of course it would taste fishy if you ate it raw. But when it’s cooked and served hot, there’s basically no fishy taste. Do you like it?”

“Mm, it’s delicious,” Mang Jiu nodded, then picked up some fish meat to eat. He found the fish to be incredibly tender—the kind that melts in your mouth.

Mang Er didn’t even want to lift his head anymore; his lips were trembling from the numbing sensation of the crayfish, yet he couldn’t put down his chopsticks.

Zhang Shuguang was enjoying his meal as well. He loved the fragrant, numbing fish slices. He’d added too much Sichuan pepper to the crayfish, making it a bit too spicy for his own taste, but the crayfish meat itself was delicious, so he planned to go catch some more in a few days.

The two little ones were eating the fish slices without Sichuan pepper. Zhang Shuguang added some of the stir-fried duck eggs to their bowls, and the two of them ate happily.

“Kids of the Phoenix Clan,” Meng Er took a sip of egg soup, glanced at the little red bird, then at the kitten, “Two kids from the Rare Beast Clan.”

“What are rare beast tribes?” Zhang Shuguang asked, puzzled.

Mang Er glanced at Mang Jiu, but Mang Jiu ignored him and didn’t speak.

Mang Er said, “You know the difference between giant beast tribes and ordinary beast tribes, right?”

“Hmm… bigger in size?” Zhang Shuguang ladled a bowl of soup, his curiosity piqued.

“It’s not just about size,” Meng Er chuckled. “Their strength and stamina far exceed those of ordinary beasts. We also possess some minor racial traits—like how Ying Liu grew wings while in human form earlier.”

“Xi San said he has a little pouch in his mouth that can hold water.”

“Yeah, we can regurgitate the intact hides of our prey.” Meng Er nodded toward the hides on the ground. “I ate three deer on my last hunting trip. They weren’t very big, so they digested quickly.” As he said this, he glanced at Mang Jiu.

Mang Jiu glared at him with a cold expression.

Zhang Shuguang chuckled, “What about the Giant Bear Clan and the Giant Wolf Clan?”

Mang Er shrugged. “I’m not sure. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything special about the Beastmen from those two clans.”

Mang Jiu hummed in agreement; he hadn’t seen anything either.

Zhang Shuguang felt that these tribes’ innate abilities were somewhat useless, yet not entirely without merit; they were useful, but not particularly so.

He chuckled, “Are the Rare Beast Clans the same as the Giant Beast Clans?”

“No, the Rare Beast Clans are just those with very few members; they’re ordinary beast clans,” Meng Er pointed at the kitten. “Even when he grows up, he probably won’t be much bigger.”

Zhang Shuguang always felt that the distinction between Rare Beast Tribes and Giant Beast Tribes couldn’t possibly be as simple as Meng Er described—merely based on size, strength, and scarcity. He suspected there must be something else they didn’t understand.

But he was just listening to the conversation for fun; he didn’t plan on digging deeper into it.

Even if he wanted to dig deeper, he wouldn’t have anyone to ask. Unless you were a member of the tribe, you probably wouldn’t know about these things, just like how Mang Er didn’t know much about the Giant Wolf Tribe.

After the meal, Mang Er helped clear the table before returning to his own cave. He’d eaten so heartily that he needed an afternoon nap to let the food settle.

Mang Jiu watched Zhang Shuguang wash the bowls. He stood by for a moment, then reached out and said, “Let me do it. Aren’t you supposed to be making a pillow?”

Zhang Shuguang remembered. “Right, I’d have forgotten if you hadn’t mentioned it.” He dried his hands, went into the cave to fetch a piece of short-haired hide, and then pulled out a vine.

“Shave all the hair off the hog beast hide. Wash the hairless side clean and put it in the pot, then add plenty of water to boil it. Throw in some lemongrass and Sichuan peppercorns to mask the odor.” He moved a rock over to the cave wall and sat down. He placed the piece of hide he was holding against a sharp spike embedded in the rock, then tapped it twice with another stone. The spike pierced through the hide, creating a small round hole.

After a few taps, a small round hole appeared. Zhang Shuguang’s movements grew smoother, and his speed increased. He punched holes one after another, creating a row that was both neat and attractive.

He unfolded the hide to inspect it, smiled with satisfaction, and said, “Perfect!”

Mang Jiu was standing nearby, peeling the hog beast hide off and washing it clean. Just as he was about to toss it into the pot, he heard Zhang Shuguang’s voice call out, “Don’t move!”

Mang Jiu froze mid-motion, turning his head to look at him. “Hm?”

Zhang Shuguang stood up and walked over to him, poking at the layer of fat with his finger. “Scrape all this fat off—the cleaner, the better.”

Mang Jiu nodded and began scraping the fat with a bone knife.

Zhang Shuguang looked at the hog beast, more than half of which remained, and felt a pang of worry. “When will the salt-trading party return? If this meat sits any longer, it’ll be completely inedible.” Fortunately, it had been quite cold both morning and night; otherwise, it would have gone bad long ago.

Mang Jiu: “I don’t know.”

Zhang Shuguang sighed, knowing full well that even if the salt-trading party returned, he couldn’t possibly use this meat to make salted meat for drying. He had no intention of storing stale meat to get through the winter.

He stared at the meat, his mind racing through all sorts of delicious dishes that didn’t require much seasoning. “Ah, I’ve got it!”

“What did you think of?” Mang Jiu placed the scraped-off fat into a basin nearby, glancing at him briefly.

Zhang Shuguang pointed at the remaining hog beast meat. “Trim all the fat off to render the oil. Then mince the lean meat, mix in some egg and salt, and we can make meatballs.”

“Meatballs?”

“Right. Boil some water, drop them in, and once they’re cooked, scoop them out and let them air-dry. They’ll keep for about three days. If you deep-fry them, they’ll last seven or eight days,” he explained. “One sunrise equals one day.”

Mang Jiu nodded. “Go ahead if you want to.”

“I’m a bit busy today,” Zhang Shuguang said with a smile, looking at him. “Why don’t you ask your brother to help you mince the meat later?”

Mang Jiu frowned. “I can do it.”

Zhang Shuguang snorted and muttered, “He’s your own brother, yet he only complains with his mouth. He’ll talk a big game, but when it comes to actually doing some work, he refuses. It’s not like I’m asking him to work for free.”

Mang Jiu remained silent, his face cold.

Zhang Shuguang shot him a look, then turned back to continue punching the small holes.

Mang Jiu remained silent, silent, silent.

The bone knife in his hand made a swish-swish-swish sound; its smooth, white blade glinted with a chilling light.

After punching three rows of small holes, Zhang Shuguang split the vine in half, then in half again, ending up with four thinner strands of vine rope. He took a thick fishbone to use as a needle, then began weaving the vines back and forth through the holes.

Once both sides were sewn shut, he stuffed all the duck feathers—which had been washed and dried earlier—inside, stopping only when it was plump and round. Then he sewed up the opening, gave it a few pats, and a soft pillow was ready.

He bent down, buried his head in it, took a deep breath, looked up, blinked, and wrinkled his nose.

He stood up, grabbed a few stalks of lemongrass, stuffed them inside, then bent down to sniff them again. He nodded. “Perfect.”

“I finally won’t have to wake up with a stiff neck every morning.” Zhang Shuguang hugged the soft pillow and yawned.

Ah, the allure of a soft pillow.

Mang Jiu looked up at him. “Go to sleep.”

“No,” Zhang Shuguang yawned again, “I’ll sleep tonight. I still have to weave some bamboo baskets.” He carried the soft pillow over to Mang Jiu and pressed it against his face. “Try it. How does it feel?”

“Soft. It’s nice,” Mang Jiu nodded. “If you like it, make a few more. Replace the leather covers with these, too.”

Zhang Shuguang chuckled, “No need, no need. Once it gets hotter, the leather won’t be enough to keep us warm. This kind is even hotter—we’ll have to find something else to replace it.”

Mang Jiu hummed in acknowledgment and continued cutting the meat.

Zhang Shuguang put the pillow back in the cave and took out the stone pillow, intending to throw it away. But just as he was about to toss it, he thought about how it had kept him company for a few days and couldn’t bring himself to let go.

He turned around and placed the stone by the wall, stacking a few more stones on top of it to make a small stone stool.

“You take the stone bucket and pound the meat later—chop it up into small pieces. I’ll smear this mud on the stove platform. We’ll see how it holds up when we roast food over the fire tonight.”

Mang Jiu: “Alright.”

The two divided the work: one focused on applying mud to the stones for the stove, while the other pounded the meat into a paste in the stone bucket with a clang-clang-clang.

Zhang Shuguang used a stone slab to apply the mud layer by layer to the stone blocks, spreading it so evenly and smoothly.

“Look, how’s that?” After coating the entire hearth, the mud they’d brought back was nearly all used up.

His hands covered in mud, he grinned as he looked at his masterpiece—it looked beautiful no matter how he looked at it.

Mang Jiu wiped the sweat from his forehead, walked over to take a look, and found it really was quite nice.

“It’s pretty good. Do you want to cover all the stones here, too?” He pointed to the pile of rubble at the edge of the cliff.

“That would take so much mud—we’d work ourselves to death. If we could really use it as an adhesive, we’d just layer stones and mud as we go up. It’d be simple.” Zhang Shuguang raised his hand to demonstrate, “Alright, I’ll go weave the basket. You hurry up and finish pounding the meat, then I’ll shape the meatballs.”

Mang Jiu: “Okay.”

Zhang Shuguang entered the cave, took the bamboo strips off the rack, and laid them on the ground. After staring at them for a moment, he bent down and began weaving the bottom of the basket.

After a few back-and-forth passes, he finally arranged the bamboo strips for the bottom. He gave it a shake and found it quite sturdy.

“Mang Jiu! Come help me out.” He’d woven the bottom section a bit too large, and he couldn’t fully enclose it on his own.

Mang Jiu heard the call and entered the cave. “How can I help?”

Zhang Shuguang gathered all the bamboo strips upright. “Got it. I’ll weave a few layers to secure it first.”

Mang Jiu looked down at him working, weaving the strips one over the other. After finishing one layer, he started on the second.

“Alright, I can handle this on my own.” Zhang Shuguang looked at the basket bottom, which was already taking shape, and felt a surge of accomplishment. “My manual dexterity is actually pretty good!”

Mang Jiu nodded. “Not bad.” He actually had some doubts about how much weight this bamboo-woven basket could hold, but seeing how happy Zhang Shuguang looked, he couldn’t bring himself to say a single discouraging word.

Zhang Shuguang used the rattan rope he’d just cut to tie the tops of the bamboo strips together and secure them, then continued pressing the strips down layer by layer, tapping each layer firmly to pack them tightly.

Only when all the bamboo strips on the ground had been used up did Zhang Shuguang stop.

Then he realized he’d made the basket a little too big…

No, not just a little—it was much too big. Standing next to it, the rim came right up to his waist.

He picked it up to inspect it, then took some unpeeled bamboo strips to form a base inside. He loaded it with the pile of potatoes from the ground, gave it a lift, and found it held the weight just fine.

Mang Jiu finished pounding the meat paste and came over, only to see that Zhang Shuguang had already woven the bamboo basket and placed it against the wall, with some potatoes at the bottom. “Can you lift it?”

“Sure. If I were to fill it with straw, I could easily carry a whole basket.” Zhang Shuguang raised an eyebrow. “I just couldn’t help making it a bit too big.”

As he spoke, he lifted the basket by the handles, and there was a sharp snap.

The smug smile on his lips froze. He looked down and saw that the thin bamboo strips where they met the bamboo panels had snapped under the pressure.

Luckily, there were plenty of strips at the bottom; otherwise, it would have snapped clean through.

Zhang Shuguang was deeply disappointed. He set the bamboo basket down. “Forget it. I can’t carry it out. I’ll just leave it here as a storage basket.”

“It’s not bad for a first try,” Mang Jiu said, ruffling his hair and offering reassurance. “You can do even better next time.”

Zhang Shuguang pouted and snorted. “At least it’s still usable. It wasn’t a total waste of time. I’ll have to cut some more bamboo later.”

“Alright,” Mang Jiu replied. “I’ll go cut some.” With that, he turned and walked away—he was incredibly proactive.

Zhang Shuguang let out an “Ah.” He’d actually wanted to say they could cut bamboo in a couple of days, but Mang Jiu had already walked off.

He puffed out his cheeks and tidied up the floor.

The bucket of minced meat that Mang Jiu had pounded sat by the stove, a bright red color that looked a bit disgusting.

Zhang Shuguang grimaced, cracked ten duck eggs into the mixture, then added some salt water and lemongrass.

He inserted a clean, thick wooden stick and began stirring in one direction. When his hand grew sore, he’d stop to rest for a moment before continuing, until the resistance from the stick grew stronger and stronger. He pinched off a small ball to test it and found it held its shape.

He turned and began dropping the meatballs into the boiling water. One by one, the plump, round meatballs bobbed up and down in the hot water, gradually changing from red to a pale pink.

He dropped the meatballs in quickly and skillfully—clearly, he’d done this many times at home. He gently nudged them with a slotted spoon, then watched the pink meatballs float on the surface.

“That color’s actually pretty nice,” he muttered under his breath. He poked one with a pair of chopsticks made from a twig, gave it a sniff—no strange smells—took a bite, and chewed.

He tilted his head to savor the flavor. It was a bit bland.

He added some salt to the meat mixture and stirred it, then began shaping more meatballs.

Once they were cooked, he scooped them out and placed them in a wooden basin nearby. By the time Mang Jiu returned, a quarter of the meat mixture in the stone tub remained unformed.

“I never would’ve thought that one day I’d be shaping meatballs to the point of questioning the meaning of life.”

Zhang Shuguang’s face was slack, his expression numb, and his movements mechanical as he mechanically formed the meatballs, dropped them into the water, pushed them around, and scooped them out, one after another.

Mang Jiu was amused by his appearance. He set down the dozen or so thick bamboo poles he’d been carrying on the open ground in front of the cave. “These should be enough for you to practice on.”

Zhang Shuguang glanced at them and froze. “You’re way too generous. With all this here, there’s barely any room to walk.”

“No problem. Let them step over them,” Mang Jiu said nonchalantly.

Zhang Shuguang shot him a look. “That’s called hogging public resources.”

Mang Jiu replied bluntly, “I don’t get it.”

“……” Zhang Shuguang was speechless. He decided not to waste any more words on him, so he sped up and shaped the last of the meat paste into meatballs, cooked them, and poked two out for him. “Try some.”

Mang Jiu ate one and nodded. “Pretty good.”

“The flavor isn’t as rich as the grilled meat you had, but these meatballs can be eaten with dipping sauce, or boiled, grilled, or fried—any way works.” Zhang Shuguang picked one for himself and took a bite; the taste was actually quite good. He figured it must have seemed a bit bland because the previous meal had been so heavily seasoned.

Mang Jiu scooped a few meatballs into a large seashell and took them into the cave to let the two little ones try some.

Nai Dou had been circling around Zhang Shuguang’s feet since earlier; it took a few shooings before he finally gave up.

Tang Dou, on the other hand, was quite well-behaved. Since its wings couldn’t carry it, it simply curled up in its nest and stayed put.

The two little ones looked a bit dazed when they saw Mang Jiu bringing them meatballs.

Nai Dou was the quickest to react; he meowed softly at Mang Jiu a couple of times, then rubbed against him before lowering his head to take a bite of the meatball.

Tang Dou cautiously took a step forward on her little claws, looked up at Mang Jiu, and seeing he didn’t react, took another step, looked again, then scampered over, her little beak devouring the meat just as quickly as the other.

Mang Jiu crouched nearby, a hint of a smile in his eyes.

“There are too many meatballs to finish. Should we send some to Brother Meng Er?” Zhang Shuguang leaned against the mountainside and shook his hands. “Not for free—make him work for us first.”

“Alright.” Mang Jiu agreed, stood up, and walked out. “I’ll take them over to him.”

Zhang Shuguang nodded with a smile and filled a thick bamboo tube to the brim for Meng Er.

The Giant Eagle Clan Beastmen patrolling in front of the tribe heard the rumbling sound of running approaching from a distance. They shifted into beast form and soared high into the air. Upon recognizing who was causing the commotion, they let out a surprised and joyful howl, then shifted back into human form and shouted, “The salt exchange team is back!”