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Beastmen not only have keen eyesight, but their hearing is equally acute.

The long, piercing cry of the young Giant Eagle Beastman on patrol was heard clearly by every Beastman in the tribe.

The salt-trading party consisted of ten adult Beastmen and thirty young Beastmen. At that moment, every one of them was in their giant beast form. Except for a few members of the Giant Eagle Clan who were flying in the air, all the others had bags made of animal hides strapped to their bodies, the bags bulging with contents.

“They’re back! They’re back!”

No one knew who shouted it first, but the people in the tribe immediately began cheering.

This time, the salt-trading party took over ten days longer than expected to return. The salt blocks they had stockpiled before the snow season were nearly gone; if they hadn’t returned, they would have had to drink beast blood to replenish their salt intake. For the Beastmen, drinking beast blood wasn’t a big deal—after all, they usually ate raw meat—but the Sub-Beastmen were very unaccustomed to it and didn’t like it; beast blood was too gamey.

Outside the tribe’s walls, the giant beasts transformed one by one into human form, and then they were surrounded by people rushing out of the tribe.

“How many salt blocks did you trade for?”

“You’ve been gone way too long this time. If you don’t come back soon, we’ll all have to drink blood!”

“Why do the bags look smaller than last time?”

“Hurry up! Bring something to trade. I’ve only got one salt block left in my cave. I can’t even make the dried fish Dawn used to make!”

“Right, right, right! Hurry up and trade for salt—do that first!”

The crowd chattered away, everyone chiming in at once, creating a chaotic din.

The leader wore a stern expression as he addressed the others: “You lot, start trading salt with them first. I’ll go find the chief.”

Several Beastmen standing nearby nodded; clearly, they had already divided up the tasks on their way back.

Even though the scene was chaotic, the tribe members were all lining up, holding the items they’d saved up over time to trade for salt.

“I’ll trade potatoes! I dug up a lot of potatoes!”

“I’ll trade potatoes too.”

“Me too! If everyone trades potatoes, won’t the Sand Croc tribe refuse them?”

“They said themselves they want food that keeps longer. Potatoes last a long time—why wouldn’t they accept them?”

“I’ve got terror bird meat, too. It’d be great if I could turn it into that kind of jerky that keeps for a long time.”

“I’ve only had jerky once—it was a tiny piece my father brought back many snow seasons ago.”

“Me too. My father said he traded for the jerky at the Great Gathering from the Beastmen of the Southern Continent. They said it keeps for a long time.”

“Why don’t we ask Shuguang? See if he knows how to make it? He knows how to make dried fish, so he must know how to make jerky too!”

“I don’t know what Shuguang was cooking earlier, but the smell was so strong and pungent—it made me sneeze a bunch.”

“Mang Jiu is so lucky to get to eat Shuguang’s cooking every day. It must be delicious.”

The people in the salt-trading line listened to their conversation veering further and further off-topic, curious about who this Shuguang was—and why it sounded like he might have some connection to Mang Jiu?

Their curiosity was piqued, but right now they were surrounded by people waiting to trade for salt, so they’d have to wait until they were done with their business to gossip.

At the entrance to Meng Er’s cave, Mang Jiu glanced at the thick bamboo tube in his hand, then at his brother coiled up like a snake, fast asleep. He turned around and walked back, still holding the bamboo tube.

He came silently, and he left silently.

Meng Er’s massive body shifted slowly, as if he’d almost woken up just a moment ago.

Zhang Shuguang stood at the edge of the cliff looking out. Even when he strained his eyes, he could only make out a crowd gathered together; he couldn’t quite make out what they were doing. However, the spectacle of so many colossal beasts running over just moments ago had made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

He watched as Mang Jiu stood before Meng Er’s den, then turned back.

“Hm?” Zhang Shuguang looked at him in puzzlement.

“He’s sleeping.”

“Why didn’t you put it down for Second Brother?” If he’s sleeping, just put it down. Seeing the extra meatballs, Meng Er would definitely come over to ask about them.

Mang Jiu set the bamboo tube on the table and tilted his chin toward the entrance of the village. “The salt-trading party is back. We’ll trade the meatballs for salt.”

Zhang Shuguang wasn’t particularly interested in those salt blocks—they were full of impurities and didn’t taste very good. But they didn’t have much fine salt left, and the salt-boiling team by the sea would likely take a while to produce enough fine salt for the entire tribe. So for now, the importance of those salt blocks was clear.

“Alright, then. Let’s trade for some. I can refine it further once we get it back.” He planned to crush the salt blocks and boil them again, using boiled hog beast bristles as a filter to at least strain out the sand.

Mang Jiu nodded. Noticing his face was a bit pale, he furrowed his brow slightly. “What’s wrong?” He reached out and touched the other’s forehead. “Are you feeling unwell?”

Zhang Shuguang mumbled in response. He hadn’t noticed anything until now, but as Mang Jiu’s cool palm pressed against his forehead, the dull, throbbing pain he’d been feeling eased slightly.

“I must have been in the water too long,” he said in a soft, nasal tone.

Mang Jiu bent down, scooped him up in his arms, and strode into the cave. Setting him down, he said, “Get some rest. I’ll go find Ying Cao.”

“Mm, thanks.” Zhang Shuguang pulled his fur cloak up a bit and gave a light cough.

Mang Jiu strode off with a stern expression to find Ying Cao. His cold demeanor startled the unsuspecting Ying Cao, who wondered when he’d offended Mang Jiu and prompted him to seek revenge.

“What’s going on…?” Ying Cao’s eyes widened with surprise. “Did something happen?” He’d heard the sound of the salt-trading party returning outside and had been planning to go out and exchange for some salt, only to be blocked inside the cave by Mang Jiu.

Because he was always tinkering with herbs in the cave, the air inside was filled with a unique, distinctive blend of herbal scents.

“Shuguang has a fever,” Mang Jiu said, his lips pressed into a tight line, his expression betraying his anxiety. “He was catching crayfish in the stream and stayed in the cold water for too long.”

Ying Cao turned, grabbed a stone bowl from the pile, and hurried out after him. “Let’s go check on him.”

Inside Mang Jiu’s cave, Zhang Shuguang was wrapped tightly in his fur, not a single gap exposed, shivering uncontrollably.

“Meow~” Nai Dou nuzzled up to him, rubbing its furry head against his forehead and nudging him with its icy-cold nose. “Meow meow meow!!” Its high-pitched meow was filled with impatience.

Tang Dou also came over, flapping its little wings against Zhang Shuguang’s face, chirping nonstop, and gently pecking his lips with its tiny beak.

“Daddy’s fine,” Zhang Shuguang reached out to pull Nai Dou into his arms, then kissed the little head nestled against his lips. “Good girl, Daddy’ll be okay after a little rest.”

In a time when there were no miracle cures, even a common cold or fever could be fatal, and Zhang Shuguang was actually quite uncertain about his own condition.

But feeling the concern of his two little ones brought him comfort; at least raising them these past few days hadn’t been in vain.

With his eyes closed, he drifted in and out of consciousness, lost in random thoughts, when he heard footsteps approach and felt a hand touch his forehead.

“Hm?” He opened his eyes dazedly, saw it was Mang Jiu, and closed them again.

Ying Cao noticed the kitten in his arms and the little bird perched on his neck. He raised an eyebrow slightly, then stepped forward to feel Zhang Shuguang’s forehead for a temperature check. He handed the stone bowl he was holding to Mang Jiu. “Get some hot water for him to drink with this medicinal broth.”

Mang Jiu took the bowl but didn’t move.

Ying Cao sighed. “Don’t worry. Even if it can’t cure him, it won’t kill him. It’s not poisonous.”

Mang Jiu frowned. “Doesn’t it work?”

“Whether it works or not, you won’t know until you try it,” Ying Cao shrugged, patting him on the shoulder. “Go on, I’ve tried this on other Sub-Beastmen too. It makes you sweat. During the snow season, many Sub-Beastmen get fevers—sweating it out is the cure.”

Zhang Shuguang faintly heard their conversation, but he really couldn’t be bothered to speak up. Supported by Mang Jiu, he sat up and was forced to down a bowl of steaming hot medicinal broth. The taste was truly more bitter than any Chinese herbal soup he’d ever had—even more astringent and harsh.

“Cough, cough, cough!!!”

“Give him some water,” Ying Cao said from the side.

Mang Jiu followed each instruction to the letter; though his movements were clumsy, he remembered every step.

Zhang Shuguang felt like he was being tossed around; his body was limp, and he had not a shred of strength left.

“I’m about to kick the bucket,” he mumbled.

Mang Jiu furrowed his brow. “What does ‘kicking the bucket’ mean?” Even if he didn’t understand the words, he knew it wasn’t anything good.

“It means dying,” Zhang Shuguang exhaled, lying on the stone slab bed with his eyes half-open. “I’m just joking. Don’t frown—it’s kind of scary.”

Nai Dou meowed softly in his arms, Tang Dou crouched by his neck, her head tucked in, her little black eyes fixed on Zhang Shuguang. After a moment, she slowly turned her head to look at Mang Jiu.

Mang Jiu tapped her little head with his finger, then tugged at Nai Dou’s fine, stiff whiskers.

“No wonder they don’t warm up to you,” Zhang Shuguang raised his hand and patted the back of it gently. “You’re always picking on them.”

“Little ones are meant to be teased,” Mang Jiu took his hand, feeling it was damp and warm. He recalled how Ying Cao had urged him to give Zhang Shuguang plenty of hot water before leaving, so he got up to boil some.

“Where are you going?”

Mang Jiu: “To boil some hot water.”

Zhang Shuguang: “On the shelf, the thick bamboo tube, hot water.” As soon as he finished speaking, he closed his eyes; even his exhaled breath was scorching and heavy.

Mang Jiu went to the shelf by the cave entrance, retrieved the thick bamboo tube, and returned with the water.

But he found that Zhang Shuguang had already fallen asleep.

Mang Jiu held the cup in his hand, looked around, and couldn’t find anywhere to put it.

He got up and left the cave, heading to the nearby cave where Xiong Hong and Yu were staying. “Trade me one of your scale plates.”

Xiong Hong pointed directly at one. “Take it yourself. No need to trade. Shuguang’s meal was too delicious.”

Mang Jiu didn’t hesitate; he grabbed a scale-armor plank and left.

Back in the cave, he followed the example of the table Zhang Shuguang had built outside. First, he cut the two-meter-square scale-armor plank into four one-meter-square pieces. Then, at the foot of Zhang Shuguang’s stone slab bed, he used the planks to build a low, square table.

If Zhang Shuguang were awake right now, he would surely realize that this was essentially a bedside table from another world.

Mang Jiu didn’t just build a low table for Zhang Shuguang; he also built one next to his own stone slab bed. He placed the remaining two small scales on the shelf, leaving them there for Zhang Shuguang to decide how to use them once he woke up.

He went back outside the cave, kept two of the dozen or so bamboo poles, split the rest into strips of varying thicknesses, and arranged them in a circle on the top shelf.

Not only that, but this guy suddenly seemed unable to sit still; he ran down to the ditch to fetch a stone bucket full of silt, washed the leather pouch while he was at it, and pulled up some lemongrass on his way back.

He remembered what Zhang Shuguang had said earlier about boiling the hog beast skin, so he boiled some water, cut the cleaned half-hide into pieces, and tossed them into the pot to simmer, not forgetting to add a few Sichuan peppercorns and some lemongrass.

He remembered that this was exactly how Zhang Shuguang always did it.

He added plenty of water to the stone pot, covered it with the scaly lid, and let it simmer. He just had to make sure the water didn’t run dry; as for how long it would take to cook, Mang Jiu didn’t care—he figured Shuguang would know when he woke up.

Zhang Shuguang woke up just as dusk was falling; all told, he’d slept fitfully for about two hours.

The moment he opened his eyes, he was startled by the low table at his feet; glancing over, he noticed there was another one by Mang Jiu’s side as well.

He wiped the sweat from his neck and touched his damp forehead.

Whether the medicine was effective or not was another matter, but he was certainly sweating profusely.

There was water on the low table, though it had gone cold. He couldn’t be bothered to pour another glass, so he simply tilted his head back and drank it all in one gulp.

The heavy sweating had left him severely dehydrated; a single glass of cold water clearly wasn’t enough to fully replenish him. He shifted his aching body and sat up.

“Mang Jiu.”

He called out softly, not because he didn’t want to speak loudly, but because his throat couldn’t produce a loud voice.

Mang Jiu came in from outside the cave, his hands covered in mud. Seeing Zhang Shuguang sitting up, he hurried over. “Why didn’t you sleep a little longer?”

“Could you pour me some more water?” He handed him the cup.

Mang Jiu acknowledged the request and reached out to take it, but upon seeing the mud on his hands, he frowned. “Wait a moment. I’ll be right back.”

He turned to wash his hands, then returned holding a thick bamboo tube to pour water for Zhang Shuguang.

Zhang Shuguang drank three cups of warm water in a row before the dry cough, and the discomfort in his swollen throat subsided. He looked at Mang Jiu and smiled, offering a quiet thank you.

“I boiled the hog beast skin. Do you want some?” Mang Jiu checked his forehead for a fever. “You’re not hot anymore.”

Zhang Shuguang reached out, took his wrist, and got off the stone slab bed. Walking to the cave entrance, he saw what Mang Jiu was doing and asked, puzzled and surprised, “I only slept for a little while, right?” It felt as though he had slept for a very long time.

“Hmm, you didn’t sleep long,” Mang Jiu helped him over to the stove, lifting the lid of the scaly plate. “Is it ready like this?”

The broth in the pot had turned milky white, and the hog beast skin was tender and quivering—clearly the result of a long simmer.

Zhang Shuguang poked it with a twig and easily made a small hole.

“Pour this broth into a thick bamboo tube, then place it on the rack. We can’t eat it until tomorrow. Did you put salt in it?”

“No,” Mang Jiu shook his head.

“Then add a little salt—not too much.” Zhang Shuguang scooped out the hog beast skin, trimmed it, and cut it into thin strips. “I’ll stir-fry some of this for dinner.”

“I’ll do it,” Mang Jiu said. “Just tell me what you need to do, and I’ll handle it.”

Zhang Shuguang looked at him skeptically. “Can you even do that?”

“No.” Mang Jiu replied with conviction. “You teach me.”

In that moment, Zhang Shuguang felt as though this man were glowing, captivating him completely.

In all his life, aside from his family, no outsider had ever shown him such care, concern, or even thoughtfulness.

“Alright, then I’ll sit right here and teach you.” He smiled, his eyes crinkling and his dimples deepening.

In another cave, Xiong Kui stood with his hands on his hips, while Mang Da stood beside him, his face grave and even somewhat troubled. He said to him, “Chief, I have some bad news.”

Xiong Kui nodded, his eyes fixed on the cave entrance. “You’re back late this time.”

Mang Da hadn’t expected it either; this time, they’d returned ten sunrises later than planned. He sighed, his tone tinged with irritation. “When we arrived, we were supposed to trade salt with the Sand Croc tribe based on the usual amount of game meat after each snow season. But they upped the price, demanding two giant boar beasts for a single block of salt. We didn’t have enough supplies, so we had to make a last-minute trip to the Longleaf Forest to hunt.”

“Why?” Xiong Kui was taken aback. Two giant boar beasts for a single block of salt—they were practically robbing them.

Mang Da sighed deeply. “There was an earthquake in the Sand Sea. The Earth Dragon’s roll caused the ground to collapse, forming several massive sand pits. All the water sources we’d previously visited have vanished, and the Salt Mountain tribe’s settlement wasn’t spared either. I hear the Salt Mountain has sunk significantly, which has affected salt block production.”

Xiong Kui frowned. No matter which tribe the Earth Dragon’s roll occurred near, it would affect the surrounding environment.

In the worst-hit areas, it could even force the entire nearby tribe to relocate.

“The chief of the Sand Crocodile Tribe said they’re doing this to survive. With fewer water sources, they’re severely affected. Plus, since the Salt Mountain has shrunk, there are fewer salt blocks, so they have to trade more game for them.” Mang Da’s expression was grim as he spoke; clearly, even after all this time, he was still furious.

Had this happened back when they didn’t know salt could be extracted from seawater, he might have been just as furious—helpless and at a loss, perhaps even forced to tolerate the Sand Crocodile Clan’s blatant plundering for the sake of salt blocks.

But now, Xiong Kui gave a cold laugh and said to Mang Da, “Go get the elders of the tribe. I have an announcement to make.”

Mang Da was taken aback. “The elders? Should we call Old Ya the Sub-Beastman too?”

Xiong Kui nodded. “Yes, all elders who have lived through fifty snow seasons. Hurry.”

Though Mang Da didn’t know what Xiong Kui intended to say, he obediently turned and left the cave.

As he passed by Mang Jiu’s area, he was curious about the changes to Mang Jiu’s cave, but there was no time for questions now. He could only give a quick nod to Mang Jiu, who was emerging from the cave, before hurrying away.

Zhang Shuguang sat on a rock, completely ignored by Mang Da.

He turned his head to glance at Xiong Kui’s cave and saw the chieftain emerge from within, heading straight toward him.

His illness had left him looking somewhat frail, visibly lacking energy.

Xiong Kui walked up beside him and asked with concern, “Are you feeling unwell? Go find Ying Cao and drink some of the decoction.”

“I’ve already had some. I’m almost better,” Zhang Shuguang smiled at him. “Are you heading out to trade for salt?”

He hadn’t paid much attention to the progress of the salt-boiling team by the sea, but a rough estimate told him that even if they worked day and night for two days, they wouldn’t produce much. They’d still have to put salt-drying on the agenda.

Though he was mulling this over in his mind, he didn’t let it show on his face.

Xiong Kui had no intention of keeping this from them; the matter was closely tied to Zhang Shuguang. Without his selfless contribution, they would now be worrying about securing salt for the future.

Don’t think that a few extra game kills are no big deal. A medium-sized tribe requires a significant amount of salt each month. If they have to hunt more to obtain enough salt blocks, the number of Beastmen assigned to hunting will have to increase, which would disrupt the delicate balance that has long sustained the tribe.

The consequences might not be immediately apparent, but over time, the tribe’s people will realize that most of the game they’ve been struggling to hunt every day ends up in someone else’s mouth. How can this be tolerated?

If they encounter hot-tempered Beastmen, this situation will never end peacefully. By then, the once-peaceful Eastern Continent will likely erupt into conflict, and the Sand Croc tribe, which guards the Salt Mountains, will undoubtedly face a united assault.

Unfortunately, the Sand Croc tribe isn’t made up of brainless fools who only know how to amass wealth; moreover, their combat prowess is equally formidable.

A Salt Mountain tribe that has held the Salt Mountains for so many years certainly isn’t without its own strategies; otherwise, they wouldn’t have simply raised the price and openly extorted the others.

Therefore, if war breaks out on the Eastern Continent, the Sand Crocodiles won’t truly be at a disadvantage. With the Salt Mountain in their grasp, all they need to do is leak word that they’re willing to supply salt blocks to one or two tribes at a discount—or even for free. This alone would inevitably trigger internal strife within the alliance as factions vie for that coveted spot.

Of course, all of this hinges on the premise that no other tribe on the Eastern Continent emerges capable of producing salt.

Xiong Kui couldn’t just stand by and watch the tribes go to war over salt, so he wanted to discuss with Zhang Shuguang how they could increase salt production.

He outlined his concerns, shared his ideas, and then asked, “About that sun-drying method you mentioned last time—should we give it a try?”

Just as Zhang Shuguang was about to nod, Mang Jiu spoke up from the side, “There’s no rush.”

Xiong Kui wanted to say, “How can there be no rush? I’m in a hurry!”

But seeing Mang Jiu’s cold expression, Xiong Kui shut his mouth again.

Zhang Shuguang tilted his head to look at Mang Jiu. “It is urgent. While the weather is dry and there’s no rain, we need to lay out the salt fields first, then channel seawater into them for evaporation and drying. This isn’t something that can be done in a day or two.”

Mang Jiu repeated his words: “There’s no rush.”

Zhang Shuguang glared at him: “It’s urgent!”

“We’ll talk about it once you’re better.” Mang Jiu turned to look at Xiong Kui and said coldly, “The salt blocks brought back by the salt-gathering team will last the tribe for a while. We just need to have the sea salt dried before those blocks run out.”

Zhang Shuguang opened his mouth, then closed it again. “……”

Xiong Kui gestured to Zhang Shuguang. “Mang Jiu is right. You’re not feeling well right now; you should rest up before getting involved in this.”

Zhang Shuguang glanced at Mang Jiu, but ultimately heeded Xiong Kui’s advice. He nodded in compromise. “Alright, then let’s wait two more days. First, we’ll head to the Hot Rock Cave. If the stones there are suitable, we can dig some out to enclose a salt field. We’ll also need to channel seawater in—the Beastmen in our tribe can shift into their beast forms to dig the ditches and divert the seawater.”

Xiong Kui listened, still a bit confused. “And then?”

“When the tide comes in, we’ll fill the salt pans. When the tide goes out, we’ll retain some of the seawater in the nearby storage area. Then we’ll begin the first stage of salt evaporation and filtration. We’ll need to filter it at least three times before the evaporated seawater reaches a high concentration of salinity. It’ll taste better than the salt blocks I boiled up before.”

Zhang Shuguang explained the salt-making method he knew—though he was really just theorizing. Thinking about the quality of the salt the locals usually ate, he added, “We can give it a try first. If you’re in a hurry to get salt, just flooding the fields with seawater twice should be enough; there’s no need to refine it to such a high purity.”

Xiong Kui nodded repeatedly: “Alright, alright, alright. Whatever you say is fine.”

Zhang Shuguang chuckled: “To be honest, I’m not entirely confident we’ll succeed in making salt this way.”

“No problem, let’s give it a try.” Xiong Kui had complete faith in Zhang Shuguang. After all, they hadn’t believed seawater could turn into salt at first, yet they’d succeeded on their very first attempt.

No sooner had he finished speaking than the sound of footsteps approached. The three looked up the mountain path and saw Wu Ming leading the way, followed by a dozen or so men and women who also bore the marks of old age.

Zhang Shuguang surmised that these were the oldest members of the tribe.

“Chief, what’s the matter that you’ve called us old fogies up here?”

Xiong Kui nodded, cutting straight to the point. He raised his hand and pointed at Zhang Shuguang. “Shuguang has brought a method for refining sea salt to the tribe. The Shaman and I have already confirmed that seawater can be turned into salt.”

The news was startling; everyone except the Shaman and Mang Jiu was left speechless.

Mang Da whipped his head around to look at Zhang Shuguang, his pupils contracting in surprise, nearly turning into the vertical slits of a beast.

Zhang Shuguang smiled and gave a slight nod to the crowd’s gaze.

Mang Jiu, holding a potato, was crouched beside Zhang Shuguang peeling it. He merely glanced up at the crowd; their eyes followed him, yet they still harbored doubt.

Wu Ming spoke up then: “Xiong Kui has already sent people to the beach to boil salt. If you don’t believe it, you can go see for yourselves.”

“Can you really turn seawater into salt?”

Xiong Kui nodded and produced the salt Zhang Shuguang had boiled earlier. Though there was only a small amount, it was enough for everyone to taste a little.

The small bowl of salt was passed around the group, then returned to Xiong Kui.

Those who had tasted the salt were stunned. Anyone who had been to the beach and gone into the water knew exactly what seawater tasted like. This salt tasted similar to seawater, yet slightly different.

Mang Da was so excited that his hands were shaking. If their tribe could produce salt on its own, their lives would undergo a complete transformation!

Xiong Kui had summoned these men for three reasons: first, to make them understand that the tribe could produce salt; second, to have them tell their own people not to panic over mere rumors.

Third, these men, having lived to this age, were highly respected within their own communities; sometimes their words carried more weight than those of the chief himself.

Zhang Shuguang did not join their discussion. Illness strikes like a mountain collapsing, but recedes as slowly as drawing silk; at the moment, he simply didn’t have the energy to deal with their questions.

Why turn seawater into salt?

Why share this method with the tribe?

What do they want in return?

Speculations poured forth endlessly, making his head buzz.

Mang Jiu washed the potatoes in his hands, cut them into chunks, and tossed them into the pot to boil with the meatballs, adding a pinch of fine salt as well.

“Finished?” he asked coldly, glancing at the crowd. “If you’re done, leave. We still have to eat.”

The implication was clear: whether you have business here or not, don’t stand around—you’re in the way.

“Mang Jiu, where did you pick him up from? What if he’s planning to do something to the tribe?”

“If solving your salt shortage counts as ‘something,’ then you should be saying thank you a few more times.” Mang Jiu retorted with a cold expression, completely unconcerned by the fact that the one who spoke was a Sub-Beastman old enough to be his grandfather.

Zhang Shuguang chuckled. Seeing everyone’s gaze turn back to him, he waved his hand and said, “It’s only natural for you to suspect my motives, but I’d also like to tell you all this: if I wanted to do something bad, I wouldn’t have let you eat roasted potatoes.”

Xiong Kui frowned and said solemnly, “According to the news Mang Da brought back, the Sand Crocodile Tribe has raised the price of the beast meat required for salt exchange. If we don’t try to produce sea salt ourselves, we’ll be at their mercy. Is that what you want to see?”

“But if word gets out that we know how to make salt, other tribes will covet our knowledge. Besides, boiling seawater to make salt is something anyone can learn after seeing it just once.”

Xiong Kui’s face hardened. “So what? Even if every tribe learns to boil seawater for salt, it won’t have much impact on us.”

“The Chief is right. If we can keep the salt-making method to ourselves, we can still supply salt to other tribes in exchange—that’s to our advantage.”

Zhang Shuguang thought to himself: It’s more than just a benefit. Once the vegetables in his fields are ripe, these people will realize the value of farming. By then, they can assign some people to make salt while others tend the fields—that way, they’ll be completely self-sufficient. Setting aside other considerations, the variety of food on the table will be much richer.

Not only that, but once agriculture takes root, they can develop other industries as well. By then, the Cliff Shore Tribe will truly undergo a major transformation. But these changes won’t happen overnight; they require patience.

Food is the foundation of life—a truth that holds true in any world.

Xiong Kui: “I’m telling you this because you are the elders of the tribe. You know more than anyone else and understand the importance of this matter.”

Everyone nodded; he was absolutely right.

Xiong Kui: “The salt-boiling team will bring back the first batch of sea salt tomorrow. If you still have doubts, you can wait until you see the sea salt for yourselves.”

The group exchanged glances, then finally nodded in unison, agreeing with him.

No matter what, seeing is believing.

If they could truly boil seawater to produce enough salt for the tribe’s use, they would have no objections and would no longer suspect this Sub-Beastman of ill intent.

The others left one by one, but Wu Ming stayed behind. Curious, he entered Mang Jiu’s cave and took a look around. He saw the two little cubs and even reached out to pet them. He examined the scales embedded in the cave walls for a while and realized that this arrangement not only made the cave much tidier but also provided significantly more storage space.

“Couldn’t you use wooden or stone slabs instead?” he asked, pointing as he stepped out of the cave.

Zhang Shuguang nodded. “Wooden planks would work, but stone slabs won’t. They’re too heavy and would cause loose rocks to fall from the cave walls.” He held a bowl of meatball and potato soup made by Mang Jiu, watching as Mang Jiu sat before a small stove holding a frying pan. He added a chunk of fat to the pan; once it melted, he poured the cooked hog beast directly into it.

“Wait!” It was too late to say that.

With a sizzle, oil splattered everywhere. A drop hit Mang Jiu’s arm, and he flinched from the burn. “!”

“You got burned, didn’t you!” Zhang Shuguang stood up a bit too hastily and staggered slightly. Once the dizziness passed, he hurried over to Mang Jiu’s side, grabbed his arm to examine it, then looked up at his face. “There was water on the skin. When water hits hot oil, it tends to splatter. Luckily, it didn’t hit your face.”

As he spoke, the pork skin in the pot began to sizzle and pop even more violently, bouncing wildly and making loud noises.

Wu Ming jumped in surprise and quickly took a step back.

Zhang Shuguang yanked Mang Jiu back, then grabbed the slotted spoon to quickly stir the pork skin, adding salt and Sichuan peppercorns. After giving it a couple more stirs, he took it out of the pot.

“Aren’t you afraid of getting splashed?” Mang Jiu asked, frowning.

Zhang Shuguang shot him a sidelong glance. “Of course, I’m afraid. It’s just that I have a bit more experience than you—it’s fine.” He chuckled. “Next time this happens, just stir-fry quickly. That way, they won’t have time to react and won’t jump around so violently.”

With that, he gave a mischievous wink.

A hint of a smile touched Mang Jiu’s otherwise impassive face. He poked Zhang Shuguang’s cheek with his finger. “Rework this pan. Having a hole in it is a bit inconvenient, and it’s too plain.”

“Sure. Actually, I was thinking of something different.” Zhang Shuguang bent down, picked up a piece of sun-darkened firewood, and sketched on the ground. “Like this.” He drew a standard frying pan. “Can we shape the scale plate into something like this?”

“Sure, I’ll make you a new one later.” Mang Jiu nodded. “I got a piece of scale board from Xiong Hong and made two low tables out of it; I still have two pieces left.”

“Thanks.” Zhang Shuguang smiled at him, his eyes crinkling. “Let’s eat.”

The two of them sat down at the table to eat. Wu Ming joined them, shamelessly helping himself to a bowl of meatball and potato soup, and even poked at two pieces of meat skin to taste.

“What kind of skin is this? It’s so soft.”

“Hog beast skin,” Zhang Shuguang said, popping some into his mouth. “The pork skin jelly should be ready by tomorrow morning—that’s even better.”

“What’s pork skin jelly?” Wu Ming hauled over a rock and sat down next to him, showing not the slightest bit of self-awareness as a Shaman; his greedy expression was indistinguishable from that of an ordinary old man.

Zhang Shuguang chuckled and tapped the meat skin in the bamboo bowl with the tip of his chopsticks. “It’s the broth from boiling the meat skin. If you simmer it a bit longer, it thickens. Once it cools, it becomes pork skin jelly.”

“Really?”

“Really,” Zhang Shuguang said with a smile. “I’ll bring you some tomorrow morning. Pork skin jelly is cold, so don’t eat too much at once.”

Wu Ming nodded with a smile. “I know. I didn’t even get to eat much of the fried pork chops that Mang Jiu brought over—the little rascals snatched them all away. I’ve rendered some animal fat myself. Teach me how to make it, and I’ll whip up some for the little rascals, too.”

“Sure. By the way, Wu Ming, I wanted to ask you—where did you pick those two yellow fruits? That one is a pumpkin; it can be stored for a while, just like potatoes.” Zhang Shuguang said, “I made soup with the pumpkin, and it was actually pretty good.”

“Oh, those were brought back by the foraging team that went to the Wild Plains last time. There was also a kind of small red fruit—pretty sweet, though there weren’t many of them.” Wu Ming set down his bamboo bowl and wiped his mouth. “Aren’t you planning to go to the Hot Rock Cave? You could swing by the Wild Plains on the way—you might just find more edible things there.”

“With this weather, a lot of crops haven’t matured yet. Even if we find them, they won’t be edible. I’ve seen the berries Li brought back—most of them weren’t ripe. Not only do they taste bad, but it’s a waste.” Zhang Shuguang finished the last meatball and said to Mang Jiu, “Why don’t we go take a look tomorrow?”

Mang Jiu replied coldly, “There’s no rush.”

Zhang Shuguang: “……” He really didn’t want to hear those three words again today!

Wu Ming smiled and nodded from the side. These two little rascals were quite entertaining; it seemed their relationship was getting better and better.

Xiong Kui and Mang Da had been whispering to each other nearby. When they turned around, they saw that the three of them were almost finished eating. Mang Da had been so overwhelmed with shock and delight earlier that he hadn’t even noticed Mang Jiu’s cooking skills.

Now, he finally snapped back to reality and turned his attention to his youngest brother, Mang Jiu.

“I’ve only been gone for a couple of sunrises. How come you’re eating cooked meat now?” He remembered that Mang Jiu had always just gobbled things down raw, unlike them, who sometimes ate a bit of grilled meat for a change of pace.

Mang Jiu said nothing, but generously served him a bamboo bowl full of meatball and potato soup. As for the stir-fried pork rinds? Sorry, they were all gone.

Mang Da held the bowl, sipping the soup and eating the meat. He pursed his lips. Well, if his own Sub-Beastman companion had cooking skills this good, he’d definitely want to eat like this every day.

“You’re Mang Jiu’s Sub-Beastman, right? Your name is Shuguang?” He looked at Zhang Shuguang and asked with a smile.

However, his smile was a bit stiff, as if he were wearing a mask, which looked rather unsettling.

A chill ran down Zhang Shuguang’s spine as he recalled a very unpleasant memory from deep within his mind.

When he was in elementary school, the school organized a field trip to the zoo. They followed their teacher to the reptile house and saw a huge dark-green python. As luck would have it, the zookeeper was feeding the python just as they arrived. He watched in horror as the python swallowed a live chicken whole—a live chicken!

Ever since that day, Zhang Shuguang had developed a deep-seated fear of snakes. Whenever the memory surfaced, his hair would stand on end, and goosebumps would break out all over his body.

Usually, when interacting with Mang Jiu, he managed to keep his thoughts in check and avoid dwelling on the other’s beastly form. But now, under Mang Da’s intense gaze, it was as if he were seeing that nightmare-inducing dark green figure all over again.

For a moment, he was rendered speechless.

Mang Jiu turned to look at him and saw his face had gone pale. He furrowed his brow. “Are you feeling unwell?”

Mang Da noticed Zhang Shuguang staring at him with a look of panic and asked, puzzled, “What’s wrong?”

Zhang Shuguang took a deep breath and asked, his voice trembling, “Big Brother Mang, what color is it?”

Mang Da: “Huh?”