Lang Yan broke through the water’s surface once more, taking slightly longer than the first time.

There were plenty of fish. Lin Qiu watched as he curled his fingers into claws, his sharp nails piercing the fish’s heads, and caught a total of three.

He was soaking wet, with droplets of water running down his cheeks, sliding across his chest, and seeping into the animal hide along his taut abdominal muscles—his entire body exuding a primal, untamed wildness.

He held out his hand, looking at Jin and the other two.

“Help yourselves.”

Lang Kim didn’t dare move, but the two behind him gave him a shove forward.

Lang Kim: “King, we can’t eat that much.” He didn’t like fish; he just couldn’t stand seeing the King treat Qiu so well, and in a moment of rashness, he spoke out. Lang Yan furrowed his brow. “Don’t waste my effort.”

With that, he tossed the fish into Lang Kim’s arms, glanced at Lin Qiu, and motioned for him to follow. Lang Kim felt like crying, but couldn’t.

“We caught game today. If we eat this, we won’t get any of the game. What are we going to do?”

Lang Bing and Lang Rong exchanged a glance and took a step back.

They didn’t want to eat fish either—every time they did, they got stuck, and they’d already pricked their mouths several times.

Although Lin Qiu had the fish caught by Lang Yan, the tribe had also given him a share of meat. He left the meat untouched and instead made sour fish soup for dinner.

He gathered the ingredients for the fish from the priest—various sour-tasting herbs and fruits—and took whatever was usable. The taste was passable, so Lin Qiu gave half to the priest as payment for the herbs and fruits.

The sour soup whetted his appetite. Lin Qiu sat cross-legged in front of the fire, slowly picking at the fish bones.

The fish was huge; he’d cooked half of it, and even after sharing some with the priest, he still couldn’t finish it all. He’d just gone to call Lang Yan, but he didn’t come. Lin Qiu didn’t like freeloading, so he decided to make some fishing gear.

The firelight cast a glow on his cheeks. He pursed his lips, which had turned rosy from the heat, and spat out a fishbone.

By the campfire not far away, Lang Kim watched Lin Qiu, taking a bite of meat, then a bite of fish, his nostrils twitching constantly.

Why does the fish he makes look so delicious?

“Cough! It’s stuck again. Help me get it out.”

Lang Kim opened his mouth wide, but Lang Bing, sitting beside him, snorted and turned his head away. Lang Rong pried open Lang Kim’s mouth, leaned in close, and reached inside to fish it out.

“I told you to eat properly,” Lang Rong said.

Lang Bing: “You’re crazy.”

With his mouth held open, Lang Kim still managed to mumble, “Why does his smell so good? It’s so tasty…” 

“Hey, don’t move.” Lang Rong peered into Lang Kim’s mouth, searching.

Lang Bing grabbed both of his ears, stepped on his back, and helped pull, stretching Lang Kim’s face tight.

Lin Qiu casually glanced over at the campfire and saw Lang Kim’s comical expression. He looked away, thinking of ways to catch fish.

There were plenty of fish by the river; ideally, they’d need a boat and a net so they wouldn’t have to dive underwater. Building a boat might be feasible—there was plenty of wood, and thick, fallen trees were everywhere; it would just take some time and effort to hollow them out.

A fishing net, however, was out of the question—there were no materials.

Lin Qiu happened to notice the rattan baskets used by the foraging team. The rattan was fine and supple, with plenty of resilience; perhaps he could weave a few fish traps out of it. Having made up his mind, Lin Qiu decided to start tomorrow.

The night was dim, yet the stars shone with exceptional clarity. The beastmen returned to the cave one by one, lying down to sleep as soon as they arrived. Lin Qiu waited until the beastmen had all gone, then went to the stream and took off his animal-skin coat.

The evening breeze blew away the clouds before the moon, and a silvery glow spread out like a soft mist, enveloping the slender figure by the stream. Lin Qiu dampened a scrap of fabric left over from making a fur coat and wiped himself down with it.

The stream water was cold, sending a shiver through him.

Lin Qiu gritted his teeth and wiped himself down even faster.

Once he had washed himself from head to toe, he hurried back to the fire, pulled on his fur coat, and only then returned to the cave, his face pale. He didn’t rush into the grass bed, but sat by the fire to rest a while longer.

As his body gradually warmed up, Lin Qiu finally crawled into the grass nest and wrapped himself tightly in it. In the middle of the night, Lang Yan was startled awake.

He opened his eyes and looked at Lin Qiu, who was curled up in his own nest, his back pressed tightly against him, holding the cub close to his chest as he slept soundly. The wolf’s tail twitched slightly, stirring the dry grass and creating a rustling sound.

The fire had gone out.

The sub-beastman seemed to be very cold; half his body was buried in the wolf’s fur.

Lang Yan sighed in exasperation and tried to shift over to the other side of the nest, but before long, Lin Qiu followed him there, pressing her back even tighter against him. Lang Yan simply got up.

He shifted into human form and wrapped an animal pelt around his waist. Standing at the edge of the grass nest, he quietly watched the sub-beastman and the cub who had taken over the center of his nest. He glanced again at the sub-beastman’s nest, which was clearly much more comfortable. He bent down and gently picked up Lin Qiu.

Lin Qiu furrowed his brow, as if about to wake up.

Lang Yan picked up the cub, who was rolling around in the nest, and placed him on his chest. Then he put both of them back in the neighboring nest and covered them with the animal hide.

For a wolf-beastman, the weather was no longer cold; with fur to keep him warm at night, he didn’t even need a fire. Lang Yan returned to his den, shifted back into his beast form, closed his eyes, and rested his head on his forepaws.

With a single breath, he caught the faint scent of Lin Qiu.

His swishing tail froze. He silently rolled over, turning his side toward the cave entrance.

At dawn, the beastmen began to wake up one by one, roused by hunger.

Lang Yan woke up, felt the warm body pressed against his back, and frowned as he turned his head. He’d rolled back into his den again.

The other beastmen, just waking up, glanced over but didn’t spot Lin Qiu, who was completely hidden by Lang Yan. Looking dejected, they filed out of the cave.

Lang Mo, lagging behind the others, was puzzled. The King was always one of the first to rise; why was he still lying in his den today?

Just as he was about to ask if the King was ill, he took a few steps south and saw Lin Qiu pressed against the Wolf King. He gaped, about to cry out in shock. Lang Yan’s eyes sharpened, and Lang Mo immediately clamped his hand over his mouth and darted out, grabbing Lang Xi—who had just woken up—by the arm and hurrying out with him.

Once the beastmen had all left, Lang Yan shifted slightly, trying to get Lin Qiu to release the hand clutching his back fur.

He was gripping a bit too tightly, though it didn’t actually hurt.

Lang Yan turned his head to glance at him; Lin Qiu had his entire head buried against his back. His shallow breaths ruffled the fur there, making it feel as if insects were crawling across his back.

He shifted to the side, felt a sudden tightness across his back, and quickly left the grass nest to shift back into human form.

Just as he was about to carry Lin Qiu back to his own den, he caught sight of the large clump of fur Lin Qiu had pulled out with both hands, and a chill ran down Lang Yan’s spine.

“King, why is there a bald spot on your back?” Lang Mo scampered over excitedly. Lang Yan closed his eyes briefly. “Molting.”

Lin Qiu slept fairly well, though he felt a bit strange when he was half-asleep in the middle of the night; otherwise, everything was fine. He woke up just as Lang Guo deftly lifted the cub from his arms to feed it.

Under Lang Guo’s strange gaze, Lin Qiu followed his line of sight and looked down at his own hands.

A huge clump of black wolf fur was lodged between his fingers—he’d pulled out two solid handfuls. If he rolled it into a ball, it would be enough to make a nest for a cub. Where did it come from?

He was a bit confused.

Lang Guo sniffed the scent on the fur and hurried away, still holding the cub. It was as if he had discovered a tremendous secret.

Lin Qiu bent down, rolled the tuft of fur into a ball, and tucked it between the two grass nests.

No need to waste it. Even though he didn’t know where it came from, if he saved up enough, he might actually be able to knit a few sweaters.

The priest said winters here are bitterly cold; you need a sweater underneath and animal skins wrapped around you just to get by. Lin Qiu calmly left the cave.

He scanned the surroundings but didn’t spot Lang Yan; his back straightened a little more.

At the Priest’s Cave.

As soon as Lin Qiu stepped inside, an old man and a young man turned to look at him in unison. Lin Qiu remained composed and asked, “What am I supposed to do today?”

Lang Bing’s nose twitched slightly, his pupils constricted, and he silently cursed Lang Kim in his mind.

The Priest, leaning on his clinking wooden staff, moved a little closer. His eyes narrowed as he noticed several black wolf hairs on the sub-beastman’s body. His gaze settled on Lin Qiu’s beautiful yet cold face, and he said, “Today, you’ll brew your own medicine. Bing has already gathered the herbs for you.” Lin Qiu felt a surge of resistance.

The priest said, “Look down. Let me take a look.” Lin Qiu had no choice but to lower his head.

An aged hand pressed against the back of his head. As it probed, he felt only a slight sting. Lin Qiu furrowed his brow, but found it tolerable.

“It’s working. It’s better than last time.”

Lin Qiu now had no excuse to refuse.

Inside the cave, the priest was teaching Lang Bing how to divine the future, while Lin Qiu stood by the large clay cooking pot, watching as the large bundle of herbs soaking in the water softened, and green bubbles began to rise to the surface.

The herbal decoction must be ready; we can just drink the broth.

Just as Lin Qiu was about to turn off the fire, the priest suddenly said, “Not yet. Keep it going.”

Lin Qiu: “Drinking just the broth should be fine.”

The priest: “No, if you don’t let it simmer, you’ll just have to chew up all those herbs and swallow them.”

Lin Qiu silently added more firewood, breathing in the bitter medicinal scent that filled the cave. His gaze went blank, and his fingers curled slightly. Just how did he end up with that tuft of fur?

After finishing the porridge he’d cooked that morning and being lectured by the priest, Lin Qiu’s head was buzzing. He returned to his grass nest and fell into a deep sleep. His stomach growled with hunger, so he crawled out of bed, roasted some fish, and ate it. Then he headed south and disappeared into the woods.

Lang Mo, who had been lying on the ground, immediately stood up and followed him.

The King had said Qiu was not to roam alone.

The woods near Wolf Mountain were well-trodden by the beastmen; everything edible—and even inedible—had been thoroughly searched. Hearing the sound of footsteps behind him, Lin Qiu stopped and waited.

His gaze scanned the area, searching for the vines the beastmen used to make baskets.

“Qiu, what are you doing in the woods?” Lang Mo hobbled over, clutching his stomach. Lin Qiu: “Do you know what kind of vines the beastmen use to weave baskets?”

“Isn’t that over there?” Lang Mo pointed casually. A vine as thick as an arm wound its way up a tree so massive it took three people to encircle it. After climbing more than ten meters, it spread out above their heads like a spider’s web.

The crowns of several nearby trees were entwined with sprawling vines, and slender tendrils hung down like long snakes. No wonder this spot was so dim.

Lin Qiu looked up, pondering how to get them down. Lang Mo: “What do you need the vines for?”

Lin Qiu: “To weave a fish trap.” 

“What’s a fish trap?”

“It’s like a basket—you throw it in the water to catch fish.”

“Fish doesn’t taste good.” Lang Mo tilted his head back as well, then thought of the fish Lin Qiu had cooked and swallowed hard. “But the fish you cook is delicious.”

Lin Qiu walked over to the main vine and tried to pull on it, but it didn’t budge an inch. Two leaves drifted down from the canopy, curling as they fell, and landed right on Lang Mo’s nose.

Lin Qiu took out the small knife Lang Yan had given him.

Lang Mo blew the leaves away with a puff of air and said, “I’ll help you, and you treat me to some fish.” Lin Qiu tilted his head. “I want a lot of vines.”