“Unusual?” Lang Mo’s expression turned serious as he scanned the cave, realizing why Lang Yan had come.

He thought carefully, then looked at the small makeshift stove on the ground and said, “He was on a hunger strike at first; he threw out all the food we gave him. He even cursed at me…”

Lang Mo sounded a bit aggrieved as he spoke. Lang Yan replied flatly, “He cursed at me, too.”

Lang Mo immediately pricked up his ears and said seriously, “It was the night of that huge thunderclap. Before that night, he was so weak from hunger that he was lying in his grass nest, slurring his words and cursing nonstop. But when I went back the next day after the sky cleared, he started eating and even ordered me around without any hesitation to pour water down his throat.”

As for what happened after that—how Qiu kept making demands—the King already knew all about it. Lang Yan asked, “He never left the cave?”

“With the King’s orders, how could I dare let him leave the cave? I even found that stone slab for him myself.” Lang Mo pointed to the dust-covered stone slab on the hearth. “The priest said he’d injured his head. He must have been so ravenous that he fell when he tried to get up.”

Lang Yan’s gaze fixed on the small stove.

His appearance hadn’t changed, but his personality had shifted completely—which seemed to fit the priest’s claim that he’d suffered a head injury.

But he knew how to tan hides, weave cages, and was convinced that the long itchy root was edible… Lang Yan didn’t know how to explain this. He felt that, clearly, these were two completely different beastmen, yet they shared the same body.

Lang Yan: “Don’t tell Qiu.”

Lang Mo: “Your Majesty, rest assured, I won’t say a word.”

Lang Mo left, while Lang Yan remained standing in the cave, observing.

He’d only been here once before. Back then, the sub-beastman had been sleeping in a bed of grass; he’d only been startled when he first opened his eyes, but after that, he wasn’t afraid at all—in fact, he was bold enough to make demands of him right away.

That gaze was very different.

Calm, clear-eyed—somewhat like the beastmen in the tribe who’d been through a great deal.

The Lang Yan knew was the current Qiu—the well-behaved Lang Qiu he’d seen as a child. His gaze paused, and Lang Yan slowly crouched down.

At the edge of the small fire pit, a pattern had been drawn with a charred stick—stroke by stroke, very familiar. Lang Yan immediately remembered seeing it in the bark the priest had kept.

Lang Yan’s pupils contracted as he ran his finger over the charcoal on the ground. He knew.

Lang Yan stared intently at the ground for a long time, committing it to memory, then smoothed out the square lines, wiping them clean.

Then he sealed the cave and left.

Lin Qiu was teaching the beastmen how to grill fish at the foot of Wolf Mountain. There was no other choice; the tribe was severely short on pots.

However, the cubs had a clay cooking pot, so Lin Qiu taught Lang Guo to make some fish paste for them. Although Lin Qiu was sitting among the beastmen, he still stood out.

He was exceptionally quiet, like Xue hanging from a tree in winter—lofty and radiating a distant chill that made it hard for anyone to approach him. However, when it came to instructing the beastmen on how to grill meat, he explained everything in detail; as long as they didn’t try to improvise, everyone picked it up right away.

“Qiu, here’s yours.”

Lang Shi handed over the roasted meat. Lin Qiu took it and said, “Thank you.”

Beside him, Lang An was meticulously picking the bones out of the grilled fish, one by one, and placing the meat on a clean, large leaf. Noticing Lin Qiu watching, he smiled, stood up holding the leaf, and said, “I’ll take this to Gu.”

Lin Qiu immediately thought of that old beastman.

“Alright.”

Lang An left, his steps lighter than ever before.

Now that they could catch so many fish, Lang Gu shouldn’t be sick anymore, and everyone would be just fine.

When Lang Yan returned, the beastmen saw him and, holding up the grilled fish, shouted happily, “King! Come eat some fish! Qiu taught us how to grill it—it smells so good!”

Lang Yan nodded and walked over.

The beastmen instinctively made way for the center, and as Lang Yan stepped in, Lin Qiu was right before him.

He sat cross-legged; his leather pants reached his knees, though they shortened slightly when he sat down.

The sub-beastman’s legs were slender and pale; his feet were clad in straw shoes woven from dry grass, and his ankles and calves bore numerous long, reddish scratches from leaves.

His skin was too delicate.

Lang Yan’s gaze flickered, then shifted away.

Beastmen usually have thick, rough skin, and Lang Qiu should be no exception.

As far as he knew, when Lang Qiu had first been brought in, he’d been beaten, yet after a few days of care, he’d become lively and energetic, cursing with full vigor. Lin Qiu, on the other hand, had grown paler and fairer with time, to the point where he didn’t even look like a beastman.

He looked more like a human.

The priest had once told him, as if recounting a legend, about the fragile race of outsiders who appeared on the Beast God Continent—a race so fragile they died shortly after arriving.

Because of him, the priests of various tribes had learned to use herbs more effectively to treat beastmen. Although he had lived for only a few short years, he was passed down and remembered by the priests.

Even though the legend was ancient and the details about that fragile race were no longer complete, Lang Yan was inexplicably certain: that was it. It had to be.

Everyone was in high spirits, eating the fish without rushing. Yet the tribe members all wore smiles on their faces; as they ate, they would nudge one another playfully.

Laughter filled the air—this was the change Lin Qiu had brought.

Lang Yan cast a deep look at the quiet Lin Qiu, then said matter-of-factly, “Hurry up and eat. We’re leaving once we’re done.”

As soon as he spoke, the beastmen fell silent and quietly gnawed on the fish. Lang An emerged from the cave, looking dejected.

Lang Yan asked, “Still not eating?”

Lang An shook his head, his eyes reddening.

Lang Gu wasn’t actually sick; he was just old. Having injured his leg in his youth, he always felt he was incapable of doing anything. He was on a hunger strike—he simply didn’t want to eat.

Lang Yan stood up, ordered the beastmen to finish their meal and set out, then went to Lang Gu’s cave himself.

Lang Gu’s cave was right next to the priest’s.

After he injured his leg, he refused to live with the beastmen in the large cave, so Lang Yan had the beastmen dig a new one for him. The Priest was already inside. As soon as Lang Yan reached the entrance, he caught the scent of decay wafting out, and his heart sank. “Gu, Qiu has taught us how to make fish traps. We caught a lot of fish today. Please eat some.”

Lang Gu lay in his grass nest with his eyes closed.

The old beastman’s fur was mottled, his beard white, and his bones visible beneath his skin. One of his hind legs was twisted, and he had no strength in it.

He had been lying in the cave for many days. At first, he would go out for walks, but later he stopped leaving the cave altogether. He refused to eat and simply lay there with his eyes closed, as if asleep.

Lang Yan: “Gu, the Wolf Clan can’t afford to lose even one of its own beastmen.” The priest sighed, his hand trembling as he motioned for Lang Yan to leave. They were the only two elderly beastmen left in the tribe.

“I’ll watch over him. You go tend to your duties.”

Lang Yan: “An, come check on him often when you have time. Talk to him more about what’s happening in the tribe.”   

“Alright,” Lang An replied.

Lang Yan was the king of the Wolf Clan. He bore the responsibility for the survival of every beastman in the clan. Securing food was the tribe’s top priority—there was no question about it.

Lang Yan raced down the mountain, passing Lin Qiu, who was washing his hands by the stream, and followed the main group as they departed.

Lin Qiu’s cheeks went soft as he turned his head to watch the wolf hairs floating in the air like dandelion seeds, gently pinching a strand that had landed on him. He rolled it between his fingers into a small ball and tucked it away.

Lang Yan seemed to be shedding even more fur.

Lin Qiu glanced up at the cave on the mountain. He wanted to go take a look, but didn’t know what he could possibly do there. He could only think of the kindness the old beastman had shown him, which still touched his heart.

If he couldn’t help him, he could at least help the tribe.

That morning, the priest had Lin Qiu weave fish traps as usual. Only when the time came did he have Lang Bing bring the medicine, watching to make sure Lin Qiu drank every last drop before leaving.

Lin Qiu’s mouth felt so unpleasant that he grabbed one of the sour berries he’d picked yesterday and started munching on it. After eating half of it, all that remained in his mouth was the sour taste of the fruit.

Seeing him remain unfazed, the beastmen stared at the green-skinned fruit with a mix of disbelief and suspicion.

“Qiu, isn’t it sour?” 

Lin Qiu: “It’s pretty sour.” 

The beastmen: “……”

It was the first time they’d seen a beastman eat a green-skinned fruit with such composure. Could it be that Qiu’s tongue was different from theirs, making the food he prepared taste even better?

The more the beastmen thought about it, the more likely this seemed.

In the sunlight, everyone gathered together. Some of the beastmen peeled the vines, while others wove fish traps. Lang An’s fingers were nimble; in just a few strokes, he’d finished the base.

Since this part was difficult, he finished it and passed it on to the next beastman to weave. This was a time-saving method the beastmen had figured out on their own.

In just a single morning, several more fish traps had piled up beside them.

They didn’t have to wait for the hunting party to return. The beastmen left some meat behind yesterday, and Lin Qiu said it’s fine to just throw in some fish and crabs that have been pounded up a bit

So the beastmen did just that.

Once the fish traps were ready, they tossed them into the river. Perhaps by the time the hunting and gathering parties returned in the afternoon, they’d have fish to eat again. With this in mind, the beastmen worked with even greater enthusiasm.

After drinking his potion, Lin Qiu had completed the task the priest had assigned him for the morning.

He was in the habit of having a light meal at noon, so he fetched last night’s fish and made fish soup. Just then, the sun was shining brightly, and Lang Guo came out with the cubs to bask in the warmth.

Lin Qiu heard a high-pitched voice calling out to him. He glanced over and saw the exceptionally white Xue emerge from the grass nest, wiggling its little body as it made its way toward him.

Seeing that Lang Guo was carrying more pups out, Lin Qiu casually scooped it up and brought it back. He scrapped his plan for fish soup and made fish puree instead.

He picked out all the bones, minced the meat finely, and added a few green-skinned fruits and some salt—it didn’t have the slightest hint of fishiness. Lin Qiu filled a whole pot, ate just enough to tide himself over, and left the rest untouched.

“Guo,” Lin Qiu said.

Lang Guo caught the cubs one by one as they tried to crawl toward Lin Qiu. “You eat it yourself. They have food.” 

Lin Qiu: “I made too much.”

Lang Guo held a cub under his arm and had two more clinging to his legs. Seeing more cubs crawling toward Lin Qiu, he stared at him with a blank expression. 

Lin Qiu: “It’s getting hot, so I accidentally made too much. It’ll go bad if we don’t finish it—what a waste.”

Lang Guo：“……”

He’s never seen a beastman tell a lie with such a straight face.

In the end, every cub got to enjoy the fish paste that Lin Qiu had made.

One by one, they tucked their tails up as they ate, their heads nearly buried in the large leaves, their whiskers and the fur on their chests completely covered in fish meat. Lin Qiu sat nearby watching.

He was most familiar with Lang Xue, who lay by his legs. Every night, the cub would sneak out of the grass nest and come over to sleep with him. Even now, while eating the fish paste, it stayed close to him, its little ears twitching as it munched away, its tiny body twitching with each bite—a truly adorable sight.

Seeing the cub’s greedy little face, Lang Guo felt a bit down.

It was all the same well-cooked fish, so why did the cub shake its head after just one bite of what he’d made?