Good heavens, Lin Qiu gazed at the desolate Wolf Mountain as he slowly followed the beastmen toward the back of the mountain.

Lang Gu passed away last night.

He had fallen into an eternal sleep, just as he wished.

From the back of Wolf Mountain, one could gaze out at the northern mountain range and the grasslands to the east. The grave on the mountain was tiny, with many stones piled on top of it. ‌The beastmen had carefully selected each one and placed them there one by one.

The beastmen’s passing was as everyone had expected.

Yet the pain they had suppressed deep within their hearts surged up again, leaving them numb, dazed, and despairing.‌ They walked like the living dead along this familiar funeral path.

The beastmen’s burial involved no grand ceremony, only silence—a silence as still as death.

The beastmen dug a pit, a very deep one. They lowered Lang Gu, wrapped tightly in the finest hides the tribe had to offer, into it—gently, for fear of disturbing the long-awaited slumber.

Earth was piled on, settling silently upon the old beast’s motionless form.

Just as they had done dozens of times before, they repeated the process. The soil was leveled, and then the beastmen brought stones to weigh it down.

The beastman had already fallen asleep; they feared other animals might disturb him, so this would ensure his peace.

Lin Qiu watched quietly from the side, feeling that he should remain composed at this moment.

Something soft brushed his cheek. He looked up to see Lang An stroking his face, smiling gently at him.

His eyes were bloodshot and already slightly swollen.

“Don’t cry, Qiu. He’s gotten what he wanted.”

Lin Qiu fluttered his eyelashes. “I’m not crying.”

Lang An said nothing more, only gazed at him quietly.

A few beastmen came to the back of Wolf Mountain. Beneath those stacked stones lay the beastmen who had passed away one by one over the fifteen years since they’d settled here.

There were elderly beastmen, young cubs, as well as partners and siblings…

They rarely came to disturb the peace. 

Lang Yan stood beside the graves, watching as the stones were stacked tightly. His gaze swept over the one at the very top; then he lowered his eyes.

As long as his father is here, the departed beastmen will not lose their way.

They came silently and departed quietly.

Lang Yan lagged behind, watching Lin Qiu as the beastmen passed him by, slowly drawing closer.

Lin Qiu glanced at him, then continued to press down the wild grass as he walked forward.

He seemed somewhat silent, his eyelashes damp, his pale face devoid of color.

Lin Qiu: “It’s Lang Gu.”

Lang Yan: “Mm.”

Lin Qiu: “I’ve only met him once.”

He hadn’t yet had the chance to thank this old beastman who had shown him kindness when he first arrived at the tribe.

Lang Yan: “It was his own choice; I didn’t do my part.”

Lin Qiu heard the weight and comfort in his voice, took a gentle breath, and exhaled slowly. The scent of the morning breeze in his nostrils was no longer one of freedom and relief.

Lin Qiu made up his mind.

“Yam… It’s the long itchy root. I’m certain it’s edible.”

Lang Yan showed no surprise, responding smoothly, “We’ve brought back prey, and we’re gathering itch roots too. Try it a few more times in front of everyone, and they’ll accept it. The priest will too.”

Lin Qiu turned his head, and Lang Yan looked back at him.

As their gazes met, Lin Qiu did not look away.

‌Looking into those gray eyes, she wanted to say, “You don’t doubt me,” but Lang Yan’s expression was calm, as if he had already placed his trust in her.

“Lang Qiu?” Lang Yan said softly.

“Lin Qiu.”

Lin Qiu tugged at the corner of his mouth, trying to appear friendly.‌ His cheeks were too pale, making him look somewhat translucent and fragile.

“Mm.” Lang Yan looked at him for a moment before looking away.

“Stay put in the tribe and try not to go near the river. Two gathering parties have gone to look for itch roots; we can try them out tomorrow. The priest has also agreed—you can start by learning about the different types of itch roots from him.”

“Okay.”

Lang Yan walked side by side with him past the back mountain, then led the beastmen of the hunting party away.

Lin Qiu watched as the beastmen’s figures quickly vanished into the distance.

He hadn’t kept it a secret; Lang Yan had known all along.

Having been entrusted with this trust, Lin Qiu would not let him down.

The old beastman’s departure left the beastmen remaining in the tribe feeling downcast, yet they each went about their duties, continuing the work at hand.

They must live on.

Lin Qiu entered the old priest’s cave, where the air was thick with the scent of medicinal potions.

The wounded beastman who had been placed in the priest’s cave had already woken up, but since the priest forbade him from moving, he could only lie there.

Seeing Lin Qiu arrive, the old priest said, “You must brew your own medicine.”

With that, he handed the potion in his hand to the lying beastman.

The beastman pinched his nose, gulped a few times, and drank it all down.

If Lin Qiu hadn’t heard a sound of retching, he might have thought the potion was actually better than his own.

Having become quite familiar with the priest’s cave, Lin Qiu carried the clay cooking pot away to wash it clean, then added water to brew his own. 

As the water heated, fine bubbles began to rise in the clay cooking pot.

Lin Qiu sat on a bundle of grass beside the pot, his gaze seemingly fixed on the flames, though in truth he was lost in thought for a moment.

The beastman had finished his medicine and lay quietly.

The old priest sat motionless behind the wooden plank, as still as a stone statue.

After a long while, the water in the pot came to a boil.

Lin Qiu looked at a fine crack in the clay cooking pot and said, “Priest, the pot is about to break.”

The priest moved his stiff fingers, like a rusty machine, and turned his head to look. Even his voice was rusty, hoarse and halting: “It’s broken. It should have broken long ago.”

The tribe had once been prosperous, trading with the central tribes for so many clay cooking pots, only to have them break time and again during their migrations.

Just like the tribe’s beastmen.

Lin Qiu: “We can make new ones.”

The old priest: “It’s not that easy.”

Lin Qiu: “It isn’t easy, but if we keep trying, we might just succeed.”

The old priest was exhausted now, feeling as if he couldn’t catch his breath; he didn’t even want to respond to Lin Qiu.

This beastman usually kept his mouth shut unless necessary, but now he was talking too much.

“Try it yourself. No one’s stopping you,” the priest said impatiently.

“I want a beastman.”

Old Priest: “We haven’t even sorted out the itch root yet, and now you’re messing with the clay cooking pot—you’re deliberately tormenting the beastmen!”

Lin Qiu: “Weren’t you the one who told me to try?”

The Old Priest grabbed his wooden staff and tapped it over there.

Lin Qiu dodged to the side and said slowly, “You’re getting on in years. If you stick around much longer, watch out for dementia.”

The old priest glared at him. Though he didn’t know what dementia was, it surely couldn’t be anything good.

“Don’t curse an old beastman like me.” With that, he wiped his face and shuffled over.

“Take down that leather pouch from the wooden rack.”

Upon hearing this, Lin Qiu went to fetch it.

The old priest told Lin Qiu to pour it out. At a glance, Lin Qiu saw dried slices of yam, taro, and several other tuber plants.

In addition, dried leaves and vines were also preserved inside.

The old priest said, “Since you brought this up, you’d better recognize all the itch roots.”

Lin Qiu: “You can’t just sit back and do nothing, old man.”

The old priest: “Don’t say things I don’t understand.”

“Although I’m training Lang Bing to be the next priest, I can see you’re not stupid either. It’s good for the tribe if more beastmen know what these herbs are.”

With that, he decided what Lin Qiu would be doing for the rest of the morning in the cave.

Starting with the itch root, under the priest’s guidance, Lin Qiu systematically studied the plants and animals of the Beast God Continent… Except for things like divination, which he didn’t learn, everything the next High Priest was supposed to learn, Lin Qiu had to learn.

Studying was Lin Qiu’s forte; whether he liked it or not, there was no escaping it.

After all, he was still in his probationary period.

After a busy morning and downing another bowl of bitter medicine, Lin Qiu stumbled down the mountain in a daze.

Spotting Lang Guo bringing the cubs back again, Lin Qiu paused and approached the cub.

The cub was close to the beastmen of the Wolf Clan who had stayed behind. As Lin Qiu drew near, he sensed something was off.

He remained calm and observed silently.

He noticed some of the beastmen avoiding him; the simple smiles they’d worn while fishing had turned to hatred.

Watching from a distance, Lin Qiu turned on his heel and left the gathering of beastmen.

“Woof!” the cub called out from behind.

Lang Guo glared at a few of the ill-disposed beastmen in the crowd, then scooped up the cub and chased after Lin Qiu.

“Qiu, where are you going?”

Lin Qiu stopped, and Lang Guo shoved the cub into his arms.

Holding the cub of Wolf Snow and Lang An, Lin Qiu said, “I’m going to the cave to get some sleep.”

“Aren’t you going to eat?”

Lin Qiu: “I’m fine.”

Lang Guo: “They’re just… Ugh! So slow-witted, they can’t wrap their heads around it.”

They blamed Lang Gu’s death on a lack of food; after all, Lang Qiu had been sent here in the first place for stealing food.

Not knowing how to vent their frustration, they redirected their hatred.

Lin Qiu: “It’s fine. The pups came along.”

Looking past Lang Guo toward the back of the pack, the pups lay scattered like sesame balls on the ground, each one yelping at Lang Guo in a high-pitched, childish voice.

Why take only those two pups and not us?

Lang Mo and Lang Shi watched the entire scene clearly from within the crowd of beastmen.

Seeing Lin Qiu leave, Lang Mo turned and addressed the few beastmen whose attitudes had seemed off moments ago: “What were you doing just now?”

Lang Ya pressed against Lang Mo’s back, biting his ear to restrain the impulsive beastman.

“We’re just grieving for Lang Gu. We’ll be fine in a few days.” 

The black and gray wolves were part of the tribe’s guard squad. Their leader was Lang Mu, who bore a long, healed scar on his left shoulder blade—a patch where the fur had not grown back.

They were under Lang Shi’s command.

Now, having listened to the wolf, he could no longer hold back and said bitterly, “The tribe is already in this state, yet you’re still helping other beastmen. Why should he be released after just a few days in confinement?”

“Why should we let this go and forgive him?”

“It’s just catching some fish and weaving a few traps! Is that all you’re going to let it go with?!”

Lang Mo rushed forward. Seeing Lang Mu bare his teeth, he showed not a shred of fear.

“You probably think Lang Gu is dead and gone, and it’s none of our business! But Lang Qiu was part of this tribe to begin with. It’s one thing for you to take his side, but why should I? I just can’t stand it—what’s wrong with that?”

Before Lang Shi could even get close, Lang Mo lunged forward and grappled with the beastman.

Beastmen are naturally combative, and this quickly turned into a brawl.

The beastmen rushed in to pull them apart, but a few of them inevitably got caught in the crossfire. Seeing the chaos, Lang Shi felt a surge of anger and stepped forward to grab two wolves and tear them apart.

“Enough! What are you doing?!”

“Did I say something wrong? Why should Lang Qiu, who committed such a grave sin—he should’ve been bitten to death long ago—be sent to our tribe to be a thorn in our side?!” Lang Mu spat out the wolf hair from his mouth, his eyes red with anger.

Lang Shi’s face turned ashen.

“Do you know what you’re saying?!”

Lang An, sensing the tension building, grabbed him and held him down, saying, “Let them fight. They’ve eaten a bit more now and have some strength—it’s better if they fight to the death.”

His voice was gentle, but his gaze was cold.

The Wolf Tribe had finally caught a glimmer of hope for survival; if the beastmen were to meddle, that would be a disaster.

Thinking of the fish they’d just eaten, Lang Mu and his group’s faces twisted in frustration. They shook off Lang Shi’s hand and crawled off to lie down elsewhere.

Lang Mo snorted, sticking out his neck and shouting, “I wonder who was munching on fish so happily yesterday!”

Lang Shi pulled Lang Mo’s ear. “Shut your mouth.”

Lang Mo: “Hmph! I just can’t stand it.”

Lang Shi smacked Lang Mo’s forehead with a heavy palm. “If you’ve got nothing better to do, go gather some more vines. What’s all the noise about?”

Lang Mo was about to strike back when Lang Mo held him by the back of the neck and pulled him aside.