Meanwhile, Lang Yu was peeling the yams with a few sub-beastmen.

Seeing this, Lang Shi called Wolf Wood and a few others over to help.

The beastmen used stone knives,  and with a bit too much force,  the yam snapped in two,  revealing its pale white flesh. As they peeled more and more,  the leaves wrapped around the yams became slippery.

The scent of the flesh made it impossible for the beastmen to stay still, so they tossed aside the leaves and began handling the yams with their bare hands.

When Lang Yu returned carrying a clay pot filled with yams, the beastmen followed behind him, grimacing and rubbing their hands on animal hides with such intensity that sparks nearly flew.

Seeing this, Lang Yan frowned. “Did it get on you?”

The beastman shook his head miserably and held out his hand for Lang Yan to see.

Their hands were red from rubbing, and even after washing them over and over again, the itching persisted—they were desperate to peel off that layer of skin.

Meanwhile, Lin Qiu had finished discussing the clay mixture and firing times for the next batch with the beastmen and planned to continue testing it tomorrow. Over here, Lang Mo and a few others caught the scent of the fragrant meat and couldn’t resist any longer, immediately returning to the campfire.

Lin Qiu had intended to go, but his gaze drifted over that way by chance. He saw the beastmen rubbing their hands in frustration, and Lang Yan was also coming this way with a furrowed brow. He stood up and stopped in front of Lang Yan. 

When Lang Yan asked, he replied, “It’s fine—just roast it over the fire.” Lang Yan’s brow relaxed slightly, and he stopped rushing.

He had already warned the beastmen not to get the juice on their hands, but Lang Yan saw with his own eyes that those impatient ones simply tossed aside the leaves and grabbed it with their bare hands.

They deserved a lesson. He asked, “Want to go eat together?” Lin Qiu hesitated a bit.

Lang Yan: “You’re not used to sitting next to me.” Lin Qiu pursed his lips and nodded.

In Lang Yan’s eyes, Lin Qiu was still very well-behaved—his pale face was cold, but his eyes betrayed nervousness. He was suddenly reminded of when Lin Qiu was a child, and reached out to gently ruffle his hair.

“It’s fine if you don’t want to talk.”

Lin Qiu was taken aback.

Ever since he could remember, no one had ever touched his head.

To others, he had always seemed unapproachable. Because of his aloof nature—he wasn’t good at, nor did he enjoy, socializing—he’d heard people call him arrogant more than once. He didn’t get close to friends either.

Lin Qiu stood there, somewhat dazed.

A flicker of emotion passed through Lang Yan’s eyes as he said gently, “Let’s go.”

He looked at Lang Yan, relaxed his shoulders, and quietly followed him.

The campfire blazed bright red, and sparks danced upward into the sky on the wind. The faces of the beastmen gathered around the fire were flushed, and their eyes burned with intensity. Lin Qiu sat beside Lang Yan, listening to the rumbling stomachs and the sounds of people swallowing from all around—it felt a little less awkward.

He sat with his legs tucked under him, propping his chin on the heel of his hand.

On the freshly dug hearth, three clay cooking pots of bone and yam soup bubbled away. The broth had turned a milky white, and its aroma filled the air. Several beastmen who had been peeling yams were now crouched by the hearth, huddled like penguins, holding their hands out blankly to warm them by the fire.

“It doesn’t itch as much anymore!”  

“Why doesn’t it itch when I’m warming myself by the fire?”

“I don’t know.”

Lang Mu stole a glance at Lin Qiu—this sub-beastman really knows a lot.

Over on Lang An’s side, he’d just salted the vegetables, stirred them a bit, and then called out to the sub-beastman to bring over a pot to serve them, before quickly moving on to stir-fry the other half of the meat.

Seeing the beastman in front of him—who was pretending to warm his hands but was actually drooling over the clay cooking pot, his saliva almost dripping into the jar—Lang An couldn’t help but tap the beastman on the head.

“Go over to the campfire—you’re in the way here!”

The beastman rubbed his hands together; the itch was gone, and he looked puzzled.

“An! It really doesn’t itch anymore?”

Another beastman exclaimed in surprise, “You’re pulling our leg.” 

“If you don’t believe me, try it yourselves!”

“Let’s try it! Let’s try it!”

Lin Qiu rested his chin in his hand as he watched the beastmen actually run toward the pile of yams, his eyes widening slightly. Suddenly, a pebble was thrown from nearby, and a beastman in the distance let out a howl. Lin Qiu turned his head.

He saw it—Lang Yan had thrown it.

Lang Yan twirled his fingers, a cold gleam in his eyes, and tilted his head. “They can be pretty stupid sometimes.” Beside the Wolf King, several wolf-beastmen lay on the ground, silently covering their ears with their paws. They’d seen it.

They’re very smart!

“Who hit me?” The beastman who’d been hit by a pebble turned around, staring wide-eyed, looking completely dumbfounded.

All the beastmen stared intently at the clay cooking pot, not taking their eyes off it, and none of them answered him. The wolf beastman felt inexplicably uneasy. “Woof, woof-woof?”

Lang Yan glanced over.

The wolf beastman suddenly threw himself to the ground, tucking his head into the crook of his arm, as if trying to blend into the earth. Lin Qiu pressed his lips together to suppress the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

It wasn’t stupidity—it was retaining their wolf nature. They weren’t purely human; they were beastmen.

“An, how much longer until we eat?” The beastman couldn’t wait any longer; if Lang Yan hadn’t been sitting there, he would’ve already sneaked his hand into the pot. Lang An: “It’s still cooking.”

“The meat’s done!” The wolf-beastman’s paw slammed into the ground so hard it tore up the turf.

His eyes were fixed on the three pots of stew; the meat and bones were spilling over, and the greasy broth was about to overflow. The aroma of meat enveloped them, and the beastmen kept licking their lips, as if they could taste the flavor right out of the air.

Lang An: “Qiu, are those clay cooking pots ready yet?”

Lin Qiu: “It’ll be done once the yam is tender.”

Lang An smacked the forehead of a beastman who had quietly crept up to the pot. “We just put it in—wait a little longer.” He went back to stirring the stew with his ladle.

The beastmen fought off their cravings, constantly scratching at the ground with their claws in an attempt to ease their hunger. They’d nearly turned over every inch of soil around the campfire.

Lin Qiu looked at their wolf claws—curved, grayish-black or deep black, and gleaming with a cold, metallic sheen. The claws were extremely long, like curved hooks. Lang Yan kept a close watch on Lin Qiu; when he saw him looking at the wolf claws, he suddenly remembered that Lin Qiu couldn’t shift into beast form.

Beastmen typically only lose control of their forms during their cubhood; once they grow up, they can shift at will. He nudged Lin Qiu and looked at him with eyes as clear as frost.

“Can you?” He glanced at the wolf-form beastman lying on the ground.

Lin Qiu hesitated. “I… I’ve tried.”

Lang Yan said, “All you have to do is focus your mind…”

Lin Qiu looked into the beastman’s deep eyes, his voice slow and gentle, full of encouragement.

Lin Qiu sat upright, his eyelashes trembling as he slowly closed his eyes, trying to sense what the orc had described.

As if it were an innate ability, the moment the thought flashed through his mind, there was a tearing sound, and a small black wolf appeared on the ground.

“Woof?” The beastmen tilted their heads to look over.

Seeing that it was Lin Qiu who had shifted into beast form, they didn’t think much of it. They sniffed the air quickly, then turned and urged Lang An to leave. Lin Qiu lay on the ground, feeling a bit dazed.

He felt a soft touch on his fur. Turning his head, he saw Lang Yan picking up the animal-skin coat that had been torn open. “Wasn’t that easy?” he asked.

Lin Qiu drew his limbs in—he wasn’t used to being a wolf yet. He settled into a crouch, his black wolf fur smooth and glossy. It was better than most beastmen’s fur.

Lin Qiu looked at Lang Yan and nodded. It really did seem simple.

“The animal-skin coat…” Changing forms like this made it inconvenient to wear the coat.

Lang Yan: “Our animal-skin skirts are all tied with straps, so they come undone when we shift into beast form.”

Lin Qiu looked down at his large paws, wiggled his fingers, and hooked the grass on the ground with his curved wolf claws. He instinctively shook them off, and a soft sound rang in his ears.

Lin Qiu：“?”

It seemed like he wasn’t as smart after turning into a wolf. Lang Yan leaned over and tossed away the weeds caught on his claw. “You won’t be cold if you sleep in beast form tonight.”

Lin Qiu: “I’m still used to my human form.”

Lang Yan: “Either is fine.”

“Then should I shift back?” 

“Mm-hmm.”

Lin Qiu took his animal-skin coat with him and shifted back once he was far enough away from the beastman. Noticing a strip of animal skin that had come loose on the coat, he gently tugged at it with his finger.

The coat fit. 

Lin Qiu walked over wearing the animal skin skirt and sat down beside Lang Yan. 

Lang Yan: “Is it torn?”

Lin Qiu: “Yeah.”

“I still have some hides left; I’ll get you some later.” Every beastman in the tribe had a share of hides, and Lang Yan would give him his own portion—what could the beastmen say? 

Lin Qiu: “I want to look for other materials to make clothes.”

Lang Yan’s gaze fell on Lin Qiu. His skin was so delicate it seemed it would turn red at the slightest touch. In fact, the hides stored in the cave—and the ones he’d tanned himself—were soft.

Lin Qiu was covered with what were already the two softest animal hides he had.

“What are they made of?”

“There are some plants, fibers…” Lin Qiu paused, then looked up and met Lang Yan’s gaze.

Lang Yan tilted his head. “Fibers?”

Lin Qiu: “…You know, the kind of hide that’s really tough to tear? The kind that shreds into thin strands?” Lang Yan thought for a moment, then shook his head.

There was a durable hide under a beastman’s paws. But pulling it into fine strands…

“Lang Bei is the leader of the gathering team; she probably knows more. You could ask her.”

Lin Qiu: “Mm-hmm.”

Today’s meal was served quite late—four large clay cooking pots, all filled to the brim. Three pots held stewed yam soup, and one pot was so full it was overflowing with stir-fried meat slices and wild greens.

There were also several baskets of fresh wild vegetables; the beastmen wouldn’t have enough to eat even after all of these.

The beastmen lined up, holding the large leaves they used for eating, and approached Lang An one after another. Each beastman received two heaping spoonfuls of the stir-fried dish.

The first two were Lang Mo and Lang Kim.

One was the biggest glutton among the adult beastmen, and the other was the biggest eater among the young ones.

As soon as Lang An served the food, the two beastmen didn’t even have time to sit down before taking a bite.

The slices of meat mixed with the stir-fried greens gave off an indescribable aroma—nothing like the grassy taste of what they usually ate raw. Though the meat slices were small, the more they chewed, the more fragrant the flavor became!

The two beastmen buried their heads in their food, eating voraciously, and it seemed they could actually taste the flavors—could they? Yes, they could!

Lang Mo was heartbroken and immediately ran to the back of the beastman line to get back in line. Seeing this, the other beastmen followed suit.

Lang An raised his spoon, shot Lang Mo a sidelong glance, and with a flick of his wrist, scooped the food back into the clay cooking pot.

“No, each beastman gets only one serving.” 

“One more.” Lang Mo looked at the clay cooking pot.

Lang An: “You’ve already taken my turn.”

Lang Mo let his head droop, then suddenly turned his head and asked, “Wang, are you here?”

Lang An looked over, and Lang Mo instantly stretched out his paw. Lang An gave it a sharp tap—“Awoo!”

“Hmph!”

Lang An looked back at the beastman who’d already eaten once but wanted a second helping and reminded him, “The meat soup will be ready soon.” 

Lang Mo, with tears welling in his eyes, covered his hand and searched for his friends.

Lang An watched as the beastman sat nearby, cradling a small clay cooking pot and using a wooden spoon to scoop out meat from the soup. The look of pure contentment on his face as he closed his eyes made Lang An’s mouth water.

He wants to drink the soup!