Having just come through a high fever, Qin Ziheng’s body really was still a bit weak, and he had nowhere to go. Remembering the claw marks and the suitcase-sized rabbit he’d seen on waking, he didn’t dare leave rashly. He only asked Mao Xiaoshu, puzzled, “What’s the grass for?”
“The snow season’s coming, and it’s very cold. Cut the grass to spread on the stone bed, warm, so you won’t die,” Mao Xiaoshu said.
“The snow season?” Qin Ziheng’s gaze darkened a little, and his throat came out a bit dry and hoarse. “How cold is the snow season?”
Mao Xiaoshu scratched his head and thought a while. He didn’t know how to put into words how cold it was, so he just said very, very cold. Seeing Qin Ziheng’s puzzled look, he transformed with a whoosh into a big orange cat. In the instant Qin Ziheng’s pupils contracted in shock, he wriggled out from under the hide garment, took it in his mouth, leapt straight onto the stone bed, mewed at Qin Ziheng, and signaled him to watch.
Once he saw Qin Ziheng’s eyes turn toward him, Mao Xiaoshu lay down on the stone bed, covered himself well with the hide garment, then curled into a ball, wrapped his tail around his head, and shivered.
His performance was very apt. He didn’t say a word, but Qin Ziheng understood.
Mao Xiaoshu meant that the snow season was so cold that even as a cat, with all his fur, covered with a hide garment, he’d still shiver.
A living person turning into a great big cat, the sight had quite an impact. Qin Ziheng drew a deep breath and leaned against the edge of the stone bed, one leg kneeling on it, both hands propping up his body, and asked Mao Xiaoshu in a low, hoarse voice, “…Can I touch you?”
Mao Xiaoshu seemed to have gotten into character, he was still shivering, but he mewed once more to signal that Qin Ziheng could touch him.
As a cat, Mao Xiaoshu had a coat of pure, silky golden-yellow fur, amber eyes, and a small frame, a bit like a Ragdoll, a bit like a golden shaded, a lot like an orange tabby, but a bit like this and a bit like that, so Qin Ziheng couldn’t figure out what breed he actually was. He only knew the fur was very fluffy, looking thick yet smooth, the little mouth pink and moist, the eyes round like the glass marbles he’d played with as a child.
As a beastman, Mao Xiaoshu’s hair was somewhat yellow, dry and tangled, curly too, and the person himself scrawny, like an African refugee starved for a dozen years and never once full. But as a cat he looked a bit plump, lying there, a round little ball, adorable from every angle.
Qin Ziheng wasn’t especially fond of pets. His female classmate in college had run a pet shop, and whenever they met she’d rattle on about how the shop had gotten in another cat, all white, noble and cute, that she was head-over-heels for. Every time he heard it, Qin Ziheng couldn’t relate to her feelings, even found it a bit absurd. Were those cats and dogs and rabbits really so adorable? He honestly didn’t think so, he’d seen plenty of pets and never felt anything, never a ripple in his heart. But at this moment, that shivering, round little cat melted his heart at a single glance.
How could a cat be this cute?
He gave it a few strokes, and the feel of it really made him reluctant to let go. He was no plushie-lover, but just now he couldn’t tear his eyes away.
Petted a couple of times on the back, Mao Xiaoshu mewed with contentment, and even rolled over to bare his belly to Qin Ziheng, signaling him to rub it.
His back was golden fur, but the belly was pure white fur, very thick, and his four stubby little meat-paws were pink too.
Qin Ziheng couldn’t help scooping him into his arms and giving him a good rub before setting him back on the stone bed. He picked up the hide garment beside him and put it next to him. “All right, I know how cold it is now. You can change back.”
Mao Xiaoshu obediently changed back, bare all over. Qin Ziheng didn’t yet understand the difference between beastmen and demi-beasts, he only figured they were all men, so there was no need to be shy. Changed back to human, Mao Xiaoshu didn’t rush to put on clothes, but first scratched at his calf. Sharp-eyed, Qin Ziheng noticed a big welt there, probably bitten by an insect while eating outside the cave earlier, and now it itched again.
Mao Xiaoshu’s face wasn’t top-tier pretty, but he really was cute: the hair over his forehead curling slightly, long lashes, a baby face, and those flawless black eyes, very endearing. But just now Qin Ziheng found him rather funny too. The places covered by his hide garment were very fair, but the arms, neck, and slim waist left exposed were wheat-colored, his ribs a bit prominent. Yet probably because he’d drunk a bit too much meat soup earlier, his stomach was a little rounded, rising and falling with his breath, so it looked a touch comical.
Mao Xiaoshu didn’t know what Qin Ziheng was laughing at. He only felt this demi-beast was so good-looking, and had such a good temper, and loved to smile, looking even better when he smiled, and spoke so gently, and would rub his head. So Mao Xiaoshu smiled along too.
Hearing him giggling away foolishly, Qin Ziheng felt both helpless and a little amused. He picked up the hide garment, gave it a shake, checked the front and back, and, pulling it over Mao Xiaoshu, said, “There. It’s getting late, hurry off and cut your fluff-grass.”
Mao Xiaoshu’s fur was so thick that if he still shivered as a cat in the snow season, it had to be around thirty below zero.
Qin Ziheng felt this was rather pressing.
Dozens of degrees below zero, by then everything around would surely be a vast white expanse, the snow probably several dozen centimeters deep. Here they lived by hunting and bartered goods, and once the snow season came, game would surely dwindle. And he was penniless…
Qin Ziheng sighed. He only wanted to get his body back to normal quickly, and then think of something.
Otherwise he might well starve.
Whether he could ever go back, he didn’t know, but that wasn’t a question for now.
After Mao Xiaoshu left, Qin Ziheng lay on the stone bed. Although his body was thoroughly weary, he couldn’t settle no matter how he lay. When he finally managed to fall asleep and woke, he found the sun blazing outside, the cave a bit stuffy and hot. He went to the entrance and glanced out, the sun hung halfway up the sky, about one o’clock, he reckoned. Qin Ziheng walked toward the big tree beside the cave.
The tree had no branches until nearly three meters up. For someone with no tree-climbing experience, getting up wouldn’t be easy. Qin Ziheng looked at the leather shoes and suit trousers on him, and felt that climbing a tree in this outfit was even more bizarre than herding cattle in a suit.
But you had to stand high to see far, so Qin Ziheng climbed up anyway. Although the lower trunk was smooth, that was no trouble for him, he was up in a few quick moves.
The tree was very tall. Only when he’d climbed to the top and pushed aside the branches blocking his view did the distant scene meet his eyes at once, a winding great river, a broad, magnificent grassland, and all around the grassland, endless ranges of mountains and forests rolling one after another.
Qin Ziheng was silent a long while, and at last came down from the tree and returned to the cave. He sat on the stone bed, rather lost, both hands propping up his forehead, his mind a blank. All his thoughts came in fits and starts, now wondering what he should do, now worrying whether he could ever go back, now feeling that all of this might be a dream born of his high fever. His stomach was a bit hungry too, he simply couldn’t think normally.
He’d eaten little that morning. A grown man’s appetite was large to begin with, he’d had no appetite in the morning, and with Mao Xiaoshu eating so happily, looking so content and satisfied, he’d been all the more reluctant to eat much. Now his stomach was hollow. The pucker-fruit was still heaped on the stone bed. Qin Ziheng picked one up to examine it. Mao Xiaoshu called this thing pucker-fruit, but Qin Ziheng looked at it, took a bite, and then he knew.
This so-called pucker-fruit was nothing but persimmon.
Some persimmons, when ripe, could be eaten straight and were very sweet, others couldn’t, and had to be soaked in water for a few days, or they’d be astringent to eat. This pucker-fruit clearly hadn’t been soaked.
He was very hungry, but he couldn’t get it down.
In the afternoon Mao Xiaoshu came back under the scorching sun, shouldering a great bundle of fluff-grass. Freshly cut grass held a lot of moisture, though not as heavy as firewood, a whole bundle clearly wasn’t light either, for Mao Xiaoshu was hunched over the whole way. Coming closer, Qin Ziheng saw his head covered in sweat, his cheeks flushed red, his little curls damp and clumped into strands.
“Why did you carry back so much?” Qin Ziheng hurried over to lend a hand.
But at the sight of him, Mao Xiaoshu’s eyes lit up, like a child spotting candy. “Qin Ziheng.”
Probably because he was so tired, the call wasn’t as ringing as it had been that morning, but the happiness woven into it was unmistakable.
Qin Ziheng took the bundle of fluff-grass, it was indeed heavy, at least a hundred-odd catties. He hadn’t done manual work in a long time, but he’d always kept up his fitness, frequenting all sorts of clubs, even so, he found it terribly heavy now, and couldn’t imagine how Mao Xiaoshu had carried this bundle of fluff-grass all the way back from the hills.
“Should it go in the cave?” Qin Ziheng asked.
Wiping his sweat, Mao Xiaoshu shook his head. “No, no, it has to dry out. Dried, it’s warm!”
Not even at the cave yet, Mao Xiaoshu caught his breath and made to carry it himself again. Qin Ziheng wouldn’t let him, dodging the hand he reached out. Mao Xiaoshu said anxiously, “It’s heavy, Xiaoshu carry, Xiaoshu carry.”
Qin Ziheng was very fair, fairer than the tribe’s females and demi-beasts. Mao Xiaoshu’s mind wasn’t quick, but one look at Qin Ziheng told him this demi-beast didn’t seem the strong sort, the strong beasts in the tribe all had wheat-colored skin.
Qin Ziheng smiled. “So you know it’s heavy? Then why not carry back a bit less?”
Without thinking, Mao Xiaoshu blurted out, “Xiaoshu has to cut lots and lots, to cover you all warm in winter…” Before he’d finished, remembering something, he suddenly grew dejected, wilting visibly, his head drooping.
At the cave, Qin Ziheng set the fluff-grass down, let out a breath, and turned to bend slightly toward Mao Xiaoshu. He could sense Mao Xiaoshu’s dejection but not the reason for it. “What’s wrong, Xiaoshu?”
“Grandpa Rabbit said you have to go home.” Mao Xiaoshu hung his head, terribly upset, the rims of his eyes even reddening.
Qin Ziheng didn’t follow.
Plucking hard at his sun-reddened fingers, Mao Xiaoshu said, “Grandpa Rabbit said you’re from another tribe and have to go home. If you don’t, your family will come and beat Xiaoshu to death.”
Why would they come to fight? Anyone else would probably be baffled just now, but Qin Ziheng strangely understood what Mao Xiaoshu meant again.