"Liang Ye, my name is Liang Ye." The firelight danced in the sticky rice ball's bright black eyes, sparkling brilliantly.
"Liang Ye." Shan Cang tried to pronounce the two syllables. It was somewhat difficult to articulate in the Beastmen language, and only his extraordinary learning ability allowed him to manage an accurate pronunciation.
Liang Ye noticed this as he said his own name. His thoughts raced, and a little lightbulb went off above his head. "You can call me Yeye."
In the Beast World, single-character and reduplicated names were the most common. It was indeed more catchy than "Liang Ye," and not so strange either.
Shan Cang accepted gladly. "Yeye."
Liang Ye happily stuck out his tongue. "Woof!"
An indescribable expression appeared on the man's stern, solemn face. Where on earth had the cub learned that sound? It had none of the dignity of a wolf.
Shan Cang's brow furrowed as he seriously corrected the cub, emitting a deep, resonant wolf howl from the depths of his throat.
Liang Ye's ears instinctively flattened into airplane mode out of fright. He cowered into a ball and whimpered softly, "Awoo?"
The little milky voice was so pitiful and adorable that one couldn't help but want to scoop him up and shower him with kisses.
Shan Cang's brows remained knitted in worry. Well, the cub was still young. After playing with his peers for a while, he should be able to correct this bad habit.
The man stopped his inexplicable wolf howling, and Liang Ye's little tail resumed wagging at Shan Cang like a fan as he climbed all over him.
One wolf and one Yeye tended the fire for several days before the Moomoo Beast meat was fully smoked. In addition to the smoking method, Liang Ye also had Shan Cang roast some of the meat to dry out the moisture and make jerky.
Due to the lack of a kiln, some of the meat inevitably got burnt while trying to dry it thoroughly. The finished products clearly looked better and better toward the later batches.
"Once the rain stops, let's build a kiln. We can roast meat, bake vegetables, make bread, bake pizza…" Liang Ye painted grand visions for Shan Cang, drooling all over himself in the process.
Shan Cang, as always, couldn't understand, but he had already learned—whatever the case, just do it.
Bread and pizza—foods high in sugar and oil. Eat too much of them and smiles would appear on one's face.
Liang Ye's smile was already hanging there even without eating them. Unfortunately, setting aside the kiln for now, he couldn't even gather the ingredients.
Eating meat and fruit for every meal, lacking staple foods, was giving him a serious carb craving.
If someone handed him a big white steamed bun right now, he'd grin from ear to ear.
The torrential rain outside the cave finally let up a bit. Shan Cang stood up and walked toward the entrance. Liang Ye called out to him, "Where are you going?"
Shan Cang glanced at the smoke-stained traces on his body, especially his greasy hair, his disgust written all over his face. "To bathe."
Liang Ye was shocked. "It's raining outside. Where are you going to wash?"
Could it be that the Wolf Moon Tribe had a big public bathhouse?
Shan Cang cruelly shattered his fantasy. "In the river."
Liang Ye sucked in a sharp breath. "You'll catch a cold!"
Shan Cang dismissed the concern, his tone resolute. "No, I won't. I'm strong."
Recalling the man's feat of killing a bear with his bare hands, Liang Ye swallowed all the words of protest that had risen to his lips. He awkwardly pointed to the plant ash by the fire. "Take some of that. It'll clean better."
Shan Cang remembered that Liang Ye had once told Bo to use the black ash to clean the stone pot. He turned back, wrapped a handful of ash in a large leaf, and took it with him.
Liang Ye was left alone in the cave. He sniffed left, sniffed right—he smelled like a dirty little dog.
His triangular ears drooped as he listlessly tucked his paws under himself and lay by the fire.
Yeye wanted a bath too.
He shouldn't have thought about it. The more he thought, the more restless he became. It felt like fleas were crawling all over him, itching like he was going through withdrawal.
The gnawing Yeye suddenly froze. He had crawled through forests, rolled through grass—the primitive world was full of insects everywhere. He had never dewormed himself. Maybe he really did have parasites on him.
A bolt from the blue. A thunderclap to the skull.
Shan Cang returned to the cave feeling refreshed, only to find the cub staring blankly into space, frozen like a stone pillar.
The little one turned his head with a stiff, jerky motion, his eyes glistening with tears as he looked at Shan Cang. "I… I'm not clean anymore!"
Seeing the little white ball charging straight at him, Shan Cang reacted as if facing a formidable enemy. He dodged swiftly to the side, his entire body radiating rejection.
"Thud!" Liang Ye couldn't stop in time and face-planted into the dirt.
The white steamed bun instantly became a dirty mess.
Shan Cang couldn't bear to look. He felt a twinge of guilt, but not much. He glanced at the stone pot, which held solidified fat, and the other containers, each with their own uses, all filled to the brim from their hard work.
There really wasn't an extra stone pot available to heat water.
"Wait for me." Shan Cang tossed out two words and strode out of the cave.
Liang Ye, immersed in his sorrow, adhered to the principle of lying down wherever one falls. He didn't move an inch, a veritable salted fish Ye.
"Boom!"
"Bang!"
Loud noises came from outside. Liang Ye looked up in confusion and craned his neck to see.
Shan Cang carried a rock into the cave from outside. Judging by the cross-section, it had just been chiseled off.
With what?
Liang Ye hadn't seen Shan Cang take any tools.
The next second, Shan Cang demonstrated with his own body to answer the question.
A cold gleam flashed across the man's slender fingers as sharp, pointed claws materialized out of thin air.
"Bang! Bang! Bang!"
A veritable merciless rock-crushing machine.
Liang Ye's jaw dropped to the floor.
Even the Nine Yin Skeleton Claws would have to buy a train ticket and flee overnight if they saw this.
In the blink of an eye, a brand-new stone pot was born—purely handmade.
Liang Ye was utterly amazed, clapping his little paws together with a resounding smack.
But why was Shan Cang making a new pot?
"Hm?" Liang Ye tilted his little head, staring blankly at the man across from him.
Steam rose in curling wisps, most of his body submerged in the water with only his head poking out, nose damp, grape-like eyes innocent and bewildered.
Shan Cang dipped his fingers into the pot to test the temperature, then added a branch to the fire beneath it.
Wait a second!?
Finally realizing what was wrong, Liang Ye nearly leaped out of the pot.
Had Black Wolf finally lost his patience and revealed his true nature?
"Ye doesn't taste good!" Liang Ye splashed his little paws, desperate to get out of the pot.
Shan Cang poked him back down with a single finger. Weak, pitiful, and helpless, Yeye stared with tearful eyes, whimpering and sobbing.
The man grabbed a handful of plant ash and scrubbed it all over Liang Ye. For the first time in years, Liang Ye experienced what it felt like to have an elder wash your face—if he'd had a human face, a whole layer of skin would've been rubbed off by now.
The only silver lining was that he was just covered in ash, not crawling with little bugs.
Drained and scooped out of the pot, Liang Ye caught sight of the embers flickering at the bottom and shuddered all over. Four words popped into his head—slow simmer!
Yeye instinctively activated spin-dry mode. Shan Cang, caught completely off guard, took the brunt of it, his handsome face instantly darkening to match the bottom of the pot.
He reached out to grab the little rascal, but the pup dodged with surprising agility. Already small to begin with, the soaked cub was now practically a speck, and Shan Cang actually missed.
Yeye danced around with flashy footwork, then let out a smug little laugh, shaking more water onto Shan Cang's face.
Nyeh nyeh nyeh, making Ye get boiled, you big meanie!
Having been toyed with by a pup for the first time, Shan Cang's temple throbbed with bulging veins. He turned his head with a sinister air, wiped the water from his face, and let out a sliver of his pressure—like a mountain bearing down from above.
Liang Ye felt like a leaf in the wind, trembling and shivering, stumbling backward until his paw caught on a stick. "Ouch!"
Shan Cang moved like lightning, his figure swift as the wind, barely saving Liang Ye's rear end.
His butt was perfectly intact, but Liang Ye's dog leg was twisted.
Even through the fur, the swelling on Liang Ye's hind leg was clearly visible.
Shan Cang, raising a child for the first time, reflected on how much roughhousing was appropriate with a pup in the future. Liang Ye, meanwhile, lamented that karma had arrived far too quickly.
"I don't want to see the Witch Doctor." Liang Ye sniffled, his tone firm.
He was afraid the Witch Doctor would turn his sprain into an amputation.
Shan Cang let out a soft laugh. He first dried the pup's fur with animal hide until it was half-dry, then set him by the fire to warm up.
The man stood and walked over to the corner where berry plants were kept. After rummaging around, he selected a green blade of grass with serrated edges, as tall as Shan Cang's leg.
"Such tall grass." Liang Ye craned his neck with effort, reminded of the giant scallions that towered over a person.
"This is Serrated Grass. It's effective for sprains from falls." Shan Cang washed the Serrated Grass clean, crushed it with a stone, and applied it to Liang Ye's injured area.
Liang Ye's nostrils flared. The smell of the Serrated Grass felt strangely familiar, but he couldn't for the life of him remember where he'd encountered it.
What was it?
A vague shadow drifted through his mind, but he couldn't grasp it no matter how hard he tried, stirring up inexplicable frustration.
"Chieftain!" A sharp, fractured cry shattered the thoughts Liang Ye had finally managed to piece together.
His body jolted, heart racing at full speed.
A face like a drowned ghost came into view, and Liang Ye's breath caught—he nearly fainted on the spot.
The man's eyes were bloodshot, his gaze fierce enough to split his own sockets, bulging muscles rippling as if he might charge forward and fight to the death at any moment.
Shan Cang remained composed, asking calmly, "What is it?"
The newcomer was like a beast on the hunt, sharply locking onto its prey's trail.
That aggressive stare made cold sweat break out on Liang Ye. All four legs hit the sewing machine at once.
"Thud!" The tall, burly man bent his knees and dropped straight down, kneeling before Liang Ye.
The impact shook the ground. If he'd been an ordinary person, his kneecaps would probably have shattered.
The sudden move caught Liang Ye completely off guard. He stood frozen, having no choice but to accept the kneel.
"Bang!" The sound of a forehead hitting the ground jolted Liang Ye awake.
The white puffball shot into Shan Cang's arms in a flash, completely forgetting his injured foot.
Shan Cang caught the pup steadily, reapplied the medicine, and patted his fur. Don't be scared.
Liang Ye peeked out sneakily to observe the man's intentions.
"Little one, I beg you, save Gui!" The man's voice tore and cracked, like a cornered beast with no way out.
A boy with a tiger-like head popped into Liang Ye's mind—gray-brown ears and tail, the one who had earlier pointed at Liang Ye's nose and called him an Omen of Misfortune.
"What's wrong with Gui?" Shan Cang voiced the question on Liang Ye's mind.
The newcomer was none other than Gui's father, Cai's mate—Zhang.
Zhang's voice trembled. The towering, burly man now looked like a child who couldn't find his way home. "Gui has a high fever that won't break. He keeps saying he's cold. We wrapped him in every animal hide we have, but he's still shivering."
Shan Cang had seen similar cases as a child. It was very dangerous and needed immediate treatment.
"Has the Witch Doctor seen him?" Even if he didn't trust the Witch Doctor, the tribe had no other options. Shan Cang's brow furrowed slightly.
Zhang nodded repeatedly. "Gui and the Witch Doctor are both in the big cave."
Shan Cang studied Zhang's expression. Gui might not be doing well. "What did he say?"
Zhang's face was ashen, his pupils unfocused. "The Witch Doctor… the Witch Doctor said the Beast God… wants to call Gui back."
Liang Ye barely managed to swallow the curse words at the tip of his tongue.
The Beast God was a brick—moved wherever it was needed.
Liang Ye couldn't help but wonder whether that Witch Doctor even believed in the Beast God at all.
Zhang kowtowed to Liang Ye repeatedly, each word dripping with blood: "I beg you, please save Gui."
Liang Ye was not a doctor; he only had a smattering of medical knowledge, plus some simple medical principles he had picked up from childhood by his grandfather's side through constant exposure.
Although Gui's condition sounded like an ordinary cold with fever, colds came in many varieties, and there were also fevers triggered by other illnesses. He had no confidence in curing Gui.
And if he remembered correctly, Gui's mother was a die-hard fan of the Witch Doctor, named Cai, it seemed. If he cured her son, all would be well, but if the slightest thing went wrong, he feared a medical dispute would erupt.
So, to save or not to save?