Building a Civilization and Raising Cubs in the Beast World – Chapter 141

“What?” Lang Ze blinked, finally realizing he still had something in his hand. Startled, he dropped it at once. “I’ll wash my hands right now!”

At Bai Tu’s place, no one was allowed at the table without washing first. Having just been released from confinement, Lang Ze was terrified of being locked up again.

The storeroom wasn’t exactly rich with supplies—there weren’t even snacks, let alone food. Lang Ze didn’t want to gnaw on raw sweet potatoes, so he’d started rummaging around for anything remotely interesting. But afraid of damaging Bai Tu’s things, he’d only dared touch a few lumps of dirt he’d found.

Those lumps were from their last excavation. Lang Ze had piled the soil outside Bai Tu’s cave, but when Bai Tu returned, he’d been too busy handling the rescued sub-beasts to notice. Later, Lang Ze had bundled the dirt in animal hide and left it inside the cave. When Lang Qi helped tidy up, he assumed it belonged to Bai Tu and brought it along when they moved.

Lang Ze had searched the storeroom twice and found nothing else he dared to touch, so the dirt was his only “toy.” Thinking Bai Tu was scolding him for playing with soil, he hastily tried to explain.

Bai Tu: “…”
He hadn’t even said anything yet. He just wanted to see what it was.

Suppressing a sigh, Bai Tu walked over, picked up the lump, and broke it open.

The inside was grayish-white with a faint yellow hue, different from the usual soil in the area. The texture was grainy, and when he turned it under the light, tiny translucent crystals glittered within. So that flash he’d noticed earlier hadn’t been an illusion.

It didn’t look dangerous. The little white wolf cub beside him didn’t react either. Bai Tu pinched off a bit, put it to his tongue—and paused.

Salty.

He frowned slightly, puzzled. He wasn’t sure how the soil had formed like this, but one thing was certain: it was edible.

“Where did you get this?” Bai Tu asked, turning to Lang Ze, who was now happily gnawing on ribs.

When Lang Ze was eating, he was the most cooperative creature alive. He thought for a moment and honestly recounted where he’d found it.

Bai Tu fell silent for a long moment, then asked, “How deep did you dig?”

Lang Ze scrunched his face. “That soil was bitter and salty. It took forever to dig up!” He didn’t know how deep, exactly, but it had definitely been deep.

Bai Tu lifted his head and glanced toward the rain outside. Rainy weather made digging inconvenient, but he needed to confirm just how much of this there was.

Lang Qi, watching Bai Tu’s expression, guessed immediately that it was something important. “What did we find this time?” he asked.

Bai Tu glanced at Lang Ze, then lowered his voice. “It might be salt.”

He was almost certain—but he still added might, because he didn’t yet know how much there was. If it turned out to be just a thin layer, all their excitement would be for nothing.

Lang Qi caught the hesitation in his tone, nodded thoughtfully, and said, “I’ll take a team tomorrow to check it out.”

Ever since last year, everything Bai Tu touched had turned into a discovery—so much so that everyone in the tribe silently agreed: if Bai Tu showed interest in something, it was bound to be useful.

This time, Bai Tu didn’t plan to announce the details yet. Lang Qi taking the lead was the best option—it drew less attention and gave them a chance to investigate quietly.

The two exchanged a few words, and the matter was settled. Meanwhile, Lang Ze continued devouring his ribs.

Lang Ze couldn’t handle spicy food as well as Bai Tu or Lang Qi, but he had a peculiar habit—the less he could tolerate something, the more determined he was to eat it.

Bai Tu had prepared four spice levels: extra spicy, medium, mild, and none. The mild batch was for the cubs; the medium was meant for Lang Ze. Naturally, Lang Ze ignored all that and grabbed the spiciest one.

Within moments, he was sweating, gasping, and still shoveling food into his mouth.

Across the table, the cubs—who were already full—couldn’t help staring. They’d been watching their two fathers eat in fascinated silence, but when it came to their uncle’s performance, they all turned their heads away… all except Lang Ying, who remained curious.

Apparently, Dad had given Uncle something gross again, because Uncle was practically crying while eating it.

The cubs sat very still on their stools, determined to be well-behaved children who didn’t eat things that made them cry.

The next morning, Lang Qi led a dozen wolves and rabbits to the spot Lang Ze had mentioned.

When they arrived, everyone had the same thought: This must be Lang Ze’s handiwork.

The dig site was enormous—wide enough for two houses. The edges had been refilled and leveled, but the marks were obvious. Still, the wolves had been clever enough to cover it up.

Both wolves and rabbits worked best in their beast forms for digging, but with the rain, their methods had to change.

Following Bai Tu’s overnight instructions, the carpentry team had made sturdy wooden boards to reinforce the site. They first covered the area to prevent collapse, then dug drainage ditches around it to redirect rainwater.

After that, the orcs transformed into beast form and began digging from the side, creating a small pit wide enough for the wolves to squeeze through. From there, they continued downward, expanding the chamber below.

This approach kept the upper layers intact while exposing what lay beneath. From the surface, it looked like a few small holes—but below, it was already the size of a room.

The rabbits’ natural burrowing skills made it possible to dig safely even in the rainy season. Without them, Bai Tu would never have risked starting now.

Lang Ze, who was patrolling nearby, heard the commotion and trotted over. When he saw his brother leading the dig, he naturally joined in.

By the time Lang Qi looked around, he found several “extra” team members who hadn’t been on the roster—but were now digging harder than anyone else.

Lang Qi: “…”

He sighed. The young wolves were idle anyway; he might as well let them dig.

Eventually, they reached the area where Lang Ze had first excavated. Once Lang Qi had confirmed the location, he sent the overexcited wolves—still clueless about what they’d found—back to the tribe.

But secrets never stayed hidden long from young wolves.

That night, Lang Qi brought Bai Tu to the excavation site.

The pit was enormous—dozens of meters deep. No one but a group of restless wolf cubs would’ve dug such a hole just for fun.

Lang Qi led the way down, explaining as they descended, “The soil here’s different—harder than the rest. Even when we dug this deep, there was no sign of collapse. And with the new drainage channels, we don’t have to worry about flooding either.”

Bai Tu followed carefully, impressed. He hadn’t expected Lang Qi to organize it all so neatly in just a few days. It took them quite a while to reach the bottom.

“It’s not soil anymore,” Lang Qi said, gesturing ahead. “It’s stone—hard, but see the texture?”

Under the dim light, orc eyes adjusted easily. Bai Tu stared at the pale, rock-like layer beneath his feet and felt a strange surge of disbelief. Even if it wasn’t pure, even if it needed refining—this was salt. And what he saw now was only the surface.

He crouched down, ran his hand over it, and looked up at Lang Qi. “Zeli… you did well.”

Salt—this single word could change everything.

For tribes across the Beast God Continent, salt was as vital as air. Some traded food for it, but even the nearest market took ten days’ travel each way. The journey was brutal, often delayed by mountains and rivers.

For many, the trip to and from the market consumed an entire month—time they couldn’t afford.

Even though Bai Tu had suspected it, seeing the vast deposit with his own eyes left him speechless. Compared to refining sea salt, mining mineral salt like this was far easier.

He broke off a chunk to bring home for testing and purification.

The wolves had actually been close to this layer before—but they’d dug straight down instead of creating side channels. Since they hadn’t removed the soil fast enough, the salt had mixed with it, dulling its color to grayish white.

They’d mistaken it for limestone or clay for brick-making and had even shown it off to Lang Ze. When it didn’t match their expectations, they buried it again. Lang Ze had brought a small piece home to brag about his “deep digging,” but by the time Bai Tu and the others returned from the market, he’d forgotten all about it.

No one could’ve guessed that his “souvenir” would turn out to be one of their greatest discoveries.

Bai Tu kept the matter quiet. He told only Bai An and Bai Chen from the Snow Rabbit Tribe, and among the Blood Wolf Tribe, only Lang Qi and Lang Ya knew. Even Lang Ze, the original discoverer, remained oblivious to what they’d actually found—he only knew the site had been sealed off.

Salt, in a tribe, was like having an endless mountain of meat. Bai An was nearly glowing with delight. Even though Bai Tu was still experimenting on how to make it safe for consumption, Bai An could barely contain his excitement.

Salt was indispensable. Even the once-mighty Black Forest Tribe had relied on trade to get it.

The hardest part for Bai An was keeping the secret. He was so thrilled he wanted to shout it to the whole tribe—but he couldn’t. And with no one else knowing, he was suffering in silence.

He didn’t dare bother Bai Tu, who was busy refining the salt under Lang Qi’s watchful eye. Everyone else was either uninformed or occupied. Finally, unable to stand it, Bai An sought someone to talk to—and found Lang Qi.

But when he arrived at Bai Tu’s house, something didn’t add up. Lang Qi and Lang Ze were both in the kitchen, cooking. Bai Tu was in the living room, playing with the cubs.

Bai An froze.

Wait—hadn’t Lang Qi explicitly said not to tell Lang Ze? Then why was Lang Ze here, clearly helping with the salt?

Confused, Bai An cautiously asked, “Lang Ze knows… is that okay?”

Technically, the salt had been discovered by Lang Ze and his group, but they hadn’t known what it was. Only after Bai Tu examined the soil had the truth come out. So Bai An didn’t mind if the wolves eventually learned—they had found it, after all.

The problem was: the wolves were terrible at keeping secrets.

Bai Tu understood his worry and smiled faintly. “Don’t worry, Chief. I haven’t told him.”

“Then…?” Bai An gestured toward the kitchen, where Lang Ze was still busy beside Lang Qi. “What’s going on?”

Bai Tu: “…”

Bai Tu simply said, “You’ll see.”

Some things, he thought, couldn’t be explained. Only Lang Ze himself could prove it.

Before long, Lang Ze added more fuel to the stove. Seeing that only a thin layer of water remained at the bottom of the pot, he grew anxious.
“Brother, when will it be ready?”

“Soon,” Lang Qi replied evenly. Bai Tu had said that once the water evaporated completely, leaving only crystals behind, they’d know it was done.

Just then, Bai An entered, hands clasped behind his back, and asked casually, “Lang Ze, what are you all doing here?”

Lang Ze, blissfully unaware that he was being tested, answered truthfully, “Tu said the tribe’s salt has been sitting around too long and doesn’t taste good anymore, so we’re reboiling it.”

Bai An: “???”
Reboiling salt because it’s not tasty? What kind of explanation was that?

Seeing Bai An’s baffled expression, Lang Ze pointed proudly to a small bowl on the stove. “If you don’t believe me, try it!” His tone was full of confidence—as though challenging anyone to doubt Bai Tu’s authority. In front of him, no one dared question Bai Tu’s decisions. No one!

Bai An had initially assumed Bai Tu was just humoring Lang Ze again, but when he saw the fine white salt in the bowl, he hesitated. Finally, curiosity got the better of him. He scooped a little into his palm and tasted it.

His eyes widened. “It’s delicious!”

He remembered what their previous salt had tasted like—bitter, harsh, leaving an unpleasant aftertaste that lingered all day. It was the same type most salt-exchanging tribes offered. Everyone tolerated it because they had no better option.

Bai An had assumed that the salt they’d dug up would taste the same. But this—this was completely different. The bitterness was gone, replaced by clean, savory flavor.

“Really?” Lang Ze was overjoyed. Seeing Bai An’s genuine surprise made him beam with pride. He hadn’t invented the method himself, but he had helped—and in his mind, that made it his achievement too.

Overexcited, he completely forgot that most traded salt was bitter. He even started plotting to take some of the tribe’s old salt and “reboil” it himself, convinced it would taste better that way.

Bai An, meanwhile, could barely contain his delight. The difference between bitter salt and purified salt was enormous. Salt without bitterness could sell for several times more—and even then, most tribes refused to part with it.

After all, everyone needed salt every day. The bitter kind dulled the palate, while the pure one made food taste infinitely better. The discovery felt nothing short of miraculous.

Too happy to care about Lang Ze’s smugness, Bai An’s mind was already racing with possibilities. This was news worth shouting to the heavens.

Bai Tu noticed his excitement but didn’t yet understand the reason behind it.

In his view, Bai An was a level-headed, cautious tribe leader. He hadn’t imagined he’d be the sort to want to run out and declare the news to the world.

The process itself wasn’t complicated. First, the raw salt was dissolved in water and filtered. Then, based on Bai Tu’s prior knowledge, certain ingredients were added to precipitate impurities—removing unwanted minerals until the solution was clean. Finally, the purified saltwater was boiled down until only pure white crystals remained.

Once the process was standardized, they wouldn’t need to travel to the market for salt again. On the contrary, they could trade it to other tribes in exchange for what they needed.

For example, the Black Eagle Tribe in the southern continent, which had long relied on trading meat for salt, could now exchange their iron ore directly here.

Most neighboring tribes had no idea about this salt mine. Bai Tu intended to keep it that way—using the excuse of a “salt surplus” to justify trade. Even if they offered it at regular market prices, the nearby tribes would eagerly agree.

After all, traveling to the market took dozens—sometimes hundreds—of people and meant no hunting for weeks. Trading locally, even at the same price, was far easier.

In short, salt refining was a win for everyone involved. Whether wolf or rabbit, anyone who knew about it supported it wholeheartedly.

The materials required for purification were few, and most could be reused. The only drawback was the season—it was still raining, so they couldn’t sun-dry the salt. It had to be boiled slowly indoors.

But that was a minor inconvenience compared to the outcome.

Coal was abundant near the borders of the Blood Wolf and Leopard Tribes, the seams thick enough to last for decades. Even if they didn’t use coal, there was plenty of wood left from construction. What little the carpentry team hadn’t needed was still piled by the residential area, ready for use after the rains.

Salt mining and production were now firmly on Bai Tu’s agenda.

The next step was selecting the right people.

He had to be cautious. The process wasn’t like crafting pottery or weaving baskets—it revealed too much about their resources and techniques. If careless workers let information slip, the entire tribe could be at risk. Even an observant outsider might deduce their secret just from watching the procedure.

The salt operation had to be kept completely confidential—not just from outsiders, but from anyone within the tribe who didn’t need to know.

Bai Tu studied the personnel list several times, but still hadn’t decided who to assign. Most of the orcs had regular duties, and in their downtime, they tended to gather in groups—chatting, joking, and sharing stories. Secrets, in such an environment, didn’t stay secret for long.

Orcs were honest by nature, but also terribly naïve. A few offhand remarks could easily expose everything.

That simply wouldn’t do. Bai Tu didn’t distrust his people, but he worried that any captured or wandering orcs might overhear and spread the word.

Even though Wu Jiu was still paralyzed and Bao Ren had lost all means of communication, Bai Tu remained vigilant.

If outsiders learned of the salt mine, the consequences would be disastrous. Friendly tribes might come seeking trade—but hostile ones would come to plunder.

Salt, more than food or weapons, was the one resource that could start wars. The news must not leak.

After some thought, Bai Tu concluded that the most suitable workers were the sub-beasts and female orcs they had rescued from the Black Forest Tribe.

They’d been confined in the caves for so long that silence had become second nature. Aside from interacting with one another and occasionally seeing him, they had little contact with anyone else.

Sub-beasts and female orcs rarely socialized with strangers, and even less so with other tribes. If anyone could keep a secret, it was them.

Bai Tu folded the list slowly. They were perfect for the job—except for one complication: would Bai An and the others approve?

Perhaps it was his background that made him naturally trust the rescued people, especially the sub-beasts. But trust, he knew, was subjective. It wasn’t something you could simply declare and expect others to share.

He was still wondering how to explain his plan when Bai Chi arrived—with several others in tow, including the sub-beast who had previously pretended to be insane when Bai Tu revealed his identity.

“Tu, this is—he’s back,” Bai Chi introduced, then explained their purpose.
“We’d like to help you make medicine. You can use it to trade with other tribes.”

Bai Chi had clearly thought this through. Though Bai Tu’s tribe looked prosperous enough, they couldn’t just rely on stockpiles forever.

The Snow Rabbit and Blood Wolf tribes had done something extraordinary by rescuing them from the Black Forest Tribe. They’d been given shelter, food, and water without mistreatment. To continue living idly would weigh too heavily on their conscience.

Even if Bai Tu was Bai Luo’s son—and even if his kindness was repayment for old debts—they couldn’t simply take without giving back. Bai Tu had promised to find them work after the rainy season, but seeing how busy everyone already was, they couldn’t just sit and wait.

So, after discussing among themselves, they decided to offer their help.

“We’ve watched Wu Jiu and the medicine apprentices make medicine before,” Bai Chi explained earnestly. “We can help you. You’re treating all the tribe’s injuries yourself, and preparing medicine for other tribes too—it’s too much work.”

After the downfall of the Black Forest Tribe, their witch doctors and apprentices had been captured. That left the entire eastern continent short of medicine makers.

Before returning home, Bai Tu had promised the remaining tribes that he’d continue to supply them with medicine at a fairer price than the witch doctors ever had. It had won him goodwill, but it also meant an enormous amount of work ahead.

Bai Tu had herbs stored, but producing enough to treat multiple tribes was still daunting.

Hearing Bai Chi’s proposal felt like someone had handed him a pillow the moment he needed sleep.

Not only had Bai Chi offered a reasonable pretext to involve the sub-beasts, but they were volunteering to work—proof that they already considered the tribe their new home.

They could handle the salt purification in secret under the guise of medicine-making. They’d keep it quiet, of that Bai Tu was sure.

And he was right. When he later presented the proposal to Bai An and the others, they agreed immediately.

Of course, what Bai Tu didn’t know was that their agreement came just as much from respect as practicality. After all, the salt had been discovered by Lang Ze, Bai Tu, and Lang Qi’s men. The land might belong to their tribes, but without those three, they’d never have found it—perhaps not even in a lifetime.

Since it was Bai Tu’s plan, and he’d clearly considered every angle, no one had any objections.

Of course, not only sub-beasts and female orcs were involved. Bai Tu also selected a few quiet orcs and instructed them: if anyone asked what they were working on, they were simply to shake their heads and say nothing. Their silence wouldn’t draw suspicion—it was perfectly in character.

Bai Chi’s visit had solved two problems at once.

Reminded by his companions, Bai Tu realized there was another task he needed to accelerate—herb cultivation.

The tribe’s farmland already grew various crops, and some herbs as well. But those were only for their own use. Now, with medicine needed across much of the eastern continent, their previous yield was far from enough.

If they wanted to meet demand, Bai Tu would need to expand cultivation immediately.

Fortunately, this wasn’t a serious problem. When Bai Tu returned from the Black Forest Tribe, he’d brought back not only the medicines prepared by Wu Jiu and his apprentices, but also a large collection of herb seeds from their fields.

Wu Jiu had indeed been a capable healer. In order to sustain medicine production, he’d devoted a vast portion of his territory to cultivating herbs. Had the herbs themselves not been so delicate and easily damaged, Bai Tu would have brought back live plants as well.

Still, the seeds alone were enough. Within a year or two, he would have an entire medicinal field of his own.

Herbs required more careful tending than crops, so Bai Tu assigned the task to the sub-beasts. Since the rain hadn’t yet stopped, he distributed the seeds first, along with pots of prepared soil and several large wooden planters. Then he patiently demonstrated how to sprout and care for them.

Bai Chi hadn’t exaggerated—the sub-beasts were quick learners. They were deft with their hands, discerning with seeds, and could grasp his meaning from small gestures before he even finished explaining.

Teaching them was effortless. After reviewing the methods for several key crops—particularly those that would need attention once the rainy season ended—Bai Tu returned home that evening and told Lang Qi, “We should have the sub-beasts take charge of the crops after the rains. Their sense of detail is remarkable.”

Lang Qi studied him for a moment, then simply nodded. “All right.”

Bai Tu didn’t notice the brief pause in his expression. After washing up, changing clothes, and drying his hair, he went to find the cubs.

“Did you miss Daddy?” he asked, scooping up Wolf Sui Lang Ying, who was currently in human form. The two little ones had recently taken a liking to staying human most of the time, transforming into wolf pups only when they played.

“Yes~” both cubs chorused, tumbling into his arms from opposite sides.
“Daddy, hold me~!”

With a cub nestled in each arm, Bai Tu felt all his fatigue melt away—no more sore waist or tired legs. It was as if his body were wrapped in soft, sweet fluff.

He chuckled. “All right, all right. Come here.” Carrying them both, he sat down on the bed and began to stroke their fur.

Whether in human or beast form, cubs spent two-thirds of the day sleeping. In beast form, their naps looked natural, but sleeping too long in human form left their soft hair sticking up in funny directions. Still, they were so fair and well-behaved that even the messy tufts only made them more endearing.

The two older cubs sat quietly on the bed, waiting for their daily grooming.

Hearing their father’s voice, the three younger ones soon stirred awake as well. Seeing Bai Tu combing their brothers’ hair, they scurried over, demanding the same treatment.

So Bai Tu settled cross-legged on the bed, gathered the cubs into his lap one by one, and brushed through their fur in turn. Wolf Sui and Wolf Ying soon decided to join the others in cub form too. Bai Tu handled them skillfully—comb in one hand, cub in the other. Beside him sat a small box for collecting their shed fur; the new box was already half full.

There was something impossibly soothing about touching soft fur. Bai Tu not only brushed the cubs, but gently massaged them as well.

The cubs sprawled lazily across his lap, eyes half-closed in bliss. But whenever Lang Qi tried to pick them up and move them back to their cribs, they immediately popped their eyes open and howled in protest.

It wasn’t the first time Lang Qi had been met with such rebellion. Expressionless, he deposited all the squirming pups into their cribs and said curtly, “Sleep.”

The cubs, who’d been so fierce a moment ago, now pressed their paws against the sides of their cribs in silent indignation.

Watching this small domestic battle, Bai Tu couldn’t help smiling. He put away the box of fur, picked up a larger comb, and looked over at Lang Qi. “Your turn?”

Lang Qi didn’t answer—he simply transformed, and a massive wolf head promptly dropped into Bai Tu’s lap.

The cubs, seeing their father occupy their precious spot, were outraged. They clawed at the bedding in protest.

While Bai Tu was running the comb through Lang Qi’s thick fur, the two older cubs toddled over to the edge of the bed. Mimicking their father’s earlier movements, they found the bed’s side latches and flipped them open with two soft clicks.

The barrier between their small bed and the large one disappeared. Before the two adults could react, the cubs charged toward Bai Tu—only to be blocked by Lang Qi, who loomed before them like a living mountain.

Lang Qi glanced down at the furious little wolves, raised one paw, and with practiced ease, swept all of them onto his chest.

In an instant, the pile of cubs vanished beneath his enormous paw.

Bai Tu couldn’t decide whether to laugh or sigh. Individually, the cubs seemed big enough, but compared to Lang Qi, even all five together weren’t as large as one of his legs. It took only one paw to pin them completely.

The world suddenly went dark for the cubs, and their muffled protests rose from beneath his paw. The two older ones quickly shifted back into human form and wriggled free. Realizing that their younger brothers were still trapped, they crouched down and began pulling them out one by one.

Bai Tu, watching the rescue effort unfold, was speechless. No wonder people say cubs of different ages shouldn’t be raised together.
Fortunately, the older two were gentle—otherwise, the sight of them tugging a sibling by the leg would have been quite alarming.

Before the chaos could start again, Bai Tu tapped Lang Qi on the shoulder to make him stop teasing. He gathered the three younger pups to his side, then went to fetch the two who’d escaped.

Even standing up, the cubs barely reached Lang Qi’s waist. Determined, they scrambled up his body anyway, panting by the time they reached Bai Tu. It looked more like mountain climbing than playing.

Lang Qi watched their clumsy ascent and decided not to move. With a sigh, he transformed back into human form, pulled on his clothes, and turned to Bai Tu.

“The salt-boiling team’s running low on water,” he reported.

Earlier that day, Bai Tu had been busy instructing the sub-beasts on herb planting, leaving Lang Qi to supervise the salt-boiling crew. He’d quickly noticed that their water reserves were nearly gone.

Though the tribe sat near several rivers, not all the water was fit for drinking. Everyone preferred mountain-spring water—it was clear, sweet, and safe. But now that the salt production required massive amounts of it, the springs could no longer keep up. Even sending more people and carts made little difference; the flow was simply too small.

Bai Tu frowned. He hadn’t considered this issue before—water had always been plentiful. But the saltworks demanded far more than daily living ever had.

Relying solely on the springs was unsustainable. After some thought, there was only one solution left.

“Then we’ll dig a well,” Bai Tu decided. “The sooner we start, the sooner we can use it.”

Even after so long together, Lang Qi was still amazed. He’d only just raised the problem, and Bai Tu already had a practical solution.

The speed of it made him pause—and quietly compare himself. Compared to Tu, aren’t I a bit too useless?

Bai Tu noticed his silence. “What’s wrong?”

Lang Qi sighed. “I’m useless.”

“Useless!” piped up Lang Ying, who’d recently been collecting new vocabulary. He repeated the word with perfect seriousness, then nodded as if confirming the statement.

Bai Tu: “…”
And that’s exactly why I didn’t let you come over earlier.