Building a Civilization and Raising Cubs in the Beast World – Chapter 140

Chapter 140 

Bai Tu had long grown used to the tribe’s wild imaginations, though every time they surfaced, he still found himself speechless.

Like now—Bai Chi had only said a single sentence, but from his expression and tone, Bai Tu immediately guessed what ridiculous scenario the man had conjured up.
Knowing that any explanation would only make things worse, Bai Tu simply pointed at the grill.
“Chi, have a taste.”

Bai Chi’s heart ached even more.
Tu had clearly gone through so much hardship, yet he was still offering to share his meager food with him. Every day, the tribe ate their fill thanks to Bai Tu’s hard work—yet Bai Tu himself was surviving on this? And still generous enough to offer it to others?

Seeing the growing pity on Bai Chi’s face, Bai Tu could practically read his thoughts. Suppressing a sigh, he fed the cub the last spoonful of sweet potato purée, clapped his hands clean, picked up a roasted sweet potato, broke it neatly in half, and handed half to Bai Chi.

“Go on. Try it.”
There was no point explaining with words—only a bite would clear this misunderstanding.

Bai Chi hesitated. Something wasn’t right. If this were truly poor food, Bai Tu wouldn’t have insisted he try it. Everyone who’d spent time in the Snow Rabbit Tribe knew one thing: when Bai Tu personally invited you to taste something, it was guaranteed to be delicious. It was exactly how he’d introduced them all to hot pot the first time—relentlessly urging them to try it until they gave in.

Remembering that unforgettable taste, Bai Chi looked down at the food in his hands. The steaming, fragrant morsel gave off an aroma unlike anything he’d ever smelled before. Even after experiencing so many new dishes since joining the Snow Rabbit Tribe, this one felt… special.

When he finally took a bite, his eyes widened in surprise.
The outside was crisp and warm; the inside, soft, sweet, and fragrant. The sweetness melted on his tongue, rich but not cloying. It was unlike any root or fruit he’d eaten before.

The sweet potatoes harvested this season were a warm golden-orange hue, their texture soft and glutinous, almost like a chestnut but even creamier. Bai Tu pointed to a smaller one on the grill. “Eat it while it’s hot,” he reminded him. “They lose their aroma when they cool.”

Bai Chi had expected something bitter or bland, but instead, he tasted pure sweetness—rare, precious sweetness.

On the Beast God Continent, sweetness was almost nonexistent. Fruits could be sweet when ripe, but ripened fruit was rarely left on trees; if the orcs didn’t pick it early, birds and other beasts would devour it. And because food was scarce, few tribes dared wait for fruit to ripen naturally—hungry orcs would snatch it the moment it appeared edible.

That was especially true in the Black Forest Tribe. Even if ripe fruit appeared, it never reached the mouths of ordinary orcs. Captive orcs lived on scraps barely better than the hunters’ feed. There was no flavor, no joy—just survival.

It had been so long since Bai Chi had tasted anything sweet. That single bite felt like stepping back into his youth, when he’d been a sub-beast apprentice in training to be a healer, still allowed to eat the best food the tribe could offer.

He quickly finished the half in silence, trying not to show how moved he was.

“Good, right?” Bai Tu asked, already picking up another. He’d roasted the sweet potatoes in uniform sizes for even heat—none too large or oddly shaped. If the centers were soft, they were perfectly done.

“The tribe’s got plenty of food,” Bai Tu added casually. “You don’t have to worry.”

Even though he hadn’t expected to bring back so many sub-beasts, Bai Tu had been preparing for abundance since winter. The tribe had been cultivating crops without pause—spring wheat, corn, and now rice, planted just before the rains. If it survived the season, great. If not, the loss was minimal.

They had just finished harvesting several crops, enough to feed hundreds. And livestock was thriving too.

Using the heated kangs to hatch chicks had multiplied their yield many times over. Each kang could incubate thousands of eggs. Though the hatching rate was a bit lower than with natural brooding, the sheer quantity more than made up for it. Within days of hatching, the chicks were moved from the caves to the breeding pens—a process that ran like clockwork.

Chickens, ducks, and geese grew quickly. Females started laying within two or three months, and most males were culled for meat. With poultry available year-round, the tribe no longer relied solely on large prey like cattle, sheep, or pigs. In fact, while the salt-trading party had been away, the herds had flourished—many animals had given birth, replenishing their stock.

With so many options, and so many edible plants for fodder, there was truly no risk of running short.

Everyone in the Snow Rabbit Tribe understood that if Bai Tu wasn’t worried about food, then no one needed to be worried. But the new arrivals didn’t know that. Ever since the journey, Bai Chi and the others had been secretly anxious, afraid that feeding so many mouths would eventually exhaust the tribe’s stores.

Now, though, watching Bai Tu so at ease—and seeing the hearty appetite of another familiar figure—their doubts began to crumble.

Lang Ze.

Even before the grill was lit, Bai Tu and Lang Qi had already taken him into account, roasting far more than they could possibly eat. Lang Ze had a nose like a hunting dog and a stomach like a bottomless pit.

He’d taken to patrolling at night and sleeping during the day now that the territory was secure, so normally he woke late. But today, as he dozed, an unfamiliar, mouthwatering aroma drifted in from next door.

It was like nothing he’d ever smelled before—and his instincts told him exactly where it came from.

He bolted upright, skipped the front gate entirely, and vaulted over the wall.

In the past, Lang Ze would have at least waited politely at the door. Now, unless the food wasn’t ready yet, he didn’t bother with formalities.

Bai Chi watched in stunned silence as Lang Ze devoured three sweet potatoes in the blink of an eye—then half of another.

By the time Bai Chi managed to process what was happening, the basket was half-empty.

Licking his fingers, Lang Ze tried to scoop up one of the cubs, but Bai Tu batted his hand away. “Eat, don’t touch,” he said dryly.

Lang Ze chuckled sheepishly. “I’m going to grab another one then!”

“Go on,” Bai Tu waved him off, half amused, half exasperated. The young wolf was just too energetic. His “gentle pats” were more like thumps, which explained perfectly why Tu Cai had always forbidden people like him from handling cubs. It wasn’t prejudice—it was self-defense.

Bai Chi: “???”

Wait. That was what happened to the missing food? Lang Ze ate it?

He blinked, slowly turning back to Bai Tu. “So… that wasn’t dinner?”

“No,” Bai Tu said simply. “Just a snack. The cubs will need meat later—they’ll be hungry again soon.”

Orcs digested quickly. Sweet potatoes filled the belly, but they weren’t enough for heavy work or patrols. A proper meal always included meat—or at least some dried rations for when hunger hit on the move.

Bai Chi had thought Bai Tu’s earlier reassurance about “enough food” was just to comfort him. But watching Lang Ze devour half a basket and still have energy to spare, he finally believed it.

There really was enough food.

The realization felt surreal. The life the Black Forest Tribe had always bragged about—food, safety, abundance—wasn’t a fantasy. The Snow Rabbit Tribe had achieved it quietly, without deceit, without oppression.

While Wu Jiu and Bao Ren schemed and gloated over their petty power, Bai Tu had built something far greater.

The new arrivals from the Black Forest Tribe were stunned too. They had thought any life “better than before” would be enough, but reality exceeded even their wildest hopes. At first, many secretly worried that the tribe was sacrificing its own rations to feed them.

It wasn’t until Bai Chi came back with news—and the orcs saw tribe members carrying baskets of sweet potatoes through the streets—that they finally believed it:
“Enough food” wasn’t a polite reassurance. It was fact.

They embraced the new foods eagerly—wheat, corn, sweet potatoes—far more readily than even the Snow Rabbit or Blood Wolf tribes had at first. After all, compared to the miserable scraps they’d eaten in the Black Forest Tribe, these were feasts from the gods.

Most importantly, none of the food was drugged.
Among those Bai Tu had rescued were not just sub-beasts and female orcs, but also male orcs—many of whom had been slowly poisoned by the Black Forest Tribe’s tainted food. The toxins caused periodic bouts of sickness, but everyone now knew better than to touch that food again, no matter how much they suffered.

Not that they could even if they wanted to. Bai Tu had completely purged every trace of the Black Forest’s crops and medicines. The poisonous ingredients were separated and destroyed, leaving only safe herbs behind.

He couldn’t have done it alone—Wu Xi had been instrumental. As the medicine apprentice, Wu Xi knew exactly which herbs were used and how. Bai Tu simply described the poisonous plant, and Wu Xi identified which medicines contained it from their packaging or storage. He’d then pass them over, and Bai Tu would burn or bury them.

In less than two days, Bai Tu had eradicated every dangerous medicine brought from the Black Forest—down to the last seed.

The rescued population was huge. Besides captives and deceived orcs, there were also members of the Black Forest Tribe itself—and others who had willingly joined Bao Ren’s schemes.

The worst among them came from the Snake Tribe—over half their members had blood on their hands. Some had even helped Bao Ren trap unsuspecting orcs through seduction and deceit.

Their methods mirrored Bai Meng’s: feigning vulnerability, pretending to be lost or separated from their tribes, luring compassionate orcs into helping them… only to lead them straight into captivity.

Many victims were kind-hearted orcs who simply couldn’t ignore someone in distress. By the time they realized the danger, it was too late.

The Snake Tribe had repeated this trick countless times. Because they usually targeted individuals or small groups, few tribes realized the pattern—most simply assumed their missing kin had been killed by beasts.

Even Leopard Ren’s so-called “gift” of twenty beauties to Bai Tu had been a trap. Most of those “beauties” were from the Snake Tribe and still loyal to Bao Ren. If Bai Tu had accepted them, they would have turned into spies and puppets under his roof.

Their earlier panic—trying to escape before the others left the Black Forest—had simply been fear of exposure. Their crimes went far beyond deceit; they had silenced anyone who discovered their tricks.

But their attempts were futile. In their panic, they’d unwittingly revealed the hidden paths and chambers beneath the caves—the very ones Bai Tu later used to rescue the captive sub-beasts and cubs.

Ironically, their desperation had handed him the key to victory.
And as fate would have it, the Snake Tribe’s sins hadn’t gone unnoticed—the Eagle Tribe was already watching them.

The Eagle Tribe members were ecstatic when they saw the Snake Tribe. Their fighting spirit surged, and they practically wished the Serpents would attempt escape every day just so they could practice their capture skills.

The Snakes tried several times—but aside from a few scratches, not one managed to flee.

After being subdued by the Eagles, the Snake Tribe finally grew obedient. But the orcs from the Black Forest Tribe were another matter. Having lived in the Black Forest for so long, they had always left and returned freely, greeted with deference by outsiders eager to curry favor and gain access to the tribe. Never had they been locked up in small, dark rooms and fed only once a day as they were now.

To them, the confinement and the meager food were unbearable. Emboldened by their numbers, they soon tried to overpower their guards and escape.

But before they could make it out, they ran into another group—lower-ranking orcs whom they had long tormented and humiliated.

Oblivious to how much things had changed, a few of the captured orcs arrogantly barked orders at their former victims, demanding to be set free.

That was the final spark. The orcs outside, harboring years of resentment, exploded in fury. Seizing the moment, they struck back—repaying every cruelty they had suffered.

Bai Tu didn’t interfere. He felt no need to police the feuds between the deceived and their deceivers.
After all, countless orcs had been tricked or imprisoned by the Black Forest Tribe; many had lost their families, mates, or children. Their hatred was justified, and allowing them to vent it was only fair.

Compared with the orcs who had already died because of that tribe’s deceit, the surviving Black Forest orcs were still getting off lightly. Bearing the wrath of the others was the least they deserved.

Whether through venting their anger or eating proper food that restored their long-weakened bodies, the rescued orcs gradually recovered. After more than ten days in the Snow Rabbit Tribe, some began to send representatives to Bai Tu, asking—almost timidly—if he could assign them work.

They had quickly learned that the Snow Rabbit Tribe was nothing like the Black Forest Tribe. Here, no one lived off the oppression of others; everyone worked, even the leader himself.
Labor earned points, and points could be exchanged for supplies—a concept completely new to them. Fascinated, they began calculating what kinds of work they might do and how many points they could earn.
Whatever the answer, one truth was obvious: life here was infinitely better than in the Black Forest.

Watching everyone else busy with their tasks, they grew restless. They didn’t want to sit idle, so soon they started seeking Bai Tu out, asking eagerly when they could begin.

But Bai Tu insisted there was no hurry. They would have to wait.

As the rainy season deepened and the downpours grew heavier, their anxiety mounted. They sent a representative again to ask for a definite start date.

Having spent years enslaved and imprisoned, these orcs were simple at heart. Now that they’d found a safe, decent life, they cherished it deeply—and they wanted to prove their worth, fearful that if they didn’t contribute, they might one day be driven out.

But expulsion was impossible. As long as no one caused trouble, the Snow Rabbit Tribe would always welcome them. In truth, the tribe still needed more hands—many tasks remained unfinished, and some work still relied on the Blood Wolf Tribe’s assistance. Bai Tu didn’t withhold work out of reluctance; he simply wanted them to rest through the rainy season and start fresh afterward.

Whether the orcs had been weakened by Wu Jiu’s drugs or by years of captivity, their bodies needed time to heal. Bai Tu never chased short-term gains—pushing them into labor now would only harm them, and that wasn’t acceptable.

Realizing that Bai Tu had even considered their health, the newcomers felt a pang of guilt. None of them mentioned starting early again. Pressing the matter after his explanation would have seemed ungrateful.

Bai Tu sighed in relief when they finally dropped the subject. Honestly, the rainy and snowy seasons were the only times when the orcs could truly rest. Work was light, the environment safe, and there were few urgent demands.

As the rain intensified, the last of the harvest was stored in the newly built granary—a sturdy structure of brick and cement, lined with lime and other moisture-proof layers. The grain would stay dry and edible for years.

Sweet potatoes, being high-yield and hardy, didn’t even need such storage. Bai Tu handed out a large pack to each household, then filled the cellar with the rest so Tu Mu could fetch them for cooking.

The tribe loved them instantly. Sweet potatoes could be roasted or boiled; their natural sweetness made them more satisfying than fruit and quickly became a favorite.

After all, aside from honey and a few fruits, the tribe had few sweet foods. Fruit was pleasant but not filling; honey was rich and delicious—especially with roasted meat—but so scarce that only small portions could be distributed. Any dish using honey vanished from the dining hall within minutes.

Sweet potatoes weren’t as sweet as honey, but their texture and aroma were unique. When roasted just right, a caramel-like syrup would ooze from the edges, turning them irresistibly sweet.

Another reason many had hesitated to leave the caves was the natural cold storage at the mountain’s base. Now, with proper food management, they no longer needed to keep meat frozen for long periods. Freshly hunted animals were cooked and eaten quickly, so refrigeration was rarely necessary.

Some orcs, attached to the caves where they’d lived for so long, visited the new housing once—and promptly moved in, hauling all their belongings with them. There were only so many good houses, after all, and no one wanted to miss the best spots.

For the orcs, the ideal location was near the mess hall; next best was proximity to the leader’s residence. Areas farther away, with fewer amenities, were least desired.

A few days into the rainy season, everyone had already moved in. Bai Tu’s new residential map was almost complete; once the weather cleared, he planned to hang it in the central square for easy navigation. For now, though, the rain would wash the ink away, so it stayed rolled up indoors.

That first rainy season in their new home was unlike any before. Families sat together on their porches, roasting sweet potatoes while listening to the rain. It was the first time anyone had felt so peaceful on a rainy day; even last year, no one had known such simple joy.

Usually, during the rainy season, the tribe’s biggest worries were food and safety. Now, with both secured, even the cubs were content.

Bai Tu was overjoyed—not just at the tribe’s prosperity, but because two of the cubs, Lang Sui and Lang Ying, had learned to walk. Before, they could only toddle a few steps while holding onto the wall or someone’s hand. Now, they could manage on their own.

He discovered this one humid afternoon. Although it rained almost daily, there were brief lulls when the heat became stifling. The cubs’ sleeping area was safe but poorly ventilated. Since cubs couldn’t handle heat as well as adults, Bai Tu wove a large mat and moved them to the living room to nap.

He and Lang Qi worked just outside in the corridor so they could hear if the cubs stirred.

The reason they were there was simple: Bai Tu was grilling food again—not just sweet potatoes this time, but ribs and other dishes. Compared to his first attempts, his equipment was now far more advanced. With Bai Hui’s help, he had built a new oven modeled after the street vendors’ designs. It had multiple compartments for different foods so that everything could cook evenly.

He’d just finished it yesterday and was still testing the heat. Yesterday’s menu had included roasted sweet potatoes, potatoes, and skewers. Today, he was adding spareribs.

Fuel was in short supply, especially with three adults in the household—Bai Tu, Lang Qi, and Lang Ze. Even though Bai Tu didn’t eat much, cooking for everyone used quite a bit of wood and coal.

Lang Qi and Lang Ze had gone out to collect firewood, leaving Bai Tu to tend the ribs. The homemade grill rattled noisily as he worked.

That clanking drowned out the faint sounds coming from the living room.

Among the five cubs, Lang Sui and Lang Ying were noticeably larger and shared the same sleep schedule as the others. Normally they all napped and woke together, but the two older ones slept less and often woke first.

The gray-furred cub, Lang Ying, stirred first. Seeing the three younger cubs still asleep, he padded over, then suddenly shifted into his human form and stood up.

Lang Sui, puzzled but curious, followed suit. They both had enough awareness now to keep clear of the sleeping cubs in case they lost balance.

It wasn’t their first transformation, and they had already learned to look for support when standing up—either a wall or a parent’s hand. But when they looked around this time, the nearest wall seemed far away.

Lang Ying glanced toward the door. Normally, that distance would make him revert to beast form and scamper over, but today he wanted to try walking on two legs.

He reached out his right hand; Lang Sui took it with his left. Step by step, they walked hand in hand across the mat—slow but steady.

By the time Bai Tu heard movement inside, the two had already reached the doorway.

Lang Ying was staring eagerly at the rain outside when Bai Tu turned around. Before the little cub could make a dash for it, Bai Tu swooped in, lifting both of them easily.

Lang Ying’s plan to splash in the puddles ended abruptly, but being a well-behaved child, he didn’t fuss. His favorite thing in the world was still his father. Rain could wait—he’d play later when Uncle Lang Ze came back.

Unaware of his son’s thoughts, Bai Tu carried the pair back inside to check on the others. Fortunately, the younger cubs were still sound asleep. He adjusted their little blankets—soft, towel-like wraps with numbers embroidered in the corners so each cub had its own set, just like their clothes and toys.

Then he dressed Lang Ying in his cotton tunic. Running around naked in human form wasn’t practical. The cubs’ clothes were soft, breathable, and slightly oversized for comfort. After growing used to moving freely in beast form, tighter clothes would have felt restrictive.

The two older cubs were obedient as always. Knowing not to wake their younger brothers, they stayed quiet until Bai Tu brought them outside.
Then, spotting the barbecue rack, they immediately brightened and pointed excitedly—it smelled amazing!

Bai Tu chuckled, catching the savory aroma of the ribs himself. He nodded to the cubs.
“Later,” he promised. “They’re not quite done yet.”

The cubs understood Bai Tu’s words perfectly and sat down obediently on their little stools, watching him with bright, eager eyes, silently urging him to hurry.

Bai Tu couldn’t help but laugh. He wanted to hurry too, but ribs needed time. They had to cook all the way through before they could be eaten—and turning up the heat would only burn them.

While he coaxed the cubs and added wood to the fire, Lang Qi and Lang Ze returned. They hadn’t meant to be gone so long, but the rain had made everything slower. The firewood was damp, and knowing that wet wood smoked heavily, Lang Qi had covered it with a thin plank to reduce the smoke.

Lang Ze spotted the two cubs already awake and immediately set down what he was carrying to go play with them. If Bai Tu hadn’t stopped him, he would’ve grabbed one of their faces with his still-sooty hands.

“Go wash your hands! Don’t touch them until you’re clean,” Bai Tu said sharply. If he hadn’t intervened, the cubs’ freshly washed clothes would’ve turned black in two minutes.

The problem was that once the clothes got dirty, Lang Ze and Lang Qi would be the ones who had to wash them—and Lang Ze was spectacularly bad at laundry. Every time he scrubbed something, it turned to rags within a few washes. That wasn’t slander; it was proven experience.

Once, when Bai Tu was away, Lang Ze had secretly played with the cubs. Afraid of being scolded later, he replaced their dirty clothes with new ones and tried to wash the old ones himself. All of them ended up ruined. When Bai Tu later noticed the shortage of cub clothes and questioned Lang Qi—who denied touching them—the truth came out.

Since then, Lang Ze was only allowed to play with the cubs when Bai Tu or Lang Qi were around. Any other time was strictly off-limits.

So when he finally had a chance to play with them again, Lang Ze wasn’t about to give it up. Hearing Bai Tu’s demand, he rushed to fetch water, washed his hands thoroughly, and even splashed himself clean before coming back.

Seeing that he’d actually washed, Bai Tu said nothing more and turned back to help Lang Qi with the food.

Rainy days were perfect for home cooking. Everyone had time, and they could season things to their own taste. The communal cafeteria meals tended to be mild—most orcs preferred light spice, and aside from a few famously hot dishes, everything else was barely spicy or not at all.

Bai Tu, on the other hand, liked his food with a kick. The barbecued ribs already rated a solid seven out of eight in heat, but once he added chili powder, cumin, and other spices, the flavor jumped to a nine—pure perfection.

Lang Qi brought over the cutlery: two large bowls for the brothers, a medium one for Bai Tu, and smaller ones for the cubs.

The younger cubs were eating meat now, though they still couldn’t chew ribs directly. Bai Tu shaved the meat off the bone, chopped it finely, and set it aside for them. The older cubs could handle larger bites. Though they looked about the size of one-year-olds, their teeth were much stronger—they could gnaw on ribs easily.

Just as Bai Tu was thinking this, something caught his attention. He turned his head—and froze.

The two cubs he’d been preparing food for each held a rib in their hands. Next to them, Lang Ze was holding a much bigger one. The three of them—uncle and nephews—didn’t look exactly the same, but in that moment, they might as well have been clones.

And suddenly, Bai Tu realized why Lang Ying had been so delighted by the rain earlier—his expression had been exactly like Lang Ze’s.

Bai Tu wasn’t the only one who noticed; Lang Qi did too. Feeding the cubs carelessly in front of Bai Tu was a grave mistake, and Lang Ze paid the price. The moment he took a bite of rib, Lang Qi grabbed him by the collar and dragged him off—straight into the nearby storeroom.

Every house in the residential area had the same layout: two bedrooms, a living room, a kitchen, and a small storage room. The kitchen was for cooking; the storage room was for keeping dry goods and tools. When Bai Tu moved in, he’d stored various cave items there, reserving the right-hand room for medicinal herbs that needed drying. There was nothing fragile inside, which made it the perfect place for confining a mischievous wolf.

After making sure the cubs’ teeth were fine—no chips, no wobbling—Bai Tu finally relaxed. They could chew ribs just fine, but he worried that improper chewing could affect the alignment of their teeth.

Of course, confining Lang Ze wasn’t just about the ribs. It was a lesson. If Bai Tu let this slide, who knew what kind of trouble Lang Ze would cause next? The adventurous wolf had a knack for mischief—and that never stopped, not even around cubs.

Bai Tu washed the cubs’ hands, handed them the chopped rib meat, and gave each a small spoon. At their age, they no longer needed to be hand-fed; as long as the food was ready and set before them, they could manage on their own.

He’d made special wooden bowls and spoons just for them—lightweight and safe. If a cub knocked one over, it only needed rinsing, not replacing.

The two older cubs ate quietly while Bai Tu went inside to bring out the other three. The little ones always woke right around mealtime, rubbing their eyes and faces until fully awake—just in time for food.

Once the cubs were fed and their clothes changed, they were left to play on the mat. It was finally the adults’ turn to eat.

Bai Tu’s ribs were perfect—succulent, smoky, and richly seasoned. The spices had seeped deep into the meat during the second roasting, and even before the bowls were uncovered, the air was thick with mouthwatering aroma.

In the storeroom, Lang Ze caught the scent and started clawing anxiously at the wall. He knew that if he actually broke through it, Lang Qi would tear him down next, so he gave up and began rummaging through boxes in search of anything remotely edible.

Outside, Bai Tu turned off the grill and pulled several large ribs from the rack. The cubs’ eyes followed the big ribs longingly, but they knew those weren’t theirs. They only stared, curious and envious.

They always thought their father’s food tasted better than theirs—even though, every time he shared, the flavor was identical. The younger cubs sensed something was off but couldn’t figure out what, so they simply watched their father eat with shining eyes.

After setting the ribs aside to cool, Bai Tu nodded toward the storeroom.
“Go let him out,” he said to Lang Qi. “If we leave him any longer, he’ll tear the place apart.”

Lang Qi stood, walked over, and opened the door.

Lang Ze shot out like a gust of wind. “Tu! Where are the ribs? Did you eat them all without me?”

Bai Tu opened his mouth to scold him again about playing with the cubs, but it was hopeless—Lang Ze clearly wasn’t listening.

Sighing, Bai Tu pointed toward the chopping board. “Over there.”

Lang Ze eagerly reached for it—only for Bai Tu’s expression to change. His eyes narrowed.
“Wait—what’s that in your hand?”

Lang Ze froze mid-motion, his grin faltering.

And that was when Bai Tu’s patience finally snapped.

Happy Qixi Festival!