Chapter 103
Bai Tu knew that glassmaking wasn’t something that could be completed in a day.
After explaining the formula to the squad leader, he left the raw material testing area.
The night was getting colder—no matter how many layers he wore, the cold wind still crept into his collar.
The testing area had fewer people and was located not far from the tribe, mainly for trying out new formulas and adjusting old ones. Being close to the tribe made it easier to discuss issues as they arose.
Stepping out of the testing area, Bai Tu couldn’t help but shiver—it was too cold. No matter how much time passed, he still couldn’t get used to such low temperatures.
Fortunately, apart from the patrol team, most jobs in the tribe had been adjusted. Now, the only outdoor work left in the cold was in the coal and limestone mines, as well as the beastmen patrolling the territory’s borders.
“I’ll have Bai Qi send a message later—remind them to keep warm,” Bai Tu muttered, tightening the animal hide around him. He pondered adding a button to his sleeves when he got back—this level of cold was unbearable.
Lang Qi listened to him, reached out to adjust his clothing, and then nuzzled against his neck. “I’ll carry you.”
Being carried was much easier than walking on his own. Bai Tu used to worry about being seen, but now he was used to it. After all, once something happened a few times, it stopped feeling so unusual. If someone saw them, so be it.
Lang Qi’s pace slowed a little when carrying him. Bai Tu wasn’t particularly sleepy tonight, so he slipped his hands inside Lang Qi’s outer layer of fur.
Lang Qi’s body temperature was high, and even through the inner layer of fur, he radiated warmth. Bai Tu clung to him, rubbing his face against Lang Qi’s back as he murmured, “Recover quickly.”
Maybe it was the emptiness of the road, or the complete silence around them, but a faint sadness welled up in Bai Tu’s heart.
He sighed softly. If things continued like this, once Lang Qi recovered, he really wouldn’t want to part ways.
A complex glint flickered in Lang Qi’s eyes. He tightened his grip around Bai Tu but didn’t respond.
That night, a rabbit no bigger than a fist slept soundly on a fluffy blanket. The giant wolf beside him opened his eyes, lowering his head to sniff Bai Tu all over.
Not catching any other scents, the giant wolf’s mood instantly lifted. But then, he recalled their conversation before returning to the cave.
Raising his head, he glanced toward the two cubs. Would Bai Tu leave once he recovered? Would he take the cubs and search for another mate?
Thinking about the conversation he overheard that morning, Lang Qi’s brows furrowed. Someone wanted to be Bai Tu’s mate. Not just one person—there were several. An all-too-familiar irritation rose in his chest.
Lang Qi lowered his gaze again, fixing it on the small rabbit in his embrace.
The sleeping rabbit was oblivious to everything happening around him. He seemed to be dreaming of something sweet, as his tiny mouth moved slightly.
It was such a simple, natural reaction, but Lang Qi couldn’t take his eyes off him, like a man dying of thirst suddenly spotting a clear spring. His heart was filled with nothing but satisfaction.
Lang Qi lifted a paw, wanting to touch the little rabbit in his sleep. But fearing he would wake him, he hesitated and put his paw down. Instead, he leaned in and pressed a light kiss to Bai Tu’s forehead.
It didn’t matter who Bai Tu’s past mate was or where they had gone—Bai Tu belonged to him alone, whether he regained his memories or not. That fact would never change.
But he didn’t want Bai Tu to remember. He was afraid that if he did, he himself might forget this little rabbit.
Lang Qi wrapped his arms around Bai Tu, closed his eyes, and fell asleep.
*
Bai Tu had another dream and once again encountered the three little wolf cubs.
Compared to last time, the cubs had grown slightly, though only a little.
Having seen many young cubs before, Bai Tu was particularly sensitive to their size changes, noticing even the slightest difference.
Despite their growth, the three cubs still maintained the same size order as before—lined up in a neat sequence.
The largest, a black-furred cub, remained as steady and quiet as last time. Bai Tu observed it for a long time, yet it never made a sound.
Meanwhile, the gray-furred and white-furred cubs were playing nearby. The white cub, being the smallest, was at a disadvantage due to its lack of agility. However, the gray cub deliberately slowed its movements whenever it pounced, making sure not to be too rough.
After playing for a while, the white cub lost interest and softly called out to the gray cub, who responded with a series of barks.
Bai Tu didn’t understand their conversation, but from the white cub’s expression and tone, he could tell the gray cub was scolding it.
The white cub, looking pitiful, shrank to the side and whimpered. The black cub, which had been silently watching, continued to observe them. The more Bai Tu looked, the more he felt that this cub resembled Lang Qi.
As Bai Tu pondered, the white cub suddenly noticed him.
Its pitiful whimpering halted, and it started running toward him. The gray cub, in the middle of scolding, followed its gaze, spotting Bai Tu as well. Excitement shone in its eyes as it turned and ran after the white cub.
While the two cubs dashed toward Bai Tu, the black cub didn’t immediately follow. Instead, it seemed more interested in its surroundings, carefully observing the landscape. Only the twitching of its upright ears betrayed its inner excitement.
This expression was nearly identical to Lang Qi’s usual demeanor. Bai Tu stepped forward, scooping up the two cubs that had reached him and, as if casually, also pulled the black cub into his arms.
Perhaps because these three were still young, they weren’t as energetic as Lang Qi’s two nephews.
Once in Bai Tu’s embrace, they quickly found comfortable positions and dozed off. Only the gray cub was a little more active, climbing onto Bai Tu’s shoulder and giving him a quick lick on the chin.
Bai Tu kissed each of their foreheads in return.
He had figured them out—three cubs, three distinct personalities.
The black cub was the calmest, though it still couldn’t completely hide its emotions. The gray cub was the most energetic, but not recklessly so; it had been careful to control its strength during play. The white cub, the smallest in both age and size, was the most delicate and fond of seeking attention.
But regardless of their differences, all three were obedient and sweet. Bai Tu looked around—the environment was still the familiar one from before.
Feeling at ease, he rubbed each cub’s head and small belly. The black cub’s ears twitched, the gray cub excitedly grabbed his hand, and the white cub let out a soft, contented hum. Its gentle, baby-like voice melted Bai Tu’s heart.
Even though this wasn’t his first time dreaming of the cubs, Bai Tu still felt a sense of loss upon waking. He silently wished he could dream of them again. Adjusting his mood, he prepared to get up—only to see Lang Qi watching him.
Lang Qi had woken earlier and had witnessed the entire process of Bai Tu going from reluctant wakefulness to normalcy.
He hadn’t interrupted, but whatever he was thinking remained unknown. Bai Tu, sensitive to emotions, immediately noticed something was off about Lang Qi. He shifted into his human form but didn’t leave the bed. Instead, he asked with concern, “Are you feeling unwell?”
“No.” Lang Qi shook his head, masking the unease in his heart. No matter what Bai Tu had dreamed of, the one in front of him now was still himself.
Bai Tu reached out, touching Lang Qi’s forehead to check his temperature. Confirming it was normal, he felt relieved, got dressed, and stepped out of the bedroom. A gust of cold wind hit him in the face.
The temperature had dropped again.
Bai Tu made a round to check on the cubs’ room. Seeing that they were still asleep, he quietly withdrew and walked to the cave entrance, watching the snowflakes outside. “Let’s bring the food over tonight. Tomorrow, we’ll cook inside the cave.”
With such cold weather, Lang Qi making three trips down a day was too much trouble. It was better to bring the ingredients here and cook themselves. Given the current temperature, food would stay fresh for at least two or three days.
“Alright,” Lang Qi agreed, reaching out to embrace him.
Bai Tu didn’t linger outside for too long—not just because of the cold, but also because the cubs were about to wake up.
He touched their bedding and turned to Lang Qi. “It’s getting even colder lately. Let’s have the cubs sleep with us.”
Even though the heated beds on both sides were connected and would keep them warm, Bai Tu still wasn’t reassured.
He worried they might kick off their blankets in the middle of the night or wriggle out of the warm bedding. No matter how he thought about it, if they weren’t within his sight, he couldn’t feel at ease.
Hearing Bai Tu’s words, Lang Qi frowned slightly. “I’ll take them.”
“Alright.” Although this was a bit different from his original plan, having someone look after the cubs was much safer. Whether he took them or Lang Qi did, it didn’t matter.
On the third day of cooking for themselves, the Black Lion Tribe finally made a move.
The wolf, rabbit, lion, and cat tribes—along with the later-arriving leopard tribe—had been waiting near the border of the territory for days, just waiting for the enemy to make a move.
Before the Black Lion Tribe’s people could even step into the Snow Rabbit Tribe’s land, they had already been beaten back twice.
Despite having a numerical advantage, the fight didn’t last long.
The moment they realized the difference in numbers, the Black Lion Tribe’s beastmen began to lose confidence.
Mentality plays a big role in battle, and the sight of being outnumbered caused many Black Lion warriors to consider retreating or surrendering as their first option. With this kind of mindset spreading, even those who initially intended to fight lost their momentum.
What was even more surprising was that Shi Wu, the leader of the Black Lion Tribe, backed down.
Leading the wolves was Lang Ze, a young but capable warrior. The rabbits were led by Bai An, and the lions by Shi Zhen. Logically, the Black Lion Tribe should have chosen one of these three as their target. However, to everyone’s astonishment, they instead decided to attack Mao Lin of the cat tribe.
The cat tribe had fewer members than even the rabbit tribe—only around ten of them had come, making it unnecessary to form a separate battle unit.
Mao Lin and her small group had stayed close to Bai An for safety, never expecting the lion tribe to charge directly at her.
However, the agility of the cat tribe was well known. Forget Shi Wu—even if a younger, stronger lion had attacked, Mao Lin still would have easily dodged.
She was momentarily surprised by their choice of target, but even with that brief pause, she still managed to avoid Shi Wu’s claws before he could touch her.
Afterward, the fight looked more like a child’s game.
Mao Lin barely exerted herself, effortlessly dodging Shi Wu’s attacks. The size difference between their species was significant—her attacks didn’t do much damage to him, but she never once gave him the chance to land a strike, which was already a major victory in itself.
Most male lions had short tempers, and after repeatedly failing to land a hit, Shi Wu lost his patience. In his frustration, he did something shocking—he started ramming his own head against the trees, right in front of everyone.
If the tribe leader was acting like this, there was no need to mention the other warriors.
The Black Lion Tribe clearly hadn’t been fully prepared for this attack.
They had underestimated the Snow Rabbit Tribe’s numbers, gained nothing from the battle, and now had to suffer the humiliation of watching their leader lose control in front of so many onlookers.
“Tu, you wouldn’t believe it—Shi Wu went completely crazy! He actually started bashing his head against a tree!”
Lang Ze arrived just as Bai Tu and Lang Qi were about to enjoy a hotpot meal.
In this freezing weather, nothing was better than a steaming hotpot.
Originally, Lang Ze had only planned to stop by and greet them before heading to the communal dining hall, but after hearing about the hotpot, he decided to stay.
The meal still needed some preparation, especially slicing the meat into thin pieces. Seeing this, Lang Ze, being sharp-eyed, washed his hands and started helping with chopping the vegetables while enthusiastically recounting what had happened.
Shi Wu’s bizarre antics had left everyone stunned.
Only a handful of Black Lion warriors still had the courage to fight. The rest, embarrassed by their leader’s behavior or sensing that victory was unlikely, mostly stood by without taking action.
Although there had been a battle, it was even quicker than their previous attack on the Wild Lion Tribe.
Lang Ze patted his arm and said, “I didn’t get a single scratch!”
Last time, when they fought the Wild Lion Tribe, he had accidentally gotten a small cut from an opponent’s teeth. But this time, he didn’t even suffer a minor injury.
“Do we still have enough medicine in the tribe?” Bai Tu asked.
Even if there weren’t many injuries, there was still a chance that someone might have gotten hurt.
“We have more than enough. Mao Lin said you prepared so much medicine that we won’t even be able to use it all.”
Hearing this, Bai Tu felt a bit more at ease. Seeing that the hotpot broth had come to a boil, he added two plates of thinly sliced meat. Once the meat was cooked, he quickly scooped some up and placed it in Lang Ze’s bowl. “Eat something first to fill your stomach.”
These warriors had been stationed outside the territory for several days.
It was impossible not to be exhausted—after all, there was no proper shelter out there, and everyone had to transform into their beast forms to find a spot to rest at night. Bai Tu was considering giving them a few days off so they could properly recover.
Hearing Bai Tu mention a break, Lang Ze’s eyes lit up. He didn’t even glance at the meat in the pot anymore and instead tentatively asked, “Tu, can I stay at your place for a few days?”
After all, many of the delicious foods in the tribe were taught by Bai Tu.
Now, more and more people had started bringing ingredients back to their own caves to cook instead of solely relying on the communal dining hall. Although the food in the dining hall was still good, Lang Ze knew it couldn’t compare to Bai Tu’s cooking.
Just the thought of staying here and eating different delicious dishes every day excited him so much that he wished he could move in until winter ended.
Beside him, Lang Qi slowly turned his gaze to Lang Ze and said coldly, “Eat your meal and leave immediately after.”
Receiving Lang Qi’s threatening look, Lang Ze let out a silent wail in his heart. As expected—if his brother was around, there was no way he’d get to enjoy Bai Tu’s cooking.
Seeing Lang Ze’s dejected expression, Bai Tu couldn’t help but soften. “The tribe recently made some snacks. You can take some back with you.”
Letting Lang Ze stay over wasn’t convenient.
Although he had a simple personality, he was almost an adult now, and living together wouldn’t be appropriate. But seeing him look so pitiful, Bai Tu decided to mention some of the new condiments that the communal kitchen had recently started making.
Ever since Bai Tu began bringing his own ingredients back to cook, many others in the tribe followed suit. Now, more people were collecting ingredients and preparing meals in their own homes.
As a result, the workload in the dining hall had significantly decreased. It had been even lighter over the past two days since the patrol team hadn’t returned yet.
Tu Mu wasn’t the type to enjoy idleness. He had initially asked Bai Tu to assign more helpers because the workload had been overwhelming. But now that things had calmed down, he felt uncomfortable with nothing to do, so he immediately went to Bai Tu to ask if he could prepare some food.
After some thought, Bai Tu taught him how to make various sauces and condiments.
They had already made pure meat sauce and pure chili sauce before, but this time, they created improved versions—such as beef chili sauce and bamboo shoot beef sauce.
These different-flavored meat and chili sauces were stored in palm-sized clay jars, perfect for pairing with meat or mixing into flatbreads.
Tu Mu also learned how to make noodles. Since the temperature was so low, freshly cut noodles left outside overnight would freeze rock solid. This meant they could store them for a few days without issue.
Even though many beastmen had started cooking for themselves, the dining hall remained busy, constantly introducing new variations to their meals.
As long as it wasn’t food meant for the cubs, Lang Ze had a pretty good palate.
He would taste as he cooked, adding seasonings along the way. If the flavor seemed off, he would stop and adjust it. In the end, his dishes were always edible—though by the time he finished, the only thing left was usually an empty pot.
Bai Tu reminded Lang Ze that once he returned to the wolf tribe, he should eat at the communal dining hall whenever possible. With the available food and various seasoning sauces, the flavors would definitely not disappoint.
Although his wish to stay in the Snow Rabbit Tribe didn’t come true, Lang Ze still gained something new.
After sulking for a short while, he quickly recovered. His sadness always came and went fast—throughout just one meal, his mood shifted several times. But overall, he was in a good mood.
After all, they had been worried that the Black Lion Tribe might launch a sneak attack on the Snow Rabbit Tribe. Seeing them retreat so pathetically today was definitely something to celebrate. Lang Ze was always straightforward—when he was happy, he showed it without hesitation.
Bai Tu was also pleased.
With the Black Lion Tribe retreating, they wouldn’t be launching another attack anytime soon. Beastmens’ fighting spirit was heavily influenced by their emotions, and a tribe leader—especially a lion tribe leader—needed to set an example.
If they failed to do so, they risked being criticized by their own people. Since Shi Wu had gone back in disgrace, the Black Lion Tribe was bound to experience internal turmoil for a while.
Shi Wu was even older than Shi Zhen, and there were already younger lions under his command who were dissatisfied with him. Bai Tu speculated that the Black Lion Tribe might soon replace its leader.
Lang Qi remained silent beside him. Seeing Bai Tu so happy today, he decided to let Lang Ze off the hook just this once. After finishing his meal, Lang Ze went to check on his two little nephews before heading back to the wolf tribe with the rest of his group.
In reality, the idea of spending the winter with Bai Tu was just wishful thinking.
With Lang Qi away, many responsibilities within the wolf tribe fell on Lang Ze. Although hunting wasn’t necessary in winter, there were still plenty of other matters to manage within the tribe.
Meanwhile, Bai Tu didn’t stay idle either. After Lang Ze left, he began working on making an hourglass and a thermometer. The hourglass would help keep track of time, while the thermometer could measure water temperature.
In just a few days, the cement-making team had successfully produced glass. Although it wasn’t as transparent as the glass Bai Tu had seen before—some areas still had bubbles—it was still functional.
Making the thermometer wasn’t particularly difficult.
The first requirement was glass tubes, and the ones delivered that morning were slightly too thick. Bai Tu asked them to make thinner ones, which had already been delivered. Now, he was focused on preparing another essential material for the thermometer: ink.
One end of the glass tube was left open, while the other end was sealed with a hollow glass bulb about the size of a thumb.
Bai Tu filled the glass bulb and tube with ink, then placed it in an ice-water mixture. Once the liquid inside cooled to match the temperature of the ice-water mixture, he poured out a portion of the ink so that the ink level was flush with the junction of the glass bulb and tube.
That was just the first step. Next, he placed the thermometer in a room to let it adjust to room temperature. Then, he prepared a series of water bowls with increasing temperatures, the hottest being freshly boiled water.
As the ink level rose to different points, he marked the final position at each temperature before sealing the thermometer. He divided the scale into ten sections, with each small division representing a 10-degree change, then refined it further for greater accuracy.
After completing the thermometer, Bai Tu tested his own body temperature and found the accuracy to be satisfactory. Using the same method, he made several more thermometers. Then, taking one with him, he headed toward Bai Chen’s cave.
In just a few days, Bai Chen and Tu Bing had become much faster at adding and changing the water.
However, there was a small issue—they didn’t perceive temperature in exactly the same way. The warm water mixed by Tu Bing tended to be slightly hotter, while Bai Chen’s was a bit cooler. The two had discussed this difference multiple times.
To solve the problem, Bai Tu placed two thermometers—one in the water and another inside the incubator—then adjusted the water temperature to ensure the incubator remained around 30°C.
“From now on, when this black line reaches this position, the temperature is correct.” Bai Tu showed them the 30-degree mark on the thermometer.
Since they frequently needed to feed the cubs and change their fur bedding, the incubator’s temperature would constantly fluctuate. Previously, they had been stabilizing the water temperature as a temporary solution, but this new method was far more reliable.
With specific temperature values, the two no longer needed to argue over whose temperature perception was more accurate. They would simply follow the thermometer’s readings.
“This device isn’t 100% precise—if you ever feel the temperature is off, come find me,” Bai Tu reminded them.
The incubator and thermometer were simplified versions he had created based on the available materials. They were meant as reference tools, not flawless instruments, and could break over time, so they still needed to be cautious.
After finishing his explanation, Bai Tu took the remaining thermometers to the cave where the cubs lived.
With thermometers in place, it became much easier to monitor both the water temperature and the incubator temperature.
The caretakers, including Tu Cai, only needed to check if the readings were within the correct range, rather than trying to remember how long ago they last added water.
Even though tracking time for water changes was no longer necessary, Bai Tu still planned to complete the hourglasses. The freshly fired glass was still malleable, making it easier to shape hourglass containers than carving them from wood.
He first created a large hourglass, measuring how much sand was needed to track one full day from sunset to sunset. After determining this, he divided the sand into two equal portions, filling half into the hourglass—this measured 12 hours.
Using this as a reference, he then created smaller hourglasses for 12 hours, 6 hours, 3 hours, 1 hour, and 30 minutes. To confirm their accuracy, he ran a final test: flipping the 12-hour hourglass once in the middle of the day, ensuring that two complete cycles equaled one full day. The same logic applied to the other timers.
The larger the hourglass, the greater the time discrepancy—for the 24-hour hourglass, the error could sometimes be nearly an hour. However, the smaller hourglasses had minimal errors.
The 30-minute hourglass, for instance, had almost no noticeable deviation. Since they weren’t performing highly precise tasks, these minor errors were negligible.
The first place to implement the hourglass system was the kitchen. Until now, cooking habits were still based on traditional methods—checking if food was done by tasting a piece directly.
With the hourglass, when boiling meat, they could simply flip the hourglass once the water started boiling.
When the sand ran out, they knew the food was almost ready. While different meat cuts might still require slight adjustments, this method eliminated the need for constant taste testing throughout the cooking process.
At first, people weren’t used to using a timer, and they often forgot to flip the hourglass once the sand ran out. However, they soon realized just how convenient it was. Not only was it useful in the kitchen, but people also began placing hourglasses beside their workstations to keep track of hourly tasks and ensure their work stayed on schedule.
Previously, everyone would pile all their daily tasks in front of them and try to complete them in one go. But now, many had started dividing their workload into ten or eight smaller parts. If they finished one portion and had time left, they would take a short break before continuing the next hour.
With the basic glass formula perfected, the quality of finished products steadily improved. In no time, nearly everyone had a thermometer and an hourglass.
It was almost everyone, not absolutely everyone—while there were enough to go around, glass was too fragile for most beastmen.
Some had accidentally broken theirs right after receiving them. Since making glass was a labor-intensive process, replacements couldn’t be handed out freely. Those who broke theirs had no choice but to share with someone else.
For the particularly clumsy ones who kept breaking their hourglasses, Bai Tu made a reinforced version, wrapping it in multiple layers of wood and animal hide.
He handed this larger-than-usual hourglass to Lang Ze and sighed helplessly, warning him, “This is the last one. If you break it again, don’t expect a new one this year.”
Lang Ze nodded solemnly.
In truth, he didn’t think it was entirely their fault—sometimes, all they did was pick it up for a look, and it shattered on its own! But since only their team had managed to break every single hourglass they were given, he didn’t dare say it aloud, fearing a beating.
With the thermometer and hourglass issues resolved, Bai Tu set his sights on a new project—glass windows.
Although they had gotten used to the darkness since winter started, Bai Tu still found the dimly lit cave uncomfortable. Previously, they had to choose between keeping the warmth in or letting light in—they couldn’t have both.
Now, that problem could finally be solved. Even though the glass wasn’t as clear as the ones Bai Tu had seen in his past life, it was still a vast improvement over the completely opaque animal hides and stone bricks they had been using.
When they first built partitioned rooms, Bai Tu had left space for windows. Before the extreme cold set in, these windows were left open for natural light, making the cave much brighter. However, once the temperature dropped too much, all the windows were sealed off with animal hides, plunging the cave into darkness. If it weren’t for the beastmens’ natural night vision, they would have had to feel their way along the walls to get around.
Now that they had glass, they could simply remove the animal hides and install the glass panels.
The team responsible for glassmaking was led by Tu Miao, a young rabbit orc who had only recently reached adulthood. She was originally part of the cement-making team, but as the demand for glass increased, Bai Tu reassigned a group specifically for glass production.
Tu Miao wasn’t as physically strong as the wolves or the sturdier rabbits, but she had a unique talent—an acute sense for adjusting raw materials.
Glassmaking hadn’t been a success from the start.
They went through several rounds of failed experiments—some batches came out too cloudy, while others cracked easily. It was only when Tu Miao fine-tuned the formula that they finally got a usable product, making her the undisputed leader of the team.
When Bai Tu mentioned wanting large, flat glass panels, Tu Miao immediately started preparing. While making large pieces wasn’t too difficult, keeping them smooth and even was a challenge. After two days of effort, she finally delivered the finished glass panels.
Once the window spaces were fitted with transparent glass, the cave was completely transformed.
Bai Tu let out a sigh of relief—being in a dark environment for too long could feel stifling, but they had no choice if they wanted to preserve warmth. Now, with the double-layered glass, the insulation remained intact while allowing light to enter.
While thermometers and hourglasses were quickly accepted by everyone, the idea of installing large transparent panels in their homes made some beastmen uneasy. Many outright rejected the idea.
Bai Tu didn’t bother explaining. Instead, he installed the windows in an empty room and let them see for themselves.
The windows were placed high up, and animal hides could still be used to cover them if needed, ensuring that privacy wasn’t a concern.
Once the room was completed, even with all the doors closed, it remained as bright as the outdoors. After a round of exploration, the beastmen who had previously been skeptical all started asking if they could install glass windows in their own caves too.
In the past, everyone dug out their cave structures by themselves, so most had simple layouts with at most one or two turns. However, after the recent reorganization and the addition of brick walls, nearly all the caves had become darker than before.
Additionally, with heated kang beds now in use, the temperature inside the caves was much higher. To retain heat as much as possible, people had hung thick animal hides over their doorways to block out the wind and frost.
As a result, the caves were indeed warmer. In previous years, around this time, most beastmen would be huddled in the corners of their caves, wrapped in furs.
But this year, they could continue working indoors without interruption. Some even found the caves stuffy after staying inside for too long and would step out for fresh air.
However, no matter how warm the caves became, it didn’t change the fact that they were dark.
Many beastmens’ homes were as dim during the day as they were at dusk, and at night, they became pitch black. Since moonlight was weak, and the animal hides blocked any remaining light, everything was completely dark.
Bai Tu, concerned about carbon monoxide poisoning, strictly forbade people from building open fires inside their caves. As a result, the problem of darkness had persisted throughout the entire winter.
People had gradually grown used to living in near-total darkness, never expecting that there was actually another solution.
At first, the main reason people resisted installing glass windows was their concern for privacy. Although in summer, it was normal for everyone to bathe together in the river, the idea of being visible from outside while doing anything inside made many feel uncomfortable.
Now, they realized they had worried for nothing. The windows did allow visibility into the room during the day, but at night, simply covering them with animal hides completely blocked any view from the outside.
However, with so many people now requesting glass installations, the glass-making team didn’t have enough supply to meet the demand. Large glass panels were even harder to produce, so they could only install them in order of registration.
Tu Miao explained the concept of pre-orders to the beastmen and promised that once new glass panels were made, they would install them immediately. However, the installation fee would depend on the order in which people signed up.
“If I had known, I would’ve signed up earlier,” one beastman muttered regretfully.
Most of them hadn’t realized glass could be used this way. Although Bai Tu had mentioned using glass for windows, none of them had taken it seriously at the time. Only now did they understand what they had missed out on.
If they had pre-ordered before coming to see the installation, their windows might already be done by now. Instead, they now had to wait in line, and word was that there were already twenty to thirty people ahead of them.
Seeing how satisfied everyone was with the glass, Bai Tu began considering whether it could be sold at the marketplace.
Last time, the ceramic cookware they brought to trade had been extremely popular.
Compared to traditional stone pots, ceramics were much more convenient—not only did they heat up faster, but they were also far lighter. A beastman carrying two or three stone pots would quickly become exhausted, whereas they could easily carry ten ceramic pots without issue.
However, glass was even more complex to make than ceramics, requiring higher temperatures and a more intricate production process. If they were to sell it, the price would definitely be higher than that of ceramics. The problem was, Bai Tu wasn’t sure if beastmen from other tribes would find glass appealing.
After hesitating for a moment, he decided to put off selling glass windows for now. At present, light transmission was the only real benefit of glass.
In food-centric beastmen tribes, exchanging food for something that merely made a room brighter might make others mock them for being wasteful. Besides, even their own tribe hadn’t fully equipped their homes with glass yet.
Instead, Bai Tu sketched a few bottle designs and handed them to Tu Miao, asking her to make some glass bottles for storing medicines in the future.
While the tribe was busy producing and installing windows, Bai Qi walked in, his expression grim. He leaned close to Bai Tu and whispered, “Tu Cheng escaped.”
“Hm?” Bai Tu had almost forgotten about him. “How did he escape?”
Back when Tu Cheng was captured, he had been placed in a high-surveillance work team to prevent any contact with Hu Bu. His escape should have been nearly impossible.
Bai Qi sighed and explained, “He dug a tunnel from his work area to the outside. We only discovered it at noon today.”
Tu Cheng, like everyone else, was assigned to coal mining. To receive food, they had to meet a daily quota. No matter how much they disliked the work, they had no choice but to complete it, or they wouldn’t be given meals.
Tu Cheng’s daily output had always been lower than others’. Since rabbits were smaller than lions, the beastmen watching over him assumed he was simply too weak to meet the quota. He had also never been seen interacting with outsiders, so they didn’t consider him a threat.
It wasn’t until today, during the shift change, that they noticed someone was missing. When the two guards started searching, they discovered the tunnel Tu Cheng had secretly dug.
At first, the entire group was furious about his escape. But upon seeing the tunnel, they didn’t know whether to be angry or speechless.
If Tu Cheng had put this much effort into hunting, he could have easily become a squad leader by now. Instead, he was stuck doing low-rank labor without earning any merit points.
Mining was the most exhausting job in the entire tribe. The local beastmen who volunteered for it didn’t mind, since the hard labor came with some of the best benefits in the tribe.
However, for those like Tu Cheng—who were sent there as punishment—there were no special privileges. They didn’t even receive basic food rations unless they completed their daily tasks.
The beastman responsible for guarding Tu Cheng was also from the rabbit tribe. Seeing a former hunting companion reduced to this state was undeniably upsetting. He hadn’t expected that just because he let his guard down for a moment, Tu Cheng would find an opportunity to escape.
The tunnel Tu Cheng dug was incredibly long. The traces left behind showed that he had been digging little by little, covering the opening with coal after each session, and waiting for the right chance to continue. It had taken him over a month to finally complete the escape route.
The coal in that section of the mine had already been dug quite deep, and they were planning to move to a different area in a few days.
That was likely why Tu Cheng increased his digging speed in the past few days—he must have known he was running out of time. Finally, today, he made his escape.
After hearing the report, Bai Tu thought for a moment and said, “Tell the wolf and leopard patrols to keep an eye out. If they find him, bring him back. If they don’t, then just let it go.”
Tu Cheng’s crimes were not minor. He had originally tried to kill Bai Chen and Bai Tu, then later tricked Lang Ze into taking a dangerous risk. Even if he worked for a lifetime, it wouldn’t be enough to atone for everything he had done.
By all rights, they should track him down, but Bai Tu didn’t want anyone chasing after him in such cold weather. The chances of Tu Cheng surviving outside were already slim. Even if he did survive, he would simply end up as a laborer for decades—not worth risking anyone’s safety.
While orcs were strong, the snow-covered landscape made it impossible to see hidden dangers. The cleared paths were still somewhat safe, but the surrounding forest was deceptive—just like how pits filled with water appeared after the rainy season, now the snowy terrain hid deep ice pits beneath seemingly solid ground.
Even though the tribe had covered previously dug traps with wooden planks and marked the trees nearby, Bai Tu still didn’t consider it safe enough.
Going out just to search for Tu Cheng? Not worth it.
Hearing Bai Tu’s decision, Bai Qi didn’t stay long in the tribe. After grabbing a meal, he immediately set off again.
Letting a criminal escape was a serious mistake, and the beastmen in charge of guarding the mines and the rabbit beastmen supervising the prisoners were anxiously awaiting Bai Qi’s response.
They weren’t worried about losing merit points—those could always be earned back. What they feared most was Bai Tu getting angry and replacing them with new supervisors.
They considered organizing a search party, but they didn’t dare send too many people—if too many guards left, the remaining lions and exiled rabbits might take advantage of the situation and escape as well.
While they anxiously paced back and forth, Bai Qi arrived and simply said, “No need to search. You can rest.”
He didn’t wait for them to thank him before hurrying off to inform the leopard tribe.
Meanwhile, Bao Duo scratched his head and looked at Tu Cheng in confusion.
“What did you just say? Say it again.”
Tu Cheng, wrapped in tattered animal hides, looked serious as he made his proposal:
“Lord Hu Bu has connections with the leader of the Black Lion Tribe. If Bao Duo can contact the Black Lion Tribe, we can overthrow both the Snow Rabbit Tribe and the Blood Wolf Tribe. Bao Duo, your current territory is way too small. The wolves have so much land that they can’t even patrol all of it, yet they refuse to give you a larger piece.”
After hearing this, Bao Duo awkwardly scratched his chin and replied with a simple, honest tone:
“But… we already defeated the Black Lion Tribe.”
Their leopard warriors had been part of the battle, after all! Although they hadn’t done much fighting, they were still involved.
Since Tu Cheng was once from Bai Tu’s tribe, Bao Duo tried to be as gentle as possible in explaining the situation. To help Tu Cheng fully understand, he specifically emphasized how Mao Lin had toyed with Shi Wu in their fight.
Finally, Bao Duo patted Tu Cheng’s shoulder and said apologetically, “Sorry, but we’re not working with the Black Lion Tribe.”
“Why would we ally with a group we already defeated?”
Tu Cheng had been trapped in the coal mines the entire time, so he thought the worst thing that had happened was the Wild Lion Tribe getting captured by the wolves.
But now, he realized the situation was even worse—in just a month or two, the Black Lion Tribe had also been defeated.
Tu Cheng stood frozen, unable to process what he had just heard.
Bao Duo, seeing him motionless in the freezing cold, patted him again and said with his usual simple honesty, “It’s really cold outside. You should go back.”
Thank you for the chapter!