Chapter 17: Chapter 17: Gathering Stone at the Rocky Beach

“The grain of blackwood is really beautiful!” Chen Rong agreed, thinking he should find time to cut some trees, air-dry the wood, and make more furniture.

Changxia gave Chen Rong a thumbs-up and said happily, “Good taste.”

“You’re spoiling her. You’ll regret it later,” Nan Feng rolled her eyes and grumbled at Changxia. What’s wrong with ironwood?

Yadong and Shankun just laughed.

Nan Feng was the last person qualified to say that—she spoiled Changxia the most in the whole tribe. Even the shaman had talked to Nan Feng, asking her not to indulge Changxia so much.

Now, Chen Rong was joining in on the spoiling.

Luckily, Changxia was sensible. If she were the spoiled and willful type, the whole tribe would be in chaos every day.

Chen Rong just smiled and didn’t respond to Nan Feng’s comment.

“Changxia, are you going to dry the ginkgo nuts?” Chen Rong asked.

“Yes, I want to eat noodles and rice noodles soon. We need to dry the ginkgo nuts and grind them into flour so we can get started!” Changxia replied.

“Changxia, are noodles and rice noodles really that tasty?” Shankun was the most enthusiastic, asking excitedly.

Yadong lifted his animal skin, walked over, and patted his chest, saying loudly, “Leave drying the ginkgo nuts to me!”

Nan Feng didn’t say anything, just looked around. There was a lot of stuff piled up around the den, so it wasn’t easy to dry the ginkgo nuts. No wonder Chen Rong asked.

“Don’t worry. Once the ginkgo nuts are dried and ground into flour, I’ll figure out how to turn them into noodles or rice noodles,” Changxia said confidently. She was sure she’d succeed—after all, she’d suffered through years of drinking ginkgo porridge…

With fish and fried meat as a backup, Yadong and Shankun weren’t worried about Changxia failing.

If all else failed, they could just drink ginkgo porridge.

Every rainy and cold season, the tribe would stockpile a batch of ginkgo nuts. Ginkgo porridge had accompanied the beastfolk from childhood to old age.

After breakfast, Yadong and Shankun didn’t need Changxia’s help.

They poured the ginkgo nuts stored outside the den onto the ground, spread them out to dry, and tidied up the stones and weeds nearby.

Meanwhile, Chen Rong took the animal drawings Changxia had made and discussed them with Nan Feng.

Changxia squatted down to sort through the things the clanspeople had brought.

The meat needed to be handled to prevent spoilage. Wild vegetables, roots, and fruits had to be sorted and stored separately—if piled together, they’d go bad quickly.

At this moment.

Chang Xia was extremely glad she had gone to the salt lake.

She wanted to make salted pork, but it was only the beginning of the warm season, and the temperature wasn’t high enough yet. At this time of year, it was impossible to make salted pork, so she had to put the idea aside. If she wanted to enjoy that savory, salty meat, she’d have to wait for the hotter days of summer.

“Chen Rong, come over and help cut the meat into pieces and rub it with salt to marinate. We’ll fry it at noon,” Chang Xia called softly.

There was simply too much meat for her thin arms and legs to handle alone.

Even if she spent all morning cutting, she probably wouldn’t finish.

Glancing at the sun, she decisively called out for Chen Rong’s help.

Once the meat was cut, they’d start digging the kiln.

From what Nan Feng said, people from the tribe would be coming over. In the morning, the clansfolk had come just to thank Chang Xia. When they heard she was going to build a new animal den, no one from the tribe went out to forage today—they were all waiting to come watch after breakfast.

“Chang Xia, what are you going to use to hold the meat?” Nan Feng asked.

The tribe hadn’t sent over any pottery yet, and Chang Xia’s home only had a few pieces. Besides the clay pot used for stewing, one jar held fried meat, and another held crushed salt crystals. To prevent moisture, the salt crystals were currently wrapped in leaves and stored in a basket.

Chang Xia often lamented her poverty, and not without reason.

Her animal den was only a few dozen square meters—nowhere near enough to store all sorts of things.

Even if she wasn’t building a kiln, she’d still need to build a new den or a cellar. Usually, each family in the tribe had one den, sometimes connected to two or three others, especially if they had animal cubs or lived with elders. The dens were all linked together, looking like yurts from a distance.

Chang Xia rubbed her forehead, suddenly remembering she didn’t have enough pottery at home. She hesitated, “How about… we use the wooden bucket we made yesterday?”

“I tried the new wooden bucket—it doesn’t leak,” Chen Rong said.

Compared to their old life, Chen Rong clearly preferred things now. It was busy and full of chores, but also very fulfilling.

And, like Chang Xia, he enjoyed the little pleasures of stocking up supplies.

Hearing this, Chang Xia quickly made a decision.

“Bring the new wooden bucket over. We’ll use it to marinate the meat,” she said, then looked cautiously at Nan Feng and whispered, “Nan Feng, do you think the tribe will agree to trade pottery for the recipes for fish balls and fried meat?”

Once the fried meat was done, the wooden bucket obviously wouldn’t be suitable for storing it.

Pottery was clearly the best choice.

“Don’t worry, the pottery will be sent over soon,” Nan Feng nodded confidently. Just based on the delicious smells that wafted over the tribe last night, they’d definitely be willing to trade pottery for Chang Xia’s recipes.

If the tribe refused, even the elders in charge of pottery wouldn’t agree.

The fish balls suited everyone’s tastes, and the fish baskets had rekindled the elders’ hunting ambitions from their youth. Last night, Nan Feng even overheard some elders discussing how to improve the fish baskets—they wanted to catch the bigger fish in the White River...

“That’s good,” Chang Xia said, hugging the salt jar. She spread the salt evenly over the cut meat and placed it in the clean wooden bucket. After marinating for an hour or two, she’d render the fat and fry the meat.

Looking at the pile of meat in front of her, Chang Xia quickly glanced at Chen Rong.

“Chen Rong, we need a stone pot.”

“A stone pot? What do you need a stone pot for?”

Before Chen Rong could answer, Nan Feng asked curiously.

“Clay pots can’t withstand high heat for long. With this much meat to fry, a stone pot would be best,” Chang Xia explained. She only had two clay pots at home, and they worked well enough for now, but if one cracked from the heat, she’d be heartbroken.

Chen Rong hesitated, “Stone pots need to be carved from very hard stone. Are there any suitable big stones near the tribe?”

He had a general idea of the Misty Forest’s layout.

But he didn’t know the specifics.

After all, every tribe guarded their hunting grounds closely—no beastman would casually share that information with outsiders.

“Ya Dong, come here a moment…” Nan Feng thought for a bit, then got up and called Ya Dong, who was outside drying white nuts. “Ya Dong, do you know if there are any stones nearby suitable for making stone pots?”

Nan Feng knew where there were stones near the tribe.

But whether any were suitable for making stone pots, she wasn’t sure.

The Heluo tribe had two large stone pots, only used for major events.

“There’s a stony beach upstream on the White River, where the stones are hard and heat-resistant. All the tribe’s stone tools come from there,” Ya Dong replied, then asked, “Who wants to make a stone pot? I remember the tribe has clay pots—those are much lighter than heavy stone pots.”

“I want to use a stone pot to fry meat. Clay pots crack easily if used for too long. Look at all this meat—if I fry it all, even several clay pots wouldn’t be enough,” Chang Xia said helplessly.

Of course she knew clay pots were lighter and more convenient.

The problem was, they cracked easily under high heat.

Using them to fry meat would be a waste.

“Frying meat would crack the clay pots?”

At this, Nan Feng and the others’ expressions changed.

Last night, Gen and Mu Qin had taught everyone in the tribe how to make fish balls and fried meat. The whole tribe had been busy all night.

Seeing their faces change, Chang Xia quickly explained, “No, it’s not that frying meat will crack the clay pots. It’s that clay pots can’t withstand long periods over the fire—they’ll crack. For frying meat or stir-frying, it’s best to use a heat-resistant stone pot or an iron pot…”

Iron pots were still a distant dream.

Chang Xia hadn’t seen anyone in the tribe use iron tools yet.

But a stone pot was at least possible.

After all, if ironwood could grow in the Misty Forest, surely the stone pots here would be special too. As for iron tools, that was something for the future—no need to rush.

“Chang Xia, how many stone pots do you want?” Ya Dong nodded, understanding her point.

“Three,” Chang Xia thought for a moment, then said, “No, five. Ya Dong, could you help me collect enough stone from the stony beach for five pots? I’ll make you a pot of fried meat and give you a basket of fish balls as thanks. How about it?”

“Chang Xia, I can help you collect stone at the stony beach too,” Shan Kun chimed in.

Ya Dong kicked Shan Kun aside.

“Shan Kun, your wife Nuan Chun can make fried meat and fish balls too.”

Chen Rong opened his mouth, wanting to say he could also help collect stone at the stony beach. But when he met Nan Feng’s meaningful gaze, he fell silent.

He quietly shut his mouth.

*Cough, cough—*

He really wanted to explain that he wasn’t useless.

But no one was willing to listen. He could understand if it was just Chang Xia, but why did even the rest of the tribe lump him together with her?!

Before, he hadn’t wanted to treat his injuries—he just wanted to quietly wait for death.

But now, Shen Rong’s thoughts had changed. He needed to find a way to detoxify himself—he couldn’t really become a useless freeloader.

As he thought this, a sudden feeling of suffocation welled up in his chest.

A metallic, bloody taste surged up his throat. Shen Rong quickly lowered his head, covering his mouth and nose with his hand as he coughed softly. A faint trace of crimson seeped through his fingers.

Damn it—

Was the poison acting up?