The night passed without incident. At dawn, the north wind howled across the river, carrying snowflakes as large as paper scraps. The temperature plummeted, and a thin layer of ice had already formed on the water’s surface. The path ahead was obscured by the blizzard, so they stopped at a gentle section of the riverbank to eat before continuing.

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Their journey east to the sea had been smooth, aided by favorable winds and currents. With Mingya rowing all night, they had already left the Leopard Tribe’s usual territory. Even if someone pursued them, the blizzard would make tracking nearly impossible.

Lei Jin carried the bamboo basket ashore while Mingya tied the raft to a large rock and followed. Lan Qi had been scarcely visible all night, but Lei Jin could sense his presence nearby. Sure enough, as soon as the two stepped onto the bank, Lan Qi emerged from the water—completely dry.

To avoid leaving traces, Lei Jin decided against lighting a fire. He pulled the basket forward, searching for the dried meat stored at the bottom. His fingers accidentally brushed against a leaf-wrapped bundle in the middle. The cold had made the outer layer brittle, and a few upeeled snow-white rock fruits tumbled out from the cracks.

Mingya craned his neck curiously. “So that’s where Second Brother hid the rest of the rock fruits.”

Lei Jin’s fingers trembled imperceptibly. He lowered his head and continued digging out the dried meat.

After saying this, Mingya suddenly felt something was off. If Second Brother had hidden the rock fruits in the basket, did that mean he knew Lei Jin was leaving? But if he knew, why hadn’t he stopped him? Scratching his head, Mingya realized he didn’t understand Second Brother’s thoughts at all.

Lei Jin handed Mingya a handful of dried meat. “Eat up.” He kept some for himself and passed the rest to Lan Qi.

Lan Qi shot him a sidelong glance before taking it. Talk about preferential treatment. But he had no right to complain—their relationship was what it was. Still, he couldn’t fathom this werebeast’s mindset. According to Berg, Lei Jin intended to leave for good, yet this werebeast insisted on escorting him. Did he not care at all? If it were Berg trying to run away, Lan Qi would chain him up without hesitation.

Mingya had just taken a bite when tears welled up in his eyes. He stuck out his tongue, fanning his mouth. “So spicy! So spicy!”

Lei Jin quickly scooped up a handful of clean snow from a nearby rock and fed it to him. Amused by Mingya’s flailing, he smirked. “Is it really that spicy?” He had added a generous amount of chili oil to keep warm in the wild, but he thought it tasted fine—at most, it just left his mouth pleasantly warm.

“It really is! Look at Mingya’s tongue!” Whimpering, Mingya stuck out his bright red tongue as irrefutable evidence.

Lei Jin skeptically tossed another piece into his mouth. Okay, maybe it was a bit spicy. But all the meat he’d prepared was like this—he hadn’t expected Mingya to follow and hadn’t had time to make alternatives.

“Then… can you blow on it for Mingya?” Mingya clutched the hem of his clothes nervously, his voice tentative.

Lei Jin’s smile vanished instantly. His expression darkened as he pinched Mingya’s chin. “Open your mouth.” He leaned in and blew a couple of perfunctory puffs. “Better?”

“En!” Mingya suppressed a grin, looking as smug as a cat that had just stolen cream.

Yeah, right. As if his breath had magical healing powers. And yet Mingya kept eating despite the spice.

Just as Mingya was about to take another bite, Lei Jin stopped him. He pulled out a bamboo tube, filled it with snow water, and soaked the meat in it. Since it was already cold, a little more wouldn’t hurt. Handing it to Mingya, he said, “Eat this for now. Next time we stop, I’ll find something more suitable for you.”

“Okay!” Mingya nodded vigorously.

Lan Qi rolled his eyes discreetly. Weren’t they supposed to be cutting ties forever? Why are they still so clingy? Distracted, he shoved a few pieces of meat into his mouth—and immediately regretted it. His tongue burned, and his first instinct was to spit it out. But under the duo’s watchful eyes, he forced himself to swallow the whole thing without chewing. His throat burned, and his tongue went numb. He swore inwardly: Never again.

At least Berg couldn’t cook. That meant Lan Qi wouldn’t be poisoned to death—unlike this poor werebeast, who actually enjoyed this torture. Lan Qi consoled himself, forgetting that merfolk cuisine mainly consisted of bland seaweed and shellfish. Of course, he couldn’t handle such spice, let alone the excessive amount of chili Lei Jin had used.

Regardless, Lan Qi steadfastly adhered to his principle: Not another bite of Lei Jin’s cooking. Unbeknownst to him, Lei Jin misinterpreted his refusal as shyness, completely unaware that his culinary skills were being utterly despised.

Meanwhile, Mingya had fished out the soaked meat and eaten his fill.

To distract himself, Lan Qi asked Mingya, “You should’ve been drugged last night too. How’d you wake up so fast?” Though he hadn’t known Lei Jin long, the man’s meticulous preparations showed he was thorough. If he’d drugged everyone, he wouldn’t have missed Mingya.

Mingya wanted to ask, what drug? But remembering that this man was responsible for the baby’s death, he bit his lip and glared silently.

Lei Jin was also curious. Mingya had been the first to collapse, yet he’d woken up so quickly. But this question was better directed at the drug’s provider. “What kind of useless drug did you give me?”

Lan Qi smirked meaningfully. “Oh, it worked. Otherwise, why haven’t those two caught up? This drug was originally meant for Berg. Harmless to the body—the less you eat, the longer you sleep. The more you eat, the more awake you become. But I’ve never seen anyone wake up as fast as him.” He pointed at Mingya, who pretended not to listen but was clearly eavesdropping.

So that explained why Moya, who’d eaten the least, was still asleep, while Xiya, who’d eaten more, had managed to grab Lei Jin’s hem. What kind of ridiculous drug is this? Judging by Lan Qi’s lewd grin, it was definitely something shady. No wonder Berg wanted to flee to the ends of the earth. If Lei Jin were Berg, he’d castrate Lan Qi first and ask questions later.

The journey remained relatively uneventful, though the snowstorm grew heavier. Mingya suggested carrying Lei Jin and flying to speed things up, but the blizzard made it too dangerous even for werebeasts. The river valley, with its sparse trees, at least provided some shelter from the wind. Occasionally, they dug up rabbit burrows or bird nests for extra food. Without fire, Mingya had to eat the meat raw, while Lan Qi caught fish in the river—though he complained about the muddy taste, it was still better than Lei Jin’s chili-laced abominations.

Later, the merfolk would wonder what had happened to their king during his travels—his once-picky appetite had vanished, and he now ate whatever was served without complaint.

By noon on the fifth day, they reached the river’s mouth. The blizzard had ceased, and Lan Qi swam back into the sea. Exhausted from days of poor sleep and meals, Lei Jin and Mingya found a sheltered spot by the shore and collapsed into sleep.

Once Lei Jin was deeply asleep, Mingya carefully cradled his legs and pulled him into a tight embrace.

In his arms, Lei Jin’s eyelashes fluttered briefly before he settled back into slumber.

That afternoon, they dug up a few rabbit and field mouse nests in the snowfield, even catching a snake. But Lei Jin would rather starve than eat field mice, no matter how plump they were.

They prepared the rabbit and snake, salted them, and roasted them on the raft. A bamboo tube filled with water was also heated over the fire. That night, they enjoyed their first hot meal since leaving home. The leftovers were packed into the basket for the journey ahead. The charred raft was pushed into the sea, where it quickly disintegrated in the waves.

By the ninth day of the Moon Festival, the snow on the rooftops had melted, droplets pattering continuously from the eaves. Yet Lei Jin’s household had only been seen on the first day—Roger, An Sen, and An Lo made an appearance, but Xiya and Moya, who were supposed to light the festival bonfire, were absent. Even Lei Jin, who loved festivities, was nowhere to be seen. Had something happened to their family? Should Chunji go check? But he really didn’t want to face Roger, even though he knew his resentment toward the man was unreasonable—Roger had never wronged him.

“What’s got you so lost in thought?” A werebeast sweeping snow in the courtyard straightened up, eyeing Chunji’s distracted expression.

“Mind your own business.” Chunji scowled at the interruption.

“Fine, fine. Keep brooding.” He sighed and resumed sweeping.

A faint cry from inside the house made Chunji’s expression shift. He hurried in, where a small figure lay weakly on the bed, its cries barely audible. The child was clearly unwell.

“Baby, are you hungry? Here, some warm milk fruit juice.” Chunji lifted the child skillfully, offering a bowl warmed in hot water.

The baby only took a few sips before spitting it out, continuing to whimper softly.

“I thought he was getting better a few days ago. Why is he refusing to eat again?” The werebeast from outside entered, concerned.

“I don’t know. He’s been like this since the eve of the festival—almost ten days now.” Chunji wiped the baby’s mouth with a soft cloth.

“This isn’t sustainable. The child is already frail to begin with.” Though he didn’t understand why Chunji had brought someone else’s child home.

You c an fi nd t he la te st cha pte rs at ( th e bl mu se . c o m )

“I know. I’ve tried everything, but nothing helps. If this continues…” But he bore some responsibility for the child’s condition. If only he’d noticed the baby’s existence sooner.

The black-haired baby’s face was flushed from crying, his breath uneven.

“Hush, little one. What’s wrong? Are you in pain? Or… do you miss your papa?”

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Time flew by in the hustle and bustle. As expected, Lei Jin received confirmation from Berg—Lan Qi had agreed to help. Whatever his reasons—whether guilt or gratitude—it was a good start to Lei Jin’s journey home. Over the next six to seven days, Lei Jin busied himself with preparations. The journey ahead would be treacherous, and without Xiya and the others to rely on, anything could happen. For the sake of his own survival, no amount of preparation was excessive—though time was still tight.

You c an fi nd t he la te st cha pte rs at ( th e bl mu se . c o m )

“Is there anything else you need?” Roger helped Lei Jin take stock of the supplies.

“Almost done. Food, clothes, bow and arrows, torches, flint, salt—the basics are all ready. As for fresh water for the sea, I’ve already cut some bamboo tubes and left them on the mountain. I’ll fill them with river water before setting sail.” Lei Jin sorted through the large wicker basket. Most of the space was taken up by food—dried meat Roger had helped roast—both filling and easy to carry. The map and the black jade stones, the most crucial items, were already on his person.

Roger hummed in acknowledgment, then frowned at the sparse clothing. “Shouldn’t you bring more clothes? The sea will be freezing this time of year.” Lei Jin’s plan was thorough, his considerations meticulous. But sending him off alone still left Roger uneasy. This wasn’t the modern world—if something went wrong, there’d be no one to call for help. Lan Qi’s assistance would make the sea route safer, but Lei Jin still had to traverse the jungle alone. And once he reached the forbidden area, who knew what dangers awaited? The strange occurrences near that place remained unexplained to this day. Still, all Roger could do was to give him reminders—persuasion was no longer an option.

“No, this is enough.” The less he took from this world, the better. Someone who was leaving had no right to ask for more.

“When do you plan to leave?” The pine-resin lamp cast dim light, obscuring Lei Jin’s expression.

“The sooner, the better.” Procrastination wasn’t his style. If he was going, he’d go decisively.

“Alright. Get some rest early. The wind’s strong tonight—close the windows and doors properly.” Roger’s final reminder.

The cold was indeed intensifying. He wondered how the hunting party was faring in the jungle. But by the time they returned, he’d be long gone.

The next day, Lei Jin sought out Berg to finalize their departure plans.

Berg hadn’t expected Lei Jin to be ready so soon. Now, he had no choice but to confess—Lan Qi was still bedridden, unable to move. Xiya and Moya had beaten him severely. If not for An Bu’s intervention, it might have been fatal.

Lei Jin was surprised that Xiya and Moya had ganged up on Lan Qi. Not exactly honorable, but he wasn’t about to complain. In a fight, victory was all that mattered—methods were irrelevant. Besides, compared to the thought of Xiya and the others getting hurt, Lan Qi’s injuries meant nothing to him. Still, for Berg’s sake, he feigned appropriate concern.

Berg clarified—it wasn’t two against one. Moya had gone first, and before Lan Qi could recover, Xiya had followed up. He didn’t mention Mingya’s contribution—seeing Lan Qi barely alive, Mingya had angrily thrown in another punch before leaving.

Lei Jin nearly laughed. Those two were so childish. He was used to being the protector, the one relied upon. But in this world, he’d been the one constantly cared for. Once he left, this bond would truly be severed. The thought left a bitter ache in his chest. Berg, unaware of his thoughts, mistook his silence for disappointment over the delay and repeatedly apologized, promising they’d set sail within five days.

So, he’d have to wait. Without Lan Qi’s help, crossing the sea with primitive tools would be suicide. Though eager to leave, Lei Jin hadn’t lost his rationality—he didn’t plan to die on the way.

His deadline was the arrival of the Moon Festival—about ten days away. Plenty of time. After confirming the departure details with Berg, he returned home.

While waiting, Lei Jin kept busy. With Roger’s help, he finally succeeded in brewing soy sauce and vinegar. He also thoroughly cleaned both houses, hanging hides over the windows and doors for insulation. Earlier, while Lei Jin was ill, Xiya and the others had only tidied his bedroom—the rest had been left untouched before they left for the hunt.

No matter how reluctant, the day of departure arrived. Winter days dawned late. When Lei Jin pushed open the door, the grassland was still shrouded in gray, but the lingering snow provided enough light to see by. He hoisted the heavy basket onto his back and prepared to meet Lan Qi—only to freeze at the sudden commotion outside.

At this early hour, the entire tribe should’ve been asleep. Any noise was unmistakable. Despite all his planning, Lei Jin hadn’t anticipated the hunting party’s return on the very morning of his departure.

There was no leaving today. Calmly, he hid the wicker basket, hung his coat back in the wardrobe, and climbed into bed, feigning sleep. Just as he settled, footsteps approached outside.

“Lei Jin, look what Mingya brought you—”

“Shh… He’s still asleep.” Xiya cut off Mingya’s excited voice.

Lei Jin felt icy fingers brush his face, trailing downward.

“Let him sleep. He hasn’t had a full night’s rest in over two months.” Moya’s voice suggested he was the last to enter.

“It’s been over half a month, yet he hasn’t gained any weight. I wonder if he’s been eating and sleeping properly.”

Lei Jin had thought his act flawless. Turns out, they’d seen right through him—just hadn’t said anything. He heard Xiya add charcoal to the brazier, warming the room further. Then came the soft sound of the wardrobe opening—they must be changing clothes.

Lan Qi should’ve reached the river valley by now. Hopefully, Berg had noticed the situation and warned him in time. As for Roger—no worries there. He’d handle it.

Lei Jin lay still, lost in thought. But amidst their quiet movements, his exhausted nerves—long strained from sleepless nights—finally gave way. What began as pretense turned into genuine drowsiness.

Just before sleep took him, he felt the blanket shift. Someone climbed in carefully, pressing close against his back. Probably Mingya, Lei Jin thought vaguely—but before he could react further, darkness claimed him.

Wrapped in warmth, Lei Jin slept deeply. When he woke, Mingya was perched by the bed, unblinking eyes fixed on him.

“Do I have flowers on my face?” Lei Jin pushed away the large head hovering too close.

Before he could shove Mingya back, something cool slipped into his mouth.

“Is it good? Mingya picked these rock fruits!” The emphasis on “Mingya” and the eager, tail-wagging expression begged for praise.

The fruit was soft, smooth, lightly sweet—quite tasty. But Lei Jin, ever the tease, refused to say so. He watched Mingya’s hopeful expression crumble into disappointment, then near-tears.

“You… don’t like it?” This was Mingya’s first hunt as an adult—his gift to Lei Jin. But Lei Jin didn’t like it at all.

“Silly, it’s delicious.” Having tormented him enough, Lei Jin sat up halfway, pulling Mingya into a hug and ruffling his hair.

“Mmph—!” Mingya squirmed against Lei Jin’s chest.

What followed was a childish tussle—pushing, shoving, wrestling—until Mingya pinned Lei Jin beneath him.

“I yield!” Lei Jin surrendered the moment the tables turned.

“Mingya doesn’t want to get up.” Like this, Lei Jin looked irresistible—clothes disheveled, hair damp with sweat, their chests heaving against each other.

“What’ll make you move?” Lei Jin tugged his ear, amused. “Since when did you learn to bargain?”

“Then kiss Mingya?” Boldly, Mingya puckered his lips.

Lei Jin’s eye twitched—then he laughed, cupping Mingya’s head and planting a loud, smacking kiss.

On the forehead.

Mingya froze, stunned that Lei Jin had actually kissed him.

Seizing the chance, Lei Jin pushed him off. “Open the curtains. What time is it?”

This was the first time Lei Jin had kissed Mingya while awake. Mingya, dazed, touched his forehead with a goofy grin—until Lei Jin kicked him into action. He scrambled to draw the curtains.

Sunlight flooded the room—it was nearly noon.

Barefoot, Mingya fetched a bowl of thumb-sized, ruby-red fruits. Wiping his hands, he picked one and offered it to Lei Jin. “Mingya shelled these while you slept. Have more.”

Lei Jin sighed. Was he a child now? First Xiya and Moya, now even Mingya was hand feeding him.

“I’ll eat it myself.” He reached for the bowl.

Mingya pouted, stubbornly holding the fruit to Lei Jin’s lips—unaware of his own pitiful expression.

Defeated, Lei Jin accepted the offering.

Only then did Mingya beam.

Worried about him catching cold, Lei Jin pulled him onto the bed. Under the midday sun, they shared the fruits—though most ended up in Lei Jin’s stomach. Mingya, content just watching him eat, grinned endlessly.

“Too busy with snacking on fruits to eat lunch? It’s ready—come down.” Xiya lifted the door curtain, smiling.

During the meal, Roger asked, “Why’s the hunt ended so early this year?” In previous years, with scarce prey and the Moon Festival’s demands, the hunters usually took over a month.

“We stumbled upon a deer herd scattered by a snowstorm—most of our haul. Plus, with more snow coming soon, we hurried back.” An Sen answered.

Werebeasts, spending more time outdoors, sensed weather changes far better than females. So while Lei Jin and Roger saw only sunshine, the werebeasts knew a storm approached.

Roger shot Lei Jin a discreet glance.

Lei Jin showed no reaction—if anything, he seemed more at ease than days prior. Roger understood—Lei Jin had a plan. Relieved yet wistful, he marveled at Lei Jin’s resolve. Likely, nothing would be able to stop him.

Five days until the Moon Festival—the final deadline. Lei Jin finished his meal, draining the last of the broth.

As the tribe bustled with preparations, joy filled the air. The Moon Festival was sacred—a time to thank the gods for the year’s blessings and pray for abundance. Werebeasts hauled timber soaked in animal fat to build massive bonfires, while females butchered and cleaned game for the feast.

Amid the chaos, An Bu found time to update Lei Jin on land distribution and the experimental wheat planted last autumn, asking for further suggestions.

Lei Jin added a few thoughts.

An Bu promised to introduce him to the tribal elders during the festival. Lei Jin smiled noncommittally.

An Bu took it as agreement.

On the eve of the festival, as dusk painted the sky, Lei Jin stood by the door, the grassland wind fluttering his clothes. His shadow stretched long, then blurred.

“Lei Jin! Mingya’s back!” Mingya dashed over, looping an arm around Lei Jin’s.

“Why wait out here in the cold?” Xiya touched his cheek—icy. How long had he been standing there?

Moya studied Lei Jin deeply before ushering him inside.

“Something smells amazing! Papa said we’re eating separately in our room tonight—what did you make?” Mingya sniffed like an excited pup.

At the center of the room, a clay stove simmered a pot of fragrant broth.

“Beef? And bones—are we having beef soup?” Xiya washed his hands, stepping closer with a smile.

“No. Tonight, we’re having noodles.” Lei Jin’s tone was calm.

“What’s noodles?” Mingya moved to help as Lei Jin lifted a woven lid from another table.

Roger had mentioned that the tribe mostly boiled wheat whole or, at most, made flatbreads. Other methods were unknown.

“You’ll see.” Lei Jin waved him off.

The broth, simmered long enough, had turned creamy white. Tasting it, Lei Jin found the beef tender. He added the pre-cut noodles to the pot.

Once served, each bowl was topped with wood ear mushrooms, diced pickled greens, and scallions.

The four ate happily around the table, none noticing the weather’s turn outside.

After dinner.

“I’ll clean up. You go wash and sleep.” Xiya yawned, unusually drowsy. Had he overeaten? But Lei Jin had barely touched his food—claiming he’d snacked earlier.

“You go ahead. I’ll finish.” Lei Jin smiled, lips pale.

“You—” Xiya’s words dissolved into another yawn. He shook his head, fighting the heaviness.

“Sleep. Tomorrow’s the festival—you’ll need energy.” Lei Jin guided him to bed.

Xiya was out the moment he touched the sheets.

Moya, forehead resting on a hand, sat at the table. Lei Jin approached. “You too. Long day tomorrow.”

Moya rose unsteadily, carrying the already-asleep Mingya to the innermost bed. Without a word, he pulled Lei Jin into a bone-crushing embrace.

“Big guy like you, acting like Mingya now?” Lei Jin patted his back.

“You must… stay safe.” Moya’s whisper was barely audible.

Lei Jin stiffened—then forced a laugh. “What nonsense—” His words cut off as Moya slumped against him, finally succumbing.

Expression solemn, Lei Jin laid him down. Lan Qi’s drug worked well.

“I once asked if you’d come with me. You refused. I doubt you’d agree now. After I’m gone, visit the baby sometimes. Don’t frown—you know I hate seeing you sad.” Lei Jin smoothed the crease between Moya’s brows.

“Mingya’s grown up now. Be good, as always.” He tucked Mingya in properly.

From under Moya’s bed, Lei Jin retrieved the prepared basket.

“I’m leaving, Xiya. I’m sorry.” Of them all, Xiya weighed heaviest on his conscience. This person had stood by him through his darkest days, silent yet steadfast. The child he’d carried—though unspoken, he’d hoped, if it were Xiya’s, it might make amends. But the child was gone.

“You deserve someone better.”

“Goodbye.” A final kiss brushed Xiya’s lips.

Turning, Lei Jin found his sleeve clutched in Xiya’s grip. Xiya’s face twisted in struggle—fighting to wake.

Gritting his teeth, Lei Jin pried the fingers loose, and lifting the basket, he fled.

Roger waited outside.

“Safe journey.” There was nothing else to say.

Lei Jin nodded. “If I make it back… any messages?”

Roger sighed. “Twenty years have passed. I doubt anyone remembers me. That pocket watch I gave you when we first met—do you still have it?”

Lei Jin nodded. The watch, for some reason, had never worked.

“If you can, visit this place.” Roger provided an address.

Though it was unfamiliar, Lei Jin committed it to memory.

“To avoid An Sen and An Luo’s suspicion, I can’t escort you further. Lan Qi should be waiting at the river mouth.”

“Goodbye, Roger.”

As Lei Jin turned, the door burst open.

“Lei Jin—!” Mingya, sobbing, tackled him from behind.

“Mingya?” Lei Jin staggered in surprise. Wasn’t he the first to fall asleep?

“Where are you going? You’re leaving Mingya? Leaving Eldest Brother and Second Brother?”

“Mingya, let go.” Lei Jin tried to peel him off.

“No! If Mingya lets go, you’ll really leave!”

“Mingya, listen to father. Lei Jin has people waiting for him too. You can’t be selfish.” Roger’s heart ached for his son.

“But will they treat him better than we do?”

“That’s not how it works, Mingya.” Roger pulled him into a hug.

“Thank you, Roger.” Lei Jin watched Mingya’s tearful face but offered no comfort.

“Father… will Lei Jin be happier there?”

“Maybe.” Some things weren’t missed until lost. By then, it was too late.

Mingya wiped his tears. “Father, Mingya will see him off. The road’s dangerous—Mingya will protect him.”

In that moment, Roger saw his youngest son—no longer a child, but an adult. One who’d learned to protect what he loved, even at the cost of his own heartbreak.

“Go. I’ll wait for your return.” Roger said.

At the river mouth, Lan Qi and Berg stood in silence. Lan Qi smiled bitterly—he and Berg had come to this. Since that night, Berg barely spoke to him, threatening to take Bubbles and die if pressured further. No matter his dominance, Lan Qi wouldn’t risk their lives.

Spotting figures approaching, Berg hurried forward—only to freeze at the sight of Mingya trailing Lei Jin.

“What’s this?” Berg pulled Lei Jin aside.

“Don’t ask. We’re leaving. Thank you, Berg.” To avoid drawing attention, Berg would stay behind for now.

“After this… we’ll likely never meet again.” Berg’s eyes reddened.

“No matter what happens, remember—you have Bubbles.” A rare moment of Lei Jin offering guidance, wrapped in a light embrace.

Lan Qi and Mingya pushed the pre-made bamboo raft from the reeds. Lei Jin glanced southeast, toward the lone hill.

“Want to see it one last time?” Berg guessed his thoughts.

Lei Jin shook his head, stepping firmly onto the raft.

“It’s snowing, Lei Jin.” Mingya looked up.

Lei Jin had chosen tonight deliberately. Tomorrow’s festival would keep Xiya and the others occupied, unable to pursue. By morning, fresh snow would erase all traces of his passage.

You c an fi nd t he la te st cha pte rs at ( th e bl mu se . c o m )

“Lei Jin, put on more clothes.” Mingya poled the raft while Lan Qi swam ahead.

Sitting, Lei Jin opened the basket—then covered his face with a hand. The mask of indifference shattered. Inside, neatly folded, were the thick winter clothes that had been made for him this year.

Onshore, Berg watched the tiny raft vanish into the night.

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Before winter arrived, Roger’s small vegetable garden was cleared out. Lei Jin helped with the cleanup. With no fresh greens available during the winter, he pickled several jars of salted vegetables using fresh leaves and wild herbs. On a whim, he also added some fresh meat to the mix. By now, the pickled greens and meat were ready—perfect for pairing with porridge in the mornings. Of course, this was only for him and Roger. The werebeasts in the household couldn’t possibly fill their stomachs with just this; they still needed large chunks of meat.

You c an fi nd t he la te st cha pte rs at ( th e bl mu se . c o m )

Lei Jin’s appetite was quite good. The sweet potato and corn porridge Moya made was thick and hearty. With the pickled greens and meat as a side, Lei Jin devoured three large bowls and even reached for more before Moya stopped him.

“What? Now you’re even stingy about letting me eat?” Lei Jin set down his bowl and looked up, half-joking.

“Too much sweet potato isn’t good for you. You’ve eaten enough.” The main reason was that Moya knew Lei Jin’s usual appetite. Even at his hungriest, he’d never eaten more than two bowls, often complaining that the bowls here were too big and heavy to hold. Now, he’d downed three without batting an eye—something was definitely off.

“Here, have my meat soup if you’re still hungry.” Mingya, seeing Lei Jin’s unsatisfied look but agreeing with his second brother, pushed his half-finished bowl of meat soup toward Lei Jin.

“No, it’s fine. You eat it.” Lei Jin wiped his mouth and stood up, visibly irritated. Noticing everyone’s eyes on him, he forced a smile. “Don’t mind me. I’m full. I’ll take a walk to digest—I’ve been eating too much lately. I’m putting on weight.”

Putting on weight? Moya hadn’t noticed. Despite Lei Jin’s recent ravenous appetite, he hadn’t gained an ounce. That was what worried him most. With the upcoming hunting trip—a round trip that would take at least ten days to half a month, longer if they encountered a snowstorm—Lei Jin’s current state made it impossible to leave him behind with peace of mind. Yet, the harsh weather made taking him along unfeasible.

Moya’s gaze was heavy with concern as he watched Lei Jin.

“Put on more clothes before going out. It’s cold with the snow melting.” Xiya, sitting closest to the door, reached for Lei Jin’s wrist, but Lei Jin subtly pulled away.

“Sure, I’ll go change first.” This was another change in Lei Jin—he was now surprisingly agreeable. In the past, no matter how reasonable the suggestion, if he didn’t want to do it, he’d act as if he hadn’t even heard.

Before Lei Jin could step out, the hide curtain over the door was lifted from outside.

“Berg? Haven’t seen you in days. What brings you here so early? Here for breakfast?” Lei Jin greeted the newcomer arrival with a smile.

“You’re still eating? I must’ve come too early.” Berg looked slightly embarrassed. He’d already eaten and assumed the household would be done by now.

“Just joking. Since you moved out, you’ve become so distant.” Lei Jin patted his shoulder amiably. “Come in and sit. Don’t just stand there like a door god.”

Berg smiled bitterly inwardly. It’s not me who’s become distant—it’s you, isn’t it? The more indifferent you act, the more unsettled I feel.

If not for Bubbles’ high fever that night, he wouldn’t have risked returning. Though he’d been in the tribe for a while, he knew few people and had no choice but to come back for help. Yet, he’d run into Lan Qi, who’d been waiting there. What happened afterward was something none of them wanted, but Berg couldn’t shake the guilt of causing Lei Jin to lose his child. He felt he didn’t even deserve to ask for forgiveness. He’d planned never to show his face, but now that he was leaving, he wanted to see if there was anything he could do for Lei Jin—to make up for it, even just a little.

Bubbles, drowsy in Berg’s arms, perked up at Lei Jin’s voice. His bright eyes fixed on Lei Jin, and he stretched out his little arms, begging to be held.

Lei Jin acted as if he didn’t see. Instead, Roger, who’d also finished eating, wiped his hands and took the child. “It’s been so long since I held Bubbles. Do you still remember me?”

Bubbles clearly wasn’t interested. He twisted his neck stubbornly, still staring at Lei Jin by the door, and suddenly babbled a few meaningless syllables: “Fa… fa… da…”

Roger’s heart lurched, and he reflexively looked at Lei Jin.

Xiya and the others turned to stare as well.

Lei Jin, however, seemed unaffected. He smiled in confusion, meeting their gazes before rubbing his face. “I know I’m handsome, but no need to stare at me like that—it’s embarrassing this early in the morning.”

Roger pressed his lips together, but before he could speak, Lei Jin stretched lazily and rubbed his stomach. “Seriously, I ate too much. I really need to walk it off. Berg, make yourself at home. I’ll be back soon.”

With a final smile at the group, he sauntered out leisurely.

“Lei Jin…” Xiya and the others instinctively stood to follow.

Roger raised a hand to stop them. “Let him be.”

Berg was utterly lost. He hadn’t even said anything yet, but the atmosphere had turned heavy. What had just happened?

“It’s not because of you. Come sit, Berg.” In this world, parents were called “dad” and “papa,” not “father” or “mother.” So Berg didn’t realize how much those syllables sounded like “father”—a devastating blow to someone who’d just lost a child. No matter how strong Lei Jin pretended to be, how could his heart not ache?

The moment he stepped outside, Lei Jin broke into a run. The snow on the grassland was thick, and he stumbled through it, not stopping until he was exhausted. Leaning against a short tree, he vomited everything he’d eaten for breakfast. Even when nothing was left, the nausea persisted. He gagged, but only bile came up.

Lei Jin slumped against the tree, crouching low. The sun had risen, casting its light over the vast white landscape.

A nearby snow-covered hill reflected the sunlight so brightly it hurt his eyes. Before he knew it, he’d run here.

What right do I have to grieve? I was the one who chose to give up. From the moment he learned of the child’s existence, he’d wanted to abort it. Later, though he reluctantly agreed to keep it, it was only out of guilt toward Xiya and the others—a sense of obligation. Hadn’t he planned to abandon the child here all along? The child’s loss was no one’s fault but his own.

Why talk of resentment? He never wanted it in the first place. Now that it’s gone, he can leave without attachments. No ties left. Yes, he was not sad at all. Not one bit. He was a man—he was never meant to bear children. This child should never have existed. Its loss was the best outcome for everyone. Everything will return to where it belongs. Lei Jin repeated this to himself, but it did nothing to ease the crushing pain in his chest—the pain of losing a child he’d carried for nearly eight months but never got to see.

He’d been crouching so long that when he tried to stand, his legs and feet were numb. As soon as he moved, he collapsed into the snow. The cold flakes slipped under his collar, icy against his skin—but the chill felt good against the turmoil inside.

Moya had been waiting nearby. Seeing Lei Jin show no intention of getting up, he silently approached, hoisted him onto his back, and started walking without a word.

“Let go, Moya. Don’t touch me.” Lei Jin kicked and struggled, trying to break free.

“Stop fussing.” Moya patted Lei Jin’s squirming backside.

“Fuss your ass.” Lei Jin tightened his grip on Moya’s collar, as if trying to strangle him. But his face, hidden from view, was eerily calm.

Moya… Moya… Everything here is suffocating me. Every night, I dream of that child crying beside me, as if begging not to leave.

Xiya and Mingya caught up, draping a coat over Lei Jin. No one spoke as the four of them trudged through the snow, leaving deep footprints behind.

Back home, Xiya and Moya ignored Lei Jin’s protests, stripped him bare, and bundled him into thick blankets. Finding him still icy, they fetched hot water for a bath to warm him up.

“Lei Jin, your feet are freezing.” Mingya, ever the simpleton, cradled Lei Jin’s red, chilled feet adoringly—everything about Lei Jin was beautiful to him.

Lei Jin snorted, and Mingya snapped out of it. He opened his own clothes and pressed Lei Jin’s feet against his stomach, hugging them close. The sudden cold against his warm skin made him flinch, but remembering it was for Lei Jin, he puffed out his belly to maximize contact.

Lei Jin’s feet, numb from the cold, slowly regained feeling—a tingling itch. The skin under his feet wasn’t as firm as Xiya’s or Moya’s but soft and smooth, like a child’s. Youth really is an advantage.

“Lei Jin, are you warmer now?” Mingya smiled sweetly. As long as he could be with Lei Jin, he was happy to do anything.

“Mingya?”

“En?” Lei Jin rarely called his name so seriously. Mingya wasn’t used to it.

He was quite a bit of a masochist.

“It’s nothing. I’m warm now. You can let go.” Mingya, the first person I met in this world… No matter what, I hope you always keep that sweet smile.

Two days later, the tribe’s werebeasts set out for the hunt. Lei Jin and Roger went to see them off.

Before leaving, Lei Jin casually took the two black jade stones from Xiya and Mingya’s necks. To his surprise, Moya gave him a long, inscrutable look before pulling out a third stone from his pocket and handing it over. After they left, Lei Jin placed the three stones together—they formed a perfect circle, seamless and complete. Only now did he understand: this was the true whole.

Back home, Roger spread a hand-drawn map on the table. “This map follows the secret passage. Since the temple’s passage here can’t be opened, it won’t help much on the way. But once you reach the forbidden area, it should guide you to the Door of Reincarnation—the way back. Remember, no matter what, you must arrive before the year ends. Though unproven, the twenty-year gap between us can’t be a coincidence. If you miss it, you’ll have to wait another twenty years.”

Lei Jin nodded solemnly.

“But how will you get there? The heavy snow makes the jungle treacherous. You can’t possibly cross it alone and reach the forbidden area safely. And Xiya and the others will track you down quickly.” After all, the werebeasts’ keen sense of smell wouldn’t be fooled.

“I know. I plan to cross the grassland eastward and go by sea.” Lei Jin had already devised a plan.

“By sea?” Roger frowned. “There are no ships here. How do you intend to cross?”

“Berg will help.” He’d chosen the sea route for two reasons: first, with Lan Qi’s assistance, it was relatively safer; second, seawater would mask his scent, making it harder for Xiya and the others to track him. If he was leaving, he’d make it final—no chance of being found.

After the bath that day, Berg had come to his room, and they’d talked privately for a long time. Berg had finally decided to return to his underwater tribe with Bubbles. Though Lei Jin didn’t know what had transpired between Berg and Lan Qi, it no longer mattered. Berg had offered to make amends, but with the child gone, “amends” meant nothing to Lei Jin. He was leaving—none of this would concern him anymore. When he mentioned his plan, Berg hesitated but ultimately agreed under Lei Jin’s unwavering gaze.

“When do you plan to leave?” Roger didn’t press further. He knew Lei Jin wouldn’t bring it up unless he was certain.

“I still need to prepare.” With everyone home, he couldn’t openly gather supplies. Though Lan Qi’s help would ease the journey, much of it still depended on him. To ensure success, he had to be fully ready.

“Let me know if there’s anything else I can do.” At this point, Roger knew persuasion was futile. The most he could offer was to help Lei Jin prepare as thoroughly as possible.

“You’ve already done more than enough. I won’t forget it.” From Roger’s perspective, it couldn’t have been an easy choice—between his own sons and a fellow outsider.

“No need to thank me. You’ve done what I couldn’t back then. Seeing you is like seeing my past self—except I lacked your decisiveness… and your ruthlessness.”

You c an fi nd t he la te st cha pte rs at ( th e bl mu se . c o m )

Ruthlessness? Maybe so, Lei Jin thought.

“I’ll see you off when you go.” Roger folded the map and handed it to Lei Jin.

“You’re the only one left.” Lei Jin tucked the map into his clothes—his key home.

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The first snow of this winter lasted unusually long—seven to eight days without stopping. The vast grasslands were buried under thick layers of snow. Elders in the tribe said they hadn’t seen such heavy snowfall in years. If this continued, the spring melt would surely bring floods.

Lei Jin’s tearing had been carefully treated, and he woke up that same night. Xiya and Moya hadn’t slept at all, and even Mingya, who had rushed back after hearing the news, stayed by his side. When he woke, Xiya helped him sit up and fed him some warm water.

You c an fi nd t he la te st cha pte rs at ( th e bl mu se . c o m )

Lei Jin’s face was still pale and exhausted from childbirth, but his eyes darted anxiously around the room. Moya knew what he was searching for, his heart aching unbearably. Softly, he said, “The baby left peacefully, without pain.”

Lei Jin stared blankly at Moya, not registering his words at all. His voice was hoarse as he asked urgently, “Where is the baby? Where’s my child?”

“Lei Jin, don’t be like this. We know you’re grieving, but the baby… the baby was already gone when he was born. Healer Qing Qiao said there was nothing we could do. If you’re sad, cry—don’t hold it in…” Xiya’s own eyes reddened as he spoke.

“Then where is he now? Let me see him.” Lei Jin’s tone was eerily calm, as if he had already accepted reality. The earlier agitation seemed like a fleeting illusion.

“I… I already sent him away,” Moya said, gripping Lei Jin’s icy hand tightly, as if afraid he might vanish too.

“I never even got to see him once. You could’ve at least let me see him once…” Lei Jin murmured, his voice barely audible, as if speaking only to himself. He had slept for so long—long enough for the sky to darken, long enough for his child to be gone.

Mingya, unable to bear it any longer, bolted from the room. He had held back his tears all night, but now they spilled over. His papa had said Lei Jin would be the one suffering most, that Mingya shouldn’t cry. But seeing Lei Jin like this—unable to shed a single tear—Mingya’s heart felt like it was being torn apart.

Even with his mouth covered, muffled sobs still reached the room.

For a moment, the silence was suffocating.

“Is it snowing outside? Why is it so quiet tonight?” Lei Jin asked softly, gazing toward the window.

“Yes. It started during the day—heavy snow. The ground is already covered,” Moya answered.

“Then… would he be cold?” Lei Jin knew that kind of cold all too well—the kind that seeped into your bones, leaving you alone in the dark.

Moya turned away, roughly wiping his face before facing Lei Jin again. “Try to sleep a little more. Dawn is still far off.”

“Right. I should sleep.” Lei Jin pulled free from Xiya’s embrace and lay down on his own, tugging the blanket tightly around himself. Tonight was bitterly cold, and no matter how much he wrapped up, his body refused to warm.

“We can have another child someday. Sleep now. Things will be better when you wake up,” Xiya said, forcing out words he didn’t even believe. He wiped his eyes and adjusted Lei Jin’s blanket.

“Moya?” Lei Jin suddenly called.

“En? What is it?” Moya leaned closer.

“Where did you put him?” The “him” needed no explanation.

“On that little hill where we used to watch the sunrise.”

“Okay. All of you, go to sleep. Take Mingya with you.” Lei Jin turned onto his side, facing the wall. Mingya was still crying outside, but Lei Jin’s own eyes remained dry and hollow.

“Let me stay with you,” Moya pleaded.

“No. Tonight, I want to be alone.” Lein Jin refused.

“Alright, then rest well.”

“And don’t dwell on it, okay?” Xiya added.

Lei Jin didn’t respond. The two left with the lamp, their hushed voices drifting back.

“Why did you tell him now? Healer Qing Qiao said his body is too weak after childbirth—he shouldn’t be upset!” Xiya’s tone was accusatory.

“Do you think he’d want to be comforted with lies? Even kind ones—he’d refuse them. Besides, he’s the baby’s bearer. Don’t you think he’d know if his child was gone?” If he hadn’t sensed it, why had his first waking look been so full of fear?

Xiya sighed and sat down. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped at you.” He knew Moya was right. But the pain in his chest was unbearable—he had to lash out at something.

“I understand.” Moya felt the same.

None of them noticed when Lei Jin left that night. It was only when Mingya, unable to sleep, went to check on him that they found the window open and Lei Jin gone.

They found him later on the hill where the baby had been laid to rest—unconscious, his nails caked with mud.

Moya bundled him up and flew back. Xiya scanned the snowy slope, but there was no trace of the child. No wild animals roamed the plains in winter—nothing could have taken the body. Yet where Moya had placed the baby, not a single mark remained. The absence was suspicious.

But Xiya’s unease was soon overshadowed by a greater fear—Lei Jin was ill.

For over half a month, Lei Jin drifted in and out of consciousness. Healer Qing Qiao said the childbirth had weakened him, and the exposure to the cold had worsened his condition. Medicine was given, but nothing helped. He slept endlessly, his body growing thinner by the day. Mingya cried daily, inconsolable.

Lei Jin, who had once been so distressed by Mingya’s tears, now showed no reaction at all.

Xiya and Moya tried to feed him, but he ate little.

Chunji returned and examined Lei Jin, hesitating before finally sighing. He left no medicine, only saying cryptically, “He’ll wake when he wants to wake.”

Just as hope was dwindling, Lei Jin opened his eyes on his own. Xiya found him that noon—dressed, sitting on the windowsill with his knees drawn up, watching the snow. The storm had long passed, but the drifts remained. The wind howled through the open window, yet Lei Jin seemed not to feel it.

It took several calls before Lei Jin noticed him. He climbed down, unsteady from days without proper food, but refused Xiya’s help. He walked to the table alone and ate his first full meal since losing the baby.

From then on, Lei Jin recovered steadily. His spirits lifted, and he never spoke of the child again—as if the baby had never existed. The family, in silent agreement, avoided the subject entirely.

Two days later, the tribe’s final winter hunt—delayed by the snow—was set to begin. As always, every able-bodied werebeast was required to participate, especially for this crucial pre-festival hunt. An Luo, An Sen, Xiya, and Moya would go, and Mingya couldn’t miss his first major hunt as an adult either.

Lei Jin’s days now followed a strict routine. He woke early, jogged across the plains, practiced his makeshift martial arts (more brawling than technique), after all the time had come.

After returning sweaty from his morning exercise, he would take a hot bath, wash his face and teeth and change into new clothes. By breakfast, he was fresh and energetic.

“Moya, what’s for breakfast today?” Lei Jin leaned into the kitchen, looking brighter than the snow outside.

“The sweet potato and corn porridge isn’t ready yet. Want some hot soy milk first?” Moya stood from the stove.

Lei Jin’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second before widening. “Nah, I’d rather wait for the porridge. Put extra sweet potatoes in mine—that way Xiya can’t steal them all.”

“Talking behind my back again?” Xiya stomped snow off his boots in the doorway.

Lei Jin sidestepped the hand reaching for him, clicking his tongue. “Eavesdropping is rude, you know. Some people have no manners.”

“Didn’t eavesdrop. Just overheard.” Xiya retracted his hand smoothly.

“Whatever. It’s freezing out here—I’m going inside.” Lei Jin waved dismissively, then grinned at Moya. “Don’t forget what I asked for!”

Once Lei Jin was gone, Xiya and Moya exchanged helpless looks.

You c an fi nd t he la te st cha pte rs at ( th e bl mu se . c o m )

This was the new Lei Jin—always just out of reach.

He smiled, joked, even teased.

But no one was allowed to touch him.

Not even those who had once been closest.

Now, an invisible barrier stood between them—thin as air, yet wider than the farthest distance.

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Early the next morning, as soon as the sun rose and the air warmed slightly, Lei Jin and Mingya set off.  

Since it wasn’t a big deal, and Xiya and Moya had other matters to attend to, Lei Jin didn’t ask them to see him off. Bundled up warmly, he was about to leave when Roger handed him a flat, round hot water flask—about the size of a biscuit tin—with a small wooden stopper. Surprisingly, it didn’t leak at all. Lei Jin thought to himself, I’m not that delicate, but not wanting to waste time arguing, he tucked it into his coat without protest.  

You c an fi nd t he la te st cha pte rs at ( th e bl mu se . c o m )

The two left the house heading east. Fallen leaves covered the recently swept bluestone paths of the village, rustling underfoot. The streets were quiet, with only a few children running around. Mingya, clearly instructed beforehand, was on high alert, nervously guarding Lei Jin to prevent anyone from bumping into him.  

Lei Jin found it amusing and wanted to ruffle his hair, but realized it wasn’t as easy as before—the little guy had grown taller.  

Mingya shifted into his beast form, and Lei Jin’s heart instinctively tightened. His steps slowed slightly. But truthfully, Mingya’s beast form was beautiful—the first time Lei Jin had seen it clearly in broad daylight. His snow-white fur shimmered silver under the late autumn sun, his body sleek and powerful, with wings as broad and majestic as Xiya’s and Moya’s. To make it easier for Lei Jin to climb on, he obediently crouched low.  

When Lei Jin hesitated, Mingya turned his head questioningly.  

“Let’s go.” Lei Jin quickly mounted and settled in.  

Mingya carefully wrapped his tail around Lei Jin’s waist, then happily bounded forward a few steps before spreading his wings and taking off. “Lei Jin, Mingya’s taking you flying!”  

Feeling Mingya’s excitement, Lei Jin spread his arms and took a deep breath of the crisp morning air, temporarily setting aside his reservations.  

The Leopard Tribe lived far from the sea and relied on sea salt. Salt pans were dug along the coast for evaporation. Lei Jin had long wanted to collect brine to make tofu, but with the beans not yet ripe and his injuries keeping him busy, the idea had slipped his mind until he saw the beans the other day.  

As for Lei Jin knowing how to make tofu—in the modern world, no one would believe it. Who’d associate the mob boss of the Qingyan Gang with tofu? But he hadn’t been born a mob boss. Before that, he’d had to make a living too.  

When Lei Jin was seven or eight, an elderly couple in their sixties had taken him in. They ran a small, unremarkable bean shop by the roadside, making tofu, soybean oil, soy sauce, and vinegar. It wasn’t a lucrative business, but their traditional methods ensured loyal customers and a comfortable life. Their children, however, wanted nothing to do with it, pursuing their own careers elsewhere.  

The couple had found Lei Jin on the streets and treated him like their own grandson, even sending him to school. For the first time, Lei Jin had stability. Though restless in class, he was bright enough to get by. After school, he helped at the bean shop, gradually picking up the trade. His grandfather had even promised to leave the shop to him. If not for later events, he might have become an ordinary tofu shop owner—maybe even with a family by now. But fate had other plans.  

After a few peaceful years, his grandparents died in a car accident on their way to buy beans. After the funeral, their children sold the shop, giving Lei Jin a small share. He understood—they owed him nothing. That night, he packed his things and left.  

He’d mentioned bits of this past to Liu Si once, who sighed and said, “That’s just fate.”  

But Lei Jin didn’t believe in fate. If he had, he’d have frozen or starved to death long ago—abandoned at five, kicked out at ten. Fate was just an excuse. The only thing worth believing in was himself, because no one stayed forever. He’d survived this long; he’d survive this too. Once he left, he’d forget everything here. He would.  

A cold gust snapped him back to the present.  

“Lei Jin, are you cold? If you are, lie down on Mingya.” Mingya, noticing his silence, sounded worried.  

“I’m fine. Keep flying.” Lei Jin adjusted his hat and buried his hands in Mingya’s thick, warm neck fur.  

The late autumn plains were a golden expanse, with only faint traces of green along the riverbanks. Most animals had migrated south, and smaller streams had dried up, leaving cracked beds. The blue coastline was now faintly visible. Checking the sun, Lei Jin estimated they’d been flying for over two hours. Thank goodness for werebeasts—on foot, the trip would’ve taken over a week.  

At the Leopard Tribe’s salt flats, Mingya landed behind a wind-sheltering rock.  

The flask in Lei Jin’s coat was still warm. He took a sip, then offered it to Mingya.  

“The wind here is brutal.” Lei Jin rubbed his hands and pulled out a prepared bag.  

The salt flats stretched white under the sun. Since they were here, they might as well take some salt back. The crystallized salt was coarse and damp. Mingya helped scoop it into the bag while Lei Jin dug out a few chunks of brine from the bottom.  

Thinking of the merfolk father and son at home, Lei Jin searched the nearby beach and found fresh shellfish.  

“Mingya, which kind do you think Bubbles would like?” Bending was difficult now, so Lei Jin nudged shells out of the sand with his foot while Mingya collected them.  

“Mingya?” When no answer came, Lei Jin turned to see Mingya tense, staring at a figure approaching in the distance.  

At first, Lei Jin didn’t recognize him. But up close, those navy blue eyes—identical to Bubbles’—told him the inevitable had arrived.  

“Long time no see. What a coincidence,” the man—now known to Lei Jin as Lan Qi—said.  

“Very coincidental,” Lei Jin replied dryly. As if I’d believe that. Lan Qi had likely learned Berg was in the Leopard Tribe but didn’t know exactly where. Since merfolk weren’t suited to land travel, he’d probably staked out the salt flats to ambush them.  

“You’re pregnant?” Lan Qi’s gaze swept over Lei Jin’s belly, then to Mingya. “Last time, it wasn’t this one, was it? Changed partners?”  

Lei Jin pushed Mingya behind him, expression darkening. “What business is it of yours who I’m with? Mingya, let’s go.”  

Lan Qi, caught off guard, quickly blocked their path. He’d thought Lei Jin, unlike other females, wouldn’t mind such jokes. Why the sudden hostility?  

“I was just joking.” Lan Qi tried to explain.

“Lei Jin doesn’t like you. Move.” Mingya bared his claws and lunged. Lan Qi stepped back—not out of fear, but because he needed their cooperation.  

Seizing the moment, Lei Jin climbed onto Mingya’s back. “Let’s go.” With the salt and shellfish already secured, they took off effortlessly.  

“Hey, wait!” Lan Qi chased a few steps, but merfolk were no match for werebeasts on land.  

“Lei Jin, who was that?” Mingya asked once airborne.  

“Berg’s man.” Lei Jin tugged Mingya’s ear.  

“So… Bubbles’ father?” Mingya found Lei Jin’s sudden attitude shift puzzling. Why not take him to see Bubbles?  

“Yeah.” But so what? Lei Jin had acted offended deliberately to catch Lan Qi off guard. Both encounters had involved Berg—even if Lan Qi didn’t react immediately, he’d soon connect the dots. By then, it’d be too late.  

“Hmph. Smart female.” Lan Qi’s smile vanished as he watched them disappear. “Think hiding Berg will stop me?”  

When Lei Jin and Mingya returned, Roger was grinding soybeans in the yard, a half-full bucket beside him. After a late breakfast, Mingya left for patrol training while Lei Jin and Roger continued their tofu-making in the kitchen.  

Berg was napping with Bubbles. Assuming Lan Qi wouldn’t arrive soon, Lei Jin saw no urgency in warning them yet.  

The ground soybeans were strained and boiled into pure, natural soy milk. Before removing it from the pot, Lei Jin and Roger each ladled a bowl to taste.  

“Not bad.” Lei Jin blew on his, shamelessly praising his own work. Whether it was the quality of the beans or his skills, this batch was better than any he’d had in the modern world—no beany aftertaste at all.  

“What are you two steaming up the kitchen for? It’s not even mealtime.” Su Rui, ignored after knocking, let himself in.  

“Try this. Lei Jin’s latest creation.” Roger handed him a bowl.  

Su Rui sipped, unaccustomed at first but soon appreciating the rich flavor.  

“It’s good. What’s it made from?”  

“Just ordinary beans.” Lei Jin pointed to the half-bag in the corner.  

“The beans no one wants? Lei Jin, you’re quite the capable female.” Su Rui smiled approvingly.  

Lei Jin wiped cold sweat, awkwardly accepting the compliment.  

Su Rui had come to deliver the remaining shoes, gloves, and hats, plus two pairs of thick knitted socks, all bundled in fur.  

As the soy milk cooled, Lei Jin started curdling the tofu, inviting Su Rui to stay for bean curd. The key step was adding the brine—too much or too little would ruin it, and it had to be stirred evenly.  

A small portion of the curds were set aside as soft tofu, while the rest was wrapped in gauze and pressed in a perforated wooden tub to firm up.  

Speaking of which, the gauze was quite special—woven from golden silk spiderwebs, dense with holes slightly larger than needle eyes. Though small (none exceeded half a meter) and hard to join, it was perfect for filtering.  

With few seasonings on hand, Lei Jin quickly made thin egg crepes, sliced them into shreds, and topped the silky bean curd with meat sauce and scallions.  

Su Rui loved it, praising it repeatedly. Berg, waking up, joined them. The four crowded into the warm kitchen, chatting happily over food.  

Life here is so leisurely, Lei Jin mused. Perhaps because departure neared, these moments felt more precious.  

As Su Rui left, Lei Jin gave him a jar of bean curd and two blocks of tofu, explaining how to prepare them.  

That night, while others were distracted, Lei Jin pulled Berg aside and told him about Lan Qi.  

“Don’t panic. Is there anywhere you can hide?” Though Lei Jin knew evasion wasn’t a long-term solution, Berg’s terrified expression made persuasion futile.  

“There’s nowhere left. He’ll catch me soon. Can I ever escape him?” Berg collapsed onto the bed, clutching his hair in despair. The thought of returning to that forced submission made death seem preferable.  

“You have Bubbles. What are you thinking?” Lei Jin recognized that look—he’d seen it often in those pushed to the brink.  

“Right… Bubbles. I can’t die.” Berg jerked up, yanking the sleeping Bubbles from his tub and squeezing him tightly.  

The child wailed in pain.  

“Berg, calm down. Lan Qi isn’t here yet. Look at yourself—you’re hurting Bubbles!” Lei Jin took the sobbing child, gently patting his back.  

“Lei Jin, what should I do? I can’t go back to him. What do I do?”  

“I don’t have a perfect solution yet.” The village was too small to hide someone easily. If Lan Qi didn’t know Berg was here, they might’ve managed. But with him actively hunting, it was tricky. Given Berg’s father was a tribal leader yet couldn’t protect him, Lan Qi’s background was clearly formidable. Killing him secretly would spark a tribal war—and he was Bubbles’ father.  

Escaping wasn’t feasible either—the wilderness was harsh, especially with winter coming.  

“At Lan Qi’s speed, without help, he’ll take days to reach us. We’ll think of something by then.” Lei Jin sounded confident, but in truth he was out of ideas.  

Reassured, Berg gradually calmed.  

After more comforting, Lei Jin returned the sleeping Bubbles to his tub. As he closed the door, Berg sat slumped by the tub, lost in thought.  

Back in his room, the bath was ready. Xiya undressed Lei Jin, helped him in, then joined him.  

Thankfully, their tub was spacious. Lei Jin raised a brow but didn’t protest, leaning back with his arms resting on the rim as Xiya washed him.  

“Tired from today?” Xiya’s hands wandered, kisses trailing lower until Lei Jin’s breathing roughened.  

“Not bad.” Lei Jin’s face flushed, but he kept his eyes stubbornly shut.  

Xiya, undeterred, intensified his attentions, lifting Lei Jin to straddle his lap.  

“You…” Lei Jin’s eyes flew open as something pressed inside.  

“Can’t skip cleaning inside.” Xiya grinned, fingers moving teasingly. “Don’t look at me like that, or else I’ll think you want something else instead of fingers, that you’d prefer me to—”  

“Shut up.” Lei Jin’s voice wavered, but his body arched into the touch.  

“Fine, no talking. But no moving either.” Xiya’s own restraint was fraying. He captured Lei Jin’s lips, tongue delving deep as his fingers thrust faster, nails scraping sensitive walls.  

Lei Jin gripped Xiya’s shoulders, back bowing as he came with a sharp cry.  

Moya, rubbing his temples, entered to find them entangled. “Done? Don’t catch a chill.”  

“Almost. Take Lei Jin out. I’ll finish up.” Xiya sighed. They must’ve offended Healer Qing Qiao—preparing the birth canal without penetration was torture. At this rate, he’d go impotent.  

Moya wrapped Lei Jin in a soft blanket, dried him, and tucked him into bed.  

Lei Jin’s swollen limbs needed nightly massages to ease his sleep.  

“You’re back late. Where were you?” Lei Jin asked, noting his exhaustion.  

“Discussing your land proposal. Endless debates.” The stubborn elders had nearly deafened him.  

“Dinner?” Lei Jin fought drowsiness—warm baths, orgasms, and massages were irresistible.  

“Had some. The tofu was good.”  

“Glad you liked it.” Lei Jin’s eyelids drooped.  

“Sleep.” Moya turned him over, massaging his other leg.  

“One more thing.” Lei Jin forced himself awake, repeating the story of his encounter with Lan Qi.  

“Don’t worry. We’ve got it handled. Details tomorrow.” Xiya covered Lei Jin’s eyes. “Sleep.”  

Reassured, Lei Jin drifted off.  

Lan Qi arrived faster than expected—in five days. Though the tribe had been warned to deny Berg’s presence, they knew it wouldn’t fool Lan Qi for long.  

A month passed with Lan Qi settled in Chief An Bu’s home, mingling amiably while conspicuously not asking about Berg—which only heightened Lei Jin’s suspicion.  

“Must you look so unwelcoming every time I visit?” Lan Qi lounged against the courtyard gate, watching Lei Jin work.  

“You just noticed?” Lei Jin scoffed. Daily visits were excessive. Anyone would get tired of seeing the same ol’ face everyday, okay?

“Then tell me where Berg is.” Lan Qi’s patience snapped, his natural arrogance unveiled. He knew there was no use asking others. Berg’s whereabouts were definitely known to this family.

“How should I know where this Berg of yours is?” Lei Jin turned away disdainfully. As if this guy could scare him.

“Name your price. Just tell me where Berg is.” It had been a whole month, why was this Lei Jin so difficult.

“I want you to leave me alone.” Force didn’t work so trying out bribery now? Too bad Lei Jin didn’t buy either.

Lan Qi left, seething.  

Lei Jin, now over seven months pregnant, waited until he was gone before rubbing his sore back and sitting down.  

Berg was hiding in the old treehouse, refurbished for winter. But temperatures were dropping—fine for Berg, but risky for Bubbles. While Lei Jin distracted Lan Qi, Roger had gone to deliver supplies. With the tribe busy preparing the final winter hunt, prolonged vigilance was impossible. Evasion wasn’t ideal, but it was their only option.  

Roger returned, shaking off snow. “Bubbles has a fever.”  

“Maybe we should bring him back.” Lei Jin pondered. Lan Qi likely didn’t know about Bubbles—perhaps he could be hidden.  

Roger drank a sip of hot water and agreed. “The weather’s turning. First snow’s coming. I’ll fetch Bubbles tomorrow. Today he’s ill so Berg would want to stay by his side.”  

Lei Jin cracked the window open a bit. Leaden clouds loomed and it really did look like it would snow soon—the days were truly flying by, winter had arrived.  

“Is Bubbles’ fever serious?”  

“Currently, it seems to be mild. We prepared herbs—Berg gave him some so it should improve overnight.”  

“Good.” Lei Jin rubbed his belly. The baby had been unusually active lately—could it be a werebeast baby, coming so early? The thought of a tiny leopard inside him still unsettled him. Towards this child, Lei Jin didn’t want to form any bonds, after all this was an unplanned child.  

Before dawn, Moya stirred at a faint noise. Lei Jin, dark circles under his eyes, lay curled against him. These days, he barely slept, waking frequently in discomfort. Each pained grimace tore at Moya’s heart. He could only use frequent massages to try and alleviate the pain and discomfort.

Xiya, also roused, dressed quickly.  

Xiya gestured to the house, Moya nodded, and whispered, “He barely managed to fall asleep after tossing and turning all night. I think he can sleep for a while. Let’s go out and take a look.”

Just as the two stepped outside, they found Berg pinned to a tree by Lan Qi, choking as Bubbles wailed in his arms.  

“Moya, help!” Berg gasped.  

“Lan Qi, let go.” Moya’s headache spiked. He immediately knew who the troublemaker was without even having to look.

“So it’s you.” Lan Qi’s glare returned to Berg. “So this is the man you’re obsessed with? That means this bastard’s his?”  

“Don’t touch Bubbles!” Berg shielded the child.  

“I say, can you at least check your surroundings,” Xiya drawled.  

“More than one? Berg, you’re quite capable aren’t you—did you not tell them how you begged for more under me?”  

“Lan Qi, you asshole! Let me go!” Berg fought wildly, but he was holding and sick Bubbles and he was no match for Lan Qi.

“Are you so eager to throw yourself into their arms?” Lan Qi was already blinded by jealousy. For more than a month, he pretended to be unbothered and searched for Berg’s traces in the tribe during the day. At night, he would stay on guard near Lei Jin’s house, only to be faced with Berg’s rejection and fierce avoidance.

Xiya and Moya realized that they couldn’t reason with him now. In order to prevent Lan Qi from accidentally strangling Berg to death, they had no choice but to get him away first.

But at this moment, something unexpected happened. Bubbles, who had a severe fever, started crying and fussing loudly in Berg’s arms. Seeing the undisguised heartache on Berg’s face, Lan Qi became enraged and snatched Bubbles and hurled him. His original intention was to throw him to Xiya and Moya, but Xiya and Moya had just rushed over to take action, just missing Bubbles who fell towards the wall.  

“BUBBLES!” Berg screamed and with a burst of strength, he pushed aside Lan Qi and threw himself at Bubbles. But it was already too late, Bubbles was already a breath away from colliding against the wall.  

Lei Jin had actually been feigning sleep earlier, afraid Moya and the others would be worried. So the commotion outside did not escape his notice. But just when he stepped outside, he was faced with this scene, and without any time to think, he ran over just in time to catch the child—but the impact slammed him into the wall.  

Agony exploded in his abdomen. Lei Jin reflexively clutched at his stomach with his free hand, “My baby!”

“Lei Jin!” Everything was too sudden, no one had time to prevent it.

“Xiya, the baby—” Lei Jin, trembling, clutched at Xiya who was the closest to him.  

“Berg…” Lan Qi helped Berg up who had collapsed on the ground.  

“Lan Qi, I will never forgive you in this life. You killed your own son. Bubbles is your child, and you killed him with your own hands.” Berg knew that things were irreversible. How could he bear to watch his son being killed by the fall? Naturally, he didn’t know that Bubbles had been rescued.

“He is your son, Lan Qi.” A vicious smile appeared on Berg’s lips in vengeance. Without Bubbles, he had nothing to care about, but he wanted this man to live in regret forever.  

“What did you say?” Lan Qi’s eyes were filled with shock and disbelief.

Moya thrust the unconscious child into Berg’s arms and punched Lan Qi violently, his dark eyes icy with murder. “If anything happens to Lei Jin, no matter the cost, I’ll take your life.”  

Healer Qing Qiao, summoned urgently, diagnosed premature labor. “Boil water. Lots of it.”  But Lei Jin, half-conscious and curled in pain, refused his touch. He really couldn’t give a complete diagnosis.

Lei Jin felt as if the world had turned cold and dark, like the winter nights of his childhood when he wandered the streets. There was no one else but him and it was so cold.  

No, this pain was different, it was his unborn child. His stomach hurt so much, something kept squeezing towards the exit at the back. But he knew the child was not full-term yet, and if they came out like this, he would not be able to keep them. Lei Jin instinctively held his stomach to keep the baby inside, because this was his child. However, the pain in his lower half that was getting stronger and stronger made him realize that he could not keep the child any longer.

“Lei Jin, Lei Jin, don’t be scared, we’re here.” Moya didn’t know what to do now. He was sweating with nervousness. Seeing that Lei Jin seemed to be shivering from the cold, he hugged him tightly and kissed him on the lips over and over again to comfort him.

“Moya, the baby’s too early—” Lei Jin panted, the pain pulling him into consciousness.  

“It’s okay, it’s okay. Healer Qing Qiao said that babies born six months premature can survive. Our baby is more than seven months old, almost eight months old, so it will be okay to come out.” Xiya sat on the edge of the bed, holding Lei Jin’s hand. Fortunately, Lei Jin did not reject their approach.

Lei Jin bit his lip and couldn’t speak, he just stared at Xiya.

Xiya understood what he meant and asked Healer Qing Qiao to come and talk to him in person. After finally getting it confirmed, Lei Jin straightened his back and tried to relax his whole body.  

Healer Qing Qiao, seeing that Lei Jin was awake, prepared to come over and take off his pants, but Lei Jin was still resisting strongly, so Xiya and Moya had to do it together. Moya held Lei Jin and put his head on his lap, while Xiya lifted his legs and took off his pants, threw them and his cotton coat aside, and found a dry cotton tunic for him to change into.

“Spread his legs a little more.” Healer Qing Qiao still couldn’t see clearly.

“No…” Lei Jin felt embarrassed with his legs spread wide open in front of so many outsiders.

“It’s okay. Childbirth is like this. Healer Qing Qiao is helping the baby come out earlier.” Moya used a towel to wipe the cold sweat off his face.

“Next time it’ll be your turn to give birth.” Speaking so nonchalantly, it’s not you who is in pain now.

“Okay, okay…” Moya agreed hastily, not knowing what he had agreed to. He only knew that he had to agree to whatever Lei Jin said.

As his legs were spread, fluid gushed out.  

“The water has broken, check how many fingers dilated he is.” This time, Healer Qing Qiao wisely had Xiya perform the examination.  

Xiya reported a number, but Healer Qing Qiao shook his head. “Not enough. We still have to wait.”

“But Lei Jin is in so much pain…” Xiya was so frantic he didn’t know where to put his hands.  

Time passed minute by minute, Lei Jin’s pain intensifying with each wave, yet Healer Qing Qiao still insisted it wasn’t time.  

Dawn broke, and outside, the howling north wind battered against the window frames. Inside, the room was stifling hot, sweat pouring down everyone’s faces.  

Healer Qing Qiao had been a doctor for over thirty years, usually calm and composed. But perhaps Xiya and Moya’s panic had infected him, making him restless too. Roger was the only one who remained somewhat level-headed. “First births are always difficult. It’ll take a while yet.” He prepared hot porridge, urging everyone to eat a little.  

Lei Jin’s stomach churned with agony—he had no appetite. But Xiya and Moya coaxed him into eating a few bites. The baby’s arrival was unpredictable; he needed to conserve his strength.  

By noon, Lei Jin had passed out from the pain multiple times, yet the baby still hadn’t moved. But Healer Qing Qiao knew time was running out. The waters had broken, but the baby hadn’t descended into the birth canal. If this continued, both bearer and child would suffer.  

“Xiya, Moya, hold Lei Jin’s arms and legs so he doesn’t thrash.” Healer Qing Qiao rolled up his sleeves.  

“Lei Jin just fell asleep. Can’t we wait until he wakes up?” Xiya couldn’t bear it. After watching Lei Jin endure hours of torment, he finally had a moment of respite. Whatever Healer Qing Qiao planned next would only bring more suffering.  

Moya silently agreed.  

“Don’t be ridiculous. Listen to Healer Qing Qiao—the longer this drags on, the worse it’ll be for Lei Jin.” Roger chided them softly—typical first-time fathers.  

Healer Qing Qiao took a deep breath and turned to Roger. “You help too.”  

Understanding, Roger nodded. Together, the two pressed down on Lei Jin’s abdomen with all four hands, forcing the baby downward.  

“Stop… It hurts…” Lei Jin writhed violently. Afraid he’d hurt himself, Xiya and Moya pinned his limbs firmly.  

“Don’t struggle. Save your strength…” Healer Qing Qiao paused to wipe his sweat.  

“So tired… Let me sleep…” Lei Jin was nearly spent, his face deathly pale.  

“Don’t let him sleep. Keep talking to him.” Healer Qing Qiao resumed, pressing harder. The pain was unbearable—worse than any injury Lei Jin had suffered in his life.  

“Lei Jin, push! I can see the baby’s head! It’s a little female! Just a bit more, and they’ll be out!” Under their relentless pressure, Roger finally caught a glimpse of the child.  

“I… can’t…” Lei Jin was drenched, his only clothing soaked through despite the winter chill.  

“Still not enough. The baby won’t come like this. We need to prepare labor-inducing herbs—if this continues, he’ll have to drink it.” Healer Qing Qiao’s heart ached for Lei Jin, but this was the burden every papa had to endure.  

“I’ll go. Elder Brother, take over here.” Moya stroked Lei Jin’s sweat-damp hair, seeing the plea in his exhausted eyes. “I’ll be back soon. We’ll welcome our baby together.”

Healer Qing Qiao retrieved the herbs from his kit and handed them to Moya.  

“Hold on a little longer. The baby will be here soon, and then you can rest.” Xiya cradled Lei Jin’s head on his lap, gripping his hand tightly. “Don’t be scared, don’t be scared.”

“Seems like you’re the scared one.” Lei Jin’s voice was hoarse from straining. Xiya’s hands hadn’t stopped trembling.  

Xiya smiled bitterly. He’d noticed—but he couldn’t help it.  

The brief respite didn’t last. Healer Qing Qiao steeled himself and pressed down again.  

The agony shattered Lei Jin’s coherence. He could only moan their names—”Xiya… Moya…”—in a daze.  

Outside, snow was about to fall. Moya took several deep breaths to steady himself before lighting the small medicinal stove. He set the pot of water and herbs over the flame, fanning it with a piece of bark. The baby’s arrival should have been joyous, but an inexplicable dread gnawed at him. It’s just my imagination. Lei Jin and the baby will be fine. We’ll have many more years together.

Forcing himself to focus, Moya added another log to the fire. The cold was biting today—perfect for the mink fur they’d bought to keep the baby warm.  

When Moya emerged with the finished decoction, the first snow of winter had begun to fall. He quickened his steps, eager to tell Lei Jin—just last night, he’d asked when the snow would come.  

But as he reached the door, Xiya stepped out, eyes bloodshot, cradling a small bundle wrapped in black fur. He shook his head silently.  

Moya’s hands went slack. The medicine bowl shattered on the ground, dark liquid spreading like spilled ink.  

“A little black-haired female. Take a look—then I’ll carry them away.”  

According to tradition, a stillborn child could not be buried. They had to be sent off quickly, lest their spirit linger and shorten their papa’s lifespan. Whether true or not, they had no choice.  

“Let me… send him off.” Moya stretched out his arms. The baby’s face was still red and wrinkled, too underdeveloped to resemble anyone. So light—barely a weight in his arms.  

“Come back soon. Lei Jin fainted—he’s not doing well.” Xiya added, as he watched Moya’s retreating figure, but he was uncertain if he heard him or not.

You c an fi nd t he la te st cha pte rs at ( th e bl mu se . c o m )

“Little one… you never wanted to come, did you? We forced you. Your papa never even got to see you… and you never opened your eyes to this world.” Moya tucked the fur snugly around the tiny form, brushing a final touch over his cheek before draping the excess hide over his head. “This is where I often brought your papa to watch the sunrise. The first light always touches here—it’s warm. Rest well, little one. Your dad must return to your papa now. He always said he didn’t want you… but he could never truly harden his heart. He must be grieving now.”

The snow fell heavily, soon blanketing the black bundle. The moment Moya turned away, tears streamed down his face—but he didn’t look back.  

Their first child had come with winter’s first snow… and departed just as swiftly.

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Roger had initially been puzzled about why Healer Qing Qiao would so easily hand over the abortion prescription. After all, Healer Qing Qiao had once had three children in his lifetime—two died shortly after birth, and the third disappeared on the first hunt after coming-of-age trials and never returned. These tragedies, combined with his role as a healer, made him deeply protective of every child in the tribe. He couldn’t bear the thought of harming a child—though such incidents were rare to begin with.  

“That white tea flower isn’t an abortifacient at all. It’s a mild, nourishing herb that soothes both the baby and the bearer’s restless emotions. It also warms and regulates the body. Drinking it in moderation is beneficial for both bearer and child.”  

You c an fi nd t he la te st cha pte rs at ( th e bl mu se . c o m )

In other words, Qing Qiao had taken advantage of Xiya and the others’ inexperience to deceive them outright. Any experienced female in the tribe would have known better.  

Though Moya now knew the baby in Lei Jin’s belly was likely still alive, he felt little joy. From the moment Lei Jin drank that bowl of medicine, his heart had felt like it had been hollowed out, filled only with icy winds. Putting himself in Lei Jin’s shoes, he didn’t blame him—only hated himself.  

Xiya’s expression was equally joyless. He understood this was merely a matter of time. If not now, Lei Jin would demand it again later. Sooner or later, the baby’s fate would be sealed.  

“Uncle Roger, you’re all here? Have you collected your family’s share yet?” Ivey’s loud voice carried over as he supported Yaxi, who walked slowly beside him.  

“Why are you so late? Everything’s been distributed already,” Xiya said, tying up the bags of beans before looking up.  

“I already asked someone to collect ours. The weather’s nice today, so I brought Yaxi out for a walk. We ended up here.”  

“I think you did it on purpose—you just want everyone to know Yaxi’s pregnant and you’re going to be a father again,” Xiya teased, hefting the sealed bags. There was quite a lot—he wondered what Lei Jin planned to do with so many beans.  

“Of course I did it on purpose! What are you going to do about it? Jealous?” Ivey was a few years older than Xiya, but the two had been close friends for years. Back when tensions arose over Moya and Yaxi, they’d each taken sides and avoided each other for a long time. After reconciling, they grew even closer. So when Xiya teased him, Ivey fired back without hesitation.  

Yaxi, however, was more sensitive. He tugged at Ivey’s sleeve.  

“What’s wrong? Are you feeling uncomfortable?” Ivey didn’t pick up the hint.  

Yaxi anxiously shot him a meaningful glance, then subtly gestured toward his belly. Only then did Ivey belatedly recall the recent rumors. But the words were already out—he couldn’t openly apologize now. He awkwardly rubbed his nose and chuckled dryly.  

Lei Jin had already stepped away from the crowd when Ivey spoke. After all, the land reform idea was still in its early stages. The chief and tribal elders would need time to discuss it.  

A few people lingered near Lei Jin, eager for more details. If each family really got their own plot, they’d need to plan ahead.  

Lei Jin understood—once the land belonged to them, enthusiasm would naturally rise. Seeing this, An Bu grew more convinced of the proposal’s merit. Whether it was Lei Jin or Roger, they always brought fresh ideas that revitalized the tribe.  

It was just a pity about the past. He had disappointed Roger, causing the other to ignore him even now. It was fine though, as long as Roger and Moya were well, he couldn’t ask for more. Once Mura found his own werebeast mate, his promise would’ve been fulfilled.

Roger noticed An Bu’s gaze and frowned in disgust. How dare he play the lovelorn martyr after what he did?

When the crowd caught sight of Yaxi’s belly, they swarmed forward with congratulations—some tinged with envy.  

Ivey, spotting Lei Jin, gave him an awkward nod. Lei Jin didn’t understand the context, but everyone else did. Their expressions turned uneasy—not just toward Lei Jin, but Xiya and Moya as well. Pity? Sympathy? The undercurrents varied, but soon, excuses were made, and people hurried off.  

Yaxi came over to greet Roger. He’d once visited the family often and they’d gotten along well in the past.  

“Yaxi, how many months along are you? It’s starting to show,” Roger asked with a smile. Yaxi was gentle and meek—not that Roger disliked him, but he never knew how to interact without accidentally saying something hurtful. Lei Jin was easier—their conversations could be direct and unfiltered.  

“Almost four months.” Yaxi touched his slightly rounded belly, cheeks flushing shyly.  

Lei Jin wasn’t obtuse. He understood now—especially since he’d heard the rumors. It was like avoiding the word “cripple” in front of someone who couldn’t walk or “blind” before those who couldn’t see. The more people tiptoed around it, the more it emphasized their discomfort.  

The pressure Xiya and Moya faced in the tribe was palpable.  

“Let’s go. I’ve packed everything. Traded for plenty of beans, just like you wanted,” Xiya said casually to Lei Jin.  

Lei Jin was about to reply when he felt a faint movement in his belly. Startled, he pressed a hand to it.  

“Stomachache?”  

“I think… I felt it move.” But now there was nothing again.  

“Father said Healer Qing Qiao’s medicine wasn’t an abortifacient—it was to stabilize the pregnancy. The baby should still be fine.” Despite his reluctance, he said it anyway.  

Before Lei Jin could respond, trouble arrived. Jia Nuo pushed through the crowd, dragging a male werebeast by the arm. Brushing past Lei Jin, he eagerly took Yaxi’s hands.  

“Brother Yaxi, congratulations! You’re going to be a papa again. Good thing you chose Ivey back then—who knows where you’d be now? Unlike some people who’ll never have children. Who knows what the real reason is?”  

Jia Nuo had confronted Lei Jin before. Though Xiya hadn’t reacted at the time, he’d later given Jia Nuo a stern warning—no mercy shown. That made Jia Nuo realize any hope with Xiya was gone. Even his doting father had scolded him for stirring trouble. All of this caused resentment to fester. Seeing Lei Jin surrounded and admired today only fueled his bitterness. Now, spotting the pregnant Yaxi, an idea struck.  

Ivey’s face darkened as he pulled Yaxi’s hand back. Everyone knew Yaxi had once liked Moya—the tribe was small, after all. But that was in the past. Why bring it up now?  

Others caught the insinuation. Eyes flickered between Lei Jin and Xiya’s family. Whispers spread.  That’s right, they only heard that Lei Jin was infertile, but who knew what the real truth was. Maybe it was actually Xiya and his brothers’ problem.

Xiya smirked lazily and stepped slightly in front of Lei Jin. “Yeah, like how some people have pretty faces but keep doing disgusting things. I wonder why? Maybe because no one wants them.” Xiya didn’t want to quarrel with a female, so in the past he always made his warnings in private, but Jia Nuo seemed to have become more and more bold. 

Someone in the crowd snickered.  

Jia Nuo’s face flushed with rage.  

“Ivey, Yaxi—congratulations.” Moya took Lei Jin’s hand, expression calm.  

Yaxi blinked, then smiled. “Thank you, Moya.” This was the first time Moya had spoken to him in years. Only now did Yaxi truly feel like he had put down the past.  

Ivey nodded in acknowledgment.  

Seeing his plan backfire, Jia Nuo forced a stiff smile and turned to Lei Jin. “Lei Jin, you’ve gained weight. Could you be pregnant too?”  

The crowd tensed. First, Jia Nuo spread rumors about Lei Jin’s infertility, then implied it was the brothers’ fault. Now he was stomping on their sore spots. It was downright cruel.  

Lei Jin saw the glint of triumph in Jia Nuo’s eyes and rage suddenly filled him.  

“Ignore him,” Moya said.  

“Yeah, forget him,” Xiya scoffed.  

“Mingya doesn’t like him. He’s too annoying.”  

Hearing their attempts to comfort him, Lei Jin’s eyes stung. He smiled faintly, released Moya’s hand, and stepped forward. He gave Jia Nuo a once-over with a sweep of his eyes.

“Sorry, but I’ve always preferred keeping a low profile. I hate flaunting trivial matters. But since you asked—yes, I am. Almost six months along.”  

Never had Lei Jin been so grateful for the life inside him. I’m still here, and you dare bully my people? Whether he stayed or left, he’d protect them while he could.  

His tone was downright arrogant.  

“I don’t believe it! I heard Moya and Qi Luo say—”  

“Since when do I need your belief to have a baby? Who are you to me? Or is there some tribal rule that says if Jia Nuo doesn’t believe it, I can’t be pregnant? Xiya?” Lei Jin’s talent for provocation was well-honed.  

Xiya, named, stifled a grin and coughed solemnly. “I’ve never heard of such a rule. Maybe it’s new. Anyone else know about this?” He scanned the crowd.  

People shook their heads, barely containing their laughter.  

“They’ve never heard of it, Lei Jin.”  

Lei Jin had to admit—when it came to messing with people, he and Xiya were a perfect match.  

Jia Nuo was speechless with fury. He lunged forward, but the werebeast beside him quickly dragged him away. With those three around, he stood no chance.  

Lei Jin knew engaging with Jia Nuo was beneath him, but if it bought peace, it was worth it. Brats needed setbacks to grow.  

Once the crowd dispersed, Moya approached, hesitant. “Lei Jin, are you…?” He didn’t dare hope—what if this was just a momentary impulse?  

Lei Jin nodded faintly. “En.”  

If this child was unavoidable, if it meant Xiya and the others could live happier lives—then perhaps it was the only repayment he could offer for their unrequited love.  

The gloomy atmosphere at home lifted instantly. Xiya and Moya’s joy was unmistakable—their steps lighter, their faces brighter.  

“Are you really sure?” Roger helped Lei Jin soak a large bag of beans in a wooden basin.  

“En.”  

“Then rest more. Why keep running around like this?” Since that day, Lei Jin had been frantic, refusing to let himself idle.  

“I’ve been taking the medicine.” The pregnancy-stabilizing herbs from Healer Qing Qiao.  

“What are you planning now?” Earlier, Lei Jin had commissioned someone to grind wheat, corn, and rice flour. Now he was soaking beans.  

“Trying to make tofu and bean curd. When the baby’s born, there’ll be soy milk too. Homemade soy milk has a lot of residue—you’ll need to filter it multiple times.” Lei Jin’s tone was casual as he added more water to the basin. No one knew how much his chest ached. This was his first child—perhaps his only one.  

In this world, a year had eighteen months of twenty days each, divided into four distinct seasons, plus a forty-five-day sacrificial month at year’s end—totaling three hundred sixty-five days. But the plains tribes preferred simply distinguishing between dry and rainy seasons. Winter was approaching. Even if the baby was a female, it would be born before the sacrificial month.  

Roger had said that during the sacrificial month, the tribe held a grand ceremony. That would be the best time to leave.  

“Don’t worry. Even if those three find new partners someday, they’ll still cherish this child. And so will I. I’d never mistreat them.”  

“En. That’s a relief.” Lei Jin racked his brain for anything else he could leave behind to ensure the baby’s future happiness. But the more he thought, the more he realized how little he truly had to offer.  

In the end, he’d made the same choice as that woman—coldly, cruelly abandoning his own child. What right did he have to condemn her? They were the same. No difference at all.  

You c an fi nd t he la te st cha pte rs at ( th e bl mu se . c o m )

At dinner, Lei Jin mentioned wanting to visit the seaside salt flats to collect brine for making tofu. Mingya eagerly volunteered to fly him there.  

Berg’s eyes lit up at the mention of the sea.  

It was just that Lei Jin never expected to run into an old acquaintance there—though they’d only met once, it still counted, right?

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