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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