Chapter 180: A Promise

The huge tiger-cat lay on the ground looking no different from a kitten—except for how he was tightly shielding his lower belly with that big fluffy tail.

Jian Mo had him splay his limbs and clambered over him, carefully listening to the sounds from every spot.

Seeing Jian Mo’s brows knit, the tiger-cat let out a frightened little “meow” and asked cautiously, “Doctor Jian Mo… how is it?”

Jian Mo put away the stethoscope. “Your symptoms do match oily tinea. I’ll put some medicine on you.”

The tiger-cat immediately tucked in his claws and rolled to his feet. “That’s great!”

Jian Mo reminded him, “It may sting a little.”

Light on his feet, the tiger-cat trotted at Jian Mo’s side. “I’m not afraid of pain—I’m only afraid my fur will never grow back!”

Jian Mo smiled. “I’ll go get the medicine.”

He’d kept Dan Guan in mind and had specifically asked Xing Jiu for black knife-grass and white clay—the remedy for oily tinea—before coming back. He rummaged through the back baskets, found the two ingredients, weighed them out carefully, and prepared to grind them into powder.

The Starstore Tribe had a small balance like a scale, very accurate. Jian Mo had brought one back with him.

Dan Guan changed to human form. Watching Jian Mo use the delicate little scale, his eyes shone with expectation.

“Hold on,” Jian Mo said. “I need to pound them fine in the mortar, then mix with boiled-cooled water.”

“Anything special to watch for while pounding?” Dan Guan asked. “If not, let me do it. I’m strong—I won’t get tired.”

“Nothing special—just make it fine,” Jian Mo said. “You take it. I’ll fetch some cotton cloth.”

Dan Guan was positively zealous grinding medicine for himself. He pounded the herb and clay, then ran them once through a small sieve.

Seeing how meticulous he was, Jian Mo checked the powder, then carefully mixed it with cooled boiled water and spread it over the bald plaques, wrapping them with cotton.

He ended up swaddled in messy bandages—not much to look at—but he was delighted. “Doctor Jian Mo, how long before it works?”

“About ten days to see an effect,” Jian Mo said. “If there’s no result by then, we’ll switch to another prescription.”

Dan Guan prayed to the heavens. “There will be results. There has to be.”

“I hope so too,” Jian Mo said.

With the medicine applied, Jian Mo went to wash his hands and invited him, “We’re having a bonfire party tonight. Stay and enjoy it with us.”

“I saw,” Dan Guan said. “When I came, they were chopping meat on the square, saying they’d make meatballs for grilling and hotpot.”

Jian Mo hadn’t expected hotpot. “Then you must stay and try it. Our tribe’s hotpot is pretty good.”

“Alright. I’ll go help.”

Jian Mo washed up and went to help as well.

It was getting late; by the time he arrived, everyone was already stir-frying the hotpot bases.

Smelling that rich, fiery aroma, he couldn’t help asking, “We’re using that much chili tonight?”

Qing Kuo glanced back. “Of course. Everyone’s used to spicy—without enough chilies, it just tastes flat.”

“Hotpot gets spicier the longer it boils,” Jian Mo cautioned. “We should probably go easy.”

“Don’t worry,” Qing Kuo said. “We’ve also got a clear broth and a sour broth. The clear one isn’t spicy at all; the sour one only a little.”

Jian Mo looked at the pots being carried over. “Alright then.”

Not far away, Zhou Fu called, “Jian Mo! Come check the fish and meat balls—we’re forming them now. Can you season them?”

He went over. They’d already picked the fish and beast meat clean and were beating the paste. “No need for much seasoning—we’re cooking them in hotpot anyway.”

“Season them a bit,” Zhou Fu insisted. “The elders will eat clear broth; unseasoned balls won’t taste good.”

“Okay, I’ll do it.”

They had a wealth of spices now—various aromatic powders, mushroom powder, dried clam powder, plus the basics like chili and salt.

Jian Mo gave the meat-ball mix a base seasoning and watched them drop the balls into boiling water. “Tonight’s feast is something else.”

“Of course,” Zhou Fu grinned. “This hotpot’s in your honor.”

“Thanks for all the work,” Jian Mo said.

“Don’t mention it,” Zhou Fu laughed. “We’re also using the excuse to stuff ourselves.”

As dusk deepened and painted the mountains’ leaves a somber gold, the crimson bonfire crackled to life, releasing that particular woodsmoke scent.

They set huge clay pots over the flames and let the broths begin to steam.

For the grilled meats, they weren’t bothering with extra stone slabs—everyone would roast right by the fire and eat as it cooked.

Cubs who studied in the Riverbank Tribe began to trickle home, and the hunters and foragers returned in groups.

The pots came to a rolling boil—big and little bubbles churning—while the marrow bones and poultry simmered to enrich the base.

Qing Kuo took a head count; once almost everyone was there, it would be time to eat.

Jian Mo let others handle logistics. Seeing Wu Jiong return, he ran over. “Where’d you go? Why so early? I thought you’d sleep in.”

Wu Jiong took a packet of berries from his satchel and handed it to him. “It’s autumn—plenty of fat game. I took people out hunting.”

Jian Mo popped a berry into Wu Jiong’s mouth and then one into his own. “Feel better after stretching your legs?”

“Good to move a bit,” Wu Jiong said.

Most of today’s game had already been sliced and delivered.

Jian Mo pulled him over to a sour-broth pot—he planned to start there; it wasn’t as spicy, so he could eat more before sampling the red-chili broth.

Ye Luo and Xi Lu sat at the sour-broth pot as well.

Seeing Jian Mo and Wu Jiong, people naturally kept asking about their journey.

Jian Mo didn’t mind, swishing meat through the broth as he answered.

Ban Ming and the other young people squeezed in, saying with longing that they wanted to go next time.

As they chatted, someone started singing—notes leaping along the treetops, haunting and unique.

Listening as he ate, Jian Mo smiled when a familiar epic surfaced.

“Thinking of our talks about epics at the Starstore Tribe?” Wu Jiong asked.

Jian Mo raised a cup of fruit wine and clinked his. “You guessed it.”

Plenty ate their fill and got up to dance.

Jian Mo and Wu Jiong sat watching, smiles growing warmer.

They ate, played, and talked until well past midnight before people drifted off.

Jian Mo draped himself over Wu Jiong’s back, warm cheek against his neck, eyes bright. “Is it just me, or is this year’s fruit wine better than last year’s?”

“We used a starter saved from last year,” Wu Jiong said. “Fermentation was cleaner and stronger.”

“I can tell—I’m a bit tipsy,” Jian Mo murmured.

He rubbed his face against Wu Jiong’s neck as he spoke, making Wu Jiong heat up. “Let’s go bathe and sleep early,” Wu Jiong said low.

Back home, they didn’t fall asleep right away—they used up the last of their salve first.

Sprawled under the quilt, limp and lazy, Jian Mo said, “We should trade for some salve from the Mengshui Tribe too.”

Wu Jiong lifted his eyes. “Mm?”

“Ours is good,” Jian Mo said, forearm draped over his eyes, “but theirs has its own character. It’s nice to rotate.”

Wu Jiong leaned in to kiss him. “Okay.”

He didn’t fall asleep until nearly dawn, and woke late again.

He simply hefted a hoe and headed for the fields.

They’d been gone a long time; everything was nearly ripe.

The flourgrass was turning yellow, the various tubers had swollen—ready to harvest any time.

After checking the plots, Jian Mo decided the flourgrass could wait a bit, but the tubers could be dug now.

Their pantry was low; time to top up. The vines could be fodder for the packbeasts and the long-tails.

He worked the fields. He tired easily and moved slowly—but it was only household work; efficiency didn’t matter.

The cubs had been playing in the square; seeing him at work, they ran over to help.

“You go play,” Jian Mo said. “I can manage.”

Jiang Xing said, “We want to help. Brother Jian Mo, can you tell us travel stories while we work?”

Jian Mo looked at Jiang Xing—more a youth than a child now—and smiled. “I talked till my mouth was dry yesterday. You still want more?”

“We could listen a few more times and never get bored,” Jiang Xing said earnestly.

“Exactly!” the others chimed in.

“Alright,” Jian Mo said. “I’ll tell you about the sea.”

He harvested the ripe tubers while telling sea stories.

Afterward they could sow a cover crop to rest the soil; then in winter Chirchirp wouldn’t have to forage so far.

Come spring, the field would be richer and the yields better.

As they worked, a band of beastfolk came running straight at them—clearly headed for the Riverbank Tribe.

He Feng craned his little neck. “It’s people from the Haizuo Tribe.”

The little fox Bai Lu pushed up on his hind legs and hooked his forepaws before his chest. “And they brought a lot of game.”

Haizuo was a mixed tribe with all sorts of beast forms; even after a long look Jian Mo only gradually recognized them—while the cubs’ eyes proved sharper than his.

Jiang Xing said, “They must have heard Fen Hui recovered and are coming to thank you.”

“Could be,” Jian Mo said. “Let’s go take a look.”

He took the cubs to the river to wash their hands, then went to meet the group.

Sure enough, they were headed straight for him. Seeing him, they called out excitedly, “Doctor Jian Mo! Fen Hui is cured—we came especially to thank you.”

“Fen Hui already thanked me,” Jian Mo said. “No need to be so formal.”

“We must,” they insisted. “You saved a life—how could we not? These are the gifts we brought; please accept them.”

Most of the Riverbank hunters and foragers were out; aside from patrols, only elders were in the tribe.

Jian Mo brought the Haizuo folk home for tea and a chat.

The cubs stayed too—classes didn’t start that soon. Jian Mo didn’t shoo them off; better they listen in and learn how to deal with people.

The Haizuo folk were curious about the journey and asked questions.

Fen Hui had traveled with them and knew a lot, though he’d spent most of his time resting rather than visiting other tribes.

Haizuo was especially interested in farming and probed for details from elsewhere.

Jian Mo told them the Starstore side lived by the sea, rich in marine harvests, so farming was less developed than here. They were a bit disappointed—but still fascinated by the wider world and said they wanted to travel to see it for themselves someday.

They chatted all afternoon. When Jian Mo saw them off, he specifically had them take their gifts back. “You know me—I have principles. Payment is payment; don’t overdo the thanks.”

Unable to win the argument, they agreed gratefully and left.

With Jian Mo back, tribes kept coming by.

They traded some salve with the Mengshui Tribe; they also exchanged pearls and mother-of-pearl with the jewelry-skilled Dianxin Tribe and even drew designs to have a batch made.

Meanwhile, Jian Mo used the new techniques he’d learned to treat more patients and ease their troubles.

Days passed. By the time he found another free morning, nearly ten had gone by.

Stir-crazy from staying in the tribe, he grabbed Wu Jiong at dawn. “Come on—let’s go forage. If I drink tea and make small talk any longer, my muscles will melt.”

“Where to?” Wu Jiong asked.

“Remember where the long Kunzhi trees grow? Today we’re collecting their sap.”

They’d learned to harvest Kunzhi leaves from Lian Ke, but after trying them Jian Mo hadn’t found much use and set them aside.

At the Starstore Tribe he discovered several salves using Kunzhi sap and wanted to try.

Late summer through autumn was the right time; once the leaves fell, the medicinal nature changed.

“I remember,” Wu Jiong said. “There are herbs and nuts there too—we can gather those.”

Jian Mo jumped onto his back and hugged his neck. “Any mushrooms? Several autumn kinds are delicious. We could take some back to stew with long-tail bird.”

“There are,” Wu Jiong said, supporting him. “And if not, we can detour.”

They were set.

Chirchirp, seeing them strap on backpacks, ran out of the nest calling and refused to be left behind. Ying’ao trotted out too.

Thus, the sap run for two became a family outing for four.

Jian Mo took a few extra baskets. “If you two are coming, we might as well collect more.”

Chirchirp bounced twice, then crouched for Jian Mo to mount. “Chirp.”

Jian Mo waved him off with a smile. “You two fly yourselves today. I’m walking with Wu Jiong.”

Chirchirp didn’t get it and chirped twice, bobbing his head to hurry him up.

Ying’ao understood, took Chirchirp by the wing, and tugged him forward. “Chirp.”

Jian Mo gave Chirchirp’s butt a push. “Go on—fly.”

Only then did Chirchirp, reluctant, run a few steps with Ying’ao and ride the wind into the air.

Wu Jiong shifted into the giant wolf.

Climbing onto the familiar back, Jian Mo was oddly excited and leaned forward to rub the wolf’s sturdy ear.

The wolf’s ear twitched into his palm—springy and soft—and Jian Mo couldn’t help smiling.

They ran through autumn color, across shallow rivers, along foothills, through forest after forest, straight for where the Kunzhi grew.

The giant wolf knew the Riverbank lands by heart.

At the grove, they set wooden spiles and tubes, cutting the bark to draw the sap.

The dark-green, viscous sap took time to accumulate. They rigged tubes on tree after tree, then went to gather other herbs, wild greens, fruits, and mushrooms—planning to return in the afternoon.

Once they’d almost finished, Chirchirp came and tugged Jian Mo’s sleeve. “Chirp?”

“Oh?” Jian Mo said. “You want to take us somewhere?”

No wonder he was so eager today.

Chirchirp stretched his neck. “Chirp.”

This time Jian Mo didn’t refuse. He climbed onto Chirchirp’s back and beckoned to Wu Jiong. “Alright, lead the way.”

Chirchirp waited until they were settled, ran a few steps, then took off—calling back to Ying’ao, “Chiiirp—”

Ying’ao followed quietly.

After a while, Jian Mo looked down at the familiar view and exclaimed, delighted, “Isn’t this the alpine meadow where you took us mushrooming? There are mushrooms here again?”

“Chirp!” Chirchirp cried loudly.

Jian Mo smiled, thinking of how he’d first been led there by Chirchirp. Only months had passed, yet it already felt like part of a fond memory.

They landed and began to search the meadow. Before long—mushrooms indeed.

Not the same kind as last time, but also thick-fleshed and wonderfully savory.

Jian Mo cheerfully dragged Wu Jiong along to harvest everything suitable.

Once dried in the sun, they’d be perfect for winter—stewing with meat or chopped for dumpling fillings.

Chirchirp dashed around, excitedly raking through the grass and poking out mushrooms for them.

Ying’ao, by contrast, was steady—one swipe of his claw gathered a tidy pile, and he waited for Jian Mo to collect them—obedient as ever.

“Chirchirp and Ying’ao are such good kids,” Jian Mo said as he picked. “Our life is really blessed.”

Wu Jiong patted his back and said softly, “People here have lived like this for years. It’s having you that makes it feel blessed to me.”

Jian Mo looked up with a smile. “I’ll stay with you—always.”

“I’m afraid one day you’ll go back,” Wu Jiong said.

Without thinking twice, Jian Mo met his eyes and said seriously, “I won’t. And even if I had to, I’d take you with me. I wouldn’t go alone.”

“You don’t miss your old home?” Wu Jiong asked.

“I do,” Jian Mo smiled, “but I have a partner now. Wherever I live, living with my partner is what matters most.”

Wu Jiong pulled him into a hug.

Jian Mo let him hold on for a while, then patted his back. “Relax a bit—can’t breathe.”

Wu Jiong rubbed his chin through Jian Mo’s hair. “Mm.”

Jian Mo hugged him back. “When we first got together, we said we’d grow old side by side. And now we’ve got Chirchirp and Ying’ao too, haven’t we?”

Chirchirp, who’d understood nothing except hearing his own name, boomed from the side, “Chirp!”

If ever there was a creature with presence, it was this bird.

Wu Jiong pushed Chirchirp aside, laughter in his eyes. “Alright.”