Chapter 183: Malatang

This year’s Hunting Festival was being held in the Riverbank Tribe.

Fleet-footed youngsters like Ban Ming had already run to the surrounding tribes days in advance to deliver the notices.

It was said the grandest festival in history had twenty-seven tribes participating. This year didn’t quite reach that record, but it was far bigger than recent years: nineteen tribes in all, and they’d sent sharp, capable beastmen and sub-beastmen—plus cubs—to fight on the arena floor.

The day before the official start, people from each tribe began arriving one after another.

The Riverbank Tribe set aside some empty houses, but there were simply too many visitors to accommodate everyone. They had to apologize and invite most folks to camp on the open grounds for a couple of days.

No one minded; they agreed cheerfully.

To feed so many, Riverbank set up over a dozen steaming malatang pots right in the settlement—mostly clear broths. Anyone who wanted a meal could go to a Riverbank cook and have ingredients blanched and dressed on the spot—no payment required.

Thanks to all these arrangements, the tribe was already buzzing the day before the festival.

Even by evening, delegations kept arriving.

The more people, the livelier it got. Friends clustered here and there to chat. The chief of the Zhengchi Tribe, Yan Dun, was in the crowd talking with old acquaintances.

“Chief Yan Dun?” someone called from behind. “You live so close—how come you only got here today?”

Yan Dun turned to see a group of tall, burly beastmen and sub-beastmen. He squinted, then recognized them. “Chief Jin Shi—Jintuo Tribe?”

It was indeed the Jintuo chief and his clansmen.

Yan Dun was older and had dealt with Jintuo many times—they were fairly familiar.

Jin Shi said, “We heard the Riverbank Tribe has changed a lot, so we came to see. Didn’t expect your neighboring tribes to show up so early, though.”

Yan Dun chuckled. “We’re looking forward to this Hunting Festival so much we couldn’t stand sitting at home. We came early to talk with everyone and really catch up. Not just us—several nearby tribes have already sent people.”

The Jintuo men looked around.

Yan Dun pointed out, “That’s the Ice River Tribe over there. That side is the Qin Sea Tribe. And that group is the Tianning Tribe. All neighbors.”

Jin Shi’s gaze circled and settled on a strapping beastman.

The man was holding a bowl, slurping hard; in just a few gulps he’d polished off a steaming bowl of malatang, then tipped it back to drink the last drop of broth.

When he’d finished, he thrust the bowl forward toward the Riverbank cook. “Brother Ye Luo, another bowl—extra meat, extra chili, and nut sauce.”

The Riverbank cook grinned, scooped a heaping ladle of sliced meat and meatballs into a bowl bigger than the man’s head, then spooned in several condiments from a row of little bowls.

The beastman mixed with two chopsticks and started slurping again.

Jin Shi watched. His stomach, already empty, rumbled louder; he couldn’t look away.

Yan Dun said, “This is Riverbank’s specialty—malatang. You blanch ingredients in bone broth, then dress them. It’s delicious and piping hot. Why don’t you try?”

“Just…walk up and eat?” Jin Shi asked.

“Sure,” Yan Dun said. “Eat as much as you like. That kid from Ice River is on his seventh bowl. If you’re not full, ask for more. Of course, when you’ve got spare time, go help with the hunting, or they might not keep up with demand.”

Jin Shi laughed. “Then we’ll go.”

Yan Dun waved, smiling. “Go on—eat first, talk later.”

The beastman’s food looked too good. Jin Shi led his people over. “Hello, we’re from the Jintuo Tribe.”

The man glanced at them and scooted aside. “Ice River Tribe—Mu Chu.”

Then Mu Chu stopped splitting his attention and downed another bowl, before telling the cook, “Brother Ye Luo, one more.”

Ye Luo nodded at the Jintuo group and ladled out another for Mu Chu with a smile.

“Sorry to trouble you,” Jin Shi said. “We’ll each have a bowl as well—the same is fine.”

Ye Luo looked up. “Mu Chu’s bowl has chili. You may not be used to that burn—should I leave it out for you?”

A young man behind Jin Shi, Ying Ji, couldn’t help asking, “What’s chili?”

“A seasoning Jian Mo brought back,” Ye Luo said. “It burns your tongue, but once you’re used to it, it’s great.”

Ying Ji was itching to try. “Give me a little then? I’ll taste it.”

Seeing he insisted, Ye Luo smiled. “Alright. One moment.”

The beauty of malatang is speed. Sliced meat hits the broth, rolls a few seconds, and it’s done. Add in meatballs, sausages, sliced tubers; drizzle with sauces—and you’ve got a brimming bowl of fragrant, scalding goodness.

Ye Luo filled their bowls and added condiments, then handed out forks as well. For Ying Ji’s, he added a small half-spoon of chili oil.

Jin Shi stared at the milky broth, curious. He mixed his sauces and took a bite of meat—and his eyes flew wide. “Delicious! How can something so simply boiled taste this good?”

“This isn’t simple boiling,” Ye Luo said. “We put a lot of work into the stock—and the condiments took a long time to prepare.”

There was no soy sauce here, so Jian Mo replaced it with mushroom powder and shellfish powder, along with salt, sugar, ginger powder, garlic powder, crispy scallion, pepper-bud powder, chili oil, nut butter, and more. The result beat plenty of malatang back on Earth.

Everything was the real deal: meat sliced fresh; meatballs, fish balls, and sausages hand-made with no funny business—fresh and flavorful.

The stars were the chili oil and the nut butter. The chili oil was rendered in animal fat with loads of garlic powder—pure aroma. The nut butter was stone-ground and savory—like sesame paste, only more fragrant.

As soon as Jian Mo rolled out malatang, the Riverbank folks raved, and the tribe decided to serve meals to this standard throughout the festival. There aren’t many foods that are both easy and excellent. With stock and sauces prepped, anyone can take a turn ladling so the cooks can rest.

Sure enough, the malatang was a smash hit with every tribe.

Even neighbors showed up early just for the food.

Some did come to chat with old friends—but more came to eat.

The cubs who’d been attending Riverbank’s classes had already spread the word that their malatang was amazing; food lovers weren’t going to miss the chance.

The Jintuo people didn’t know the backstory—only that the malatang was shockingly savory and fragrant.

Jin Shi praised, “When our tribes first exchanged visits, your food was about the same as ours. Who’d have thought in such a short time you’d have so much fine food and scenery?”

“All thanks to Jian Mo,” Ye Luo said with a smile.

“Even with Jian Mo, you’ve clearly done a lot,” Jin Shi replied. “Mm, I’m finished. May I have another?”

The others in Jintuo lifted their bowls as well, politely asking for refills.

Ying Ji, lips hissing from the heat, still said, “Me too—same amount of chili please.”

Seeing him like that, the Jintuo folk all asked to try chili as well.

Ye Luo laughed. “One moment—coming right up.”

It wasn’t just Jintuo—no other tribe had expected Riverbank to have come this far: solid, handsome houses; a spotless, tidy settlement; and food no one had even heard of that tasted incredible.

What kind of magical tribe was this?

In the Fanbing Tribe, someone asked their chief, “Chief, was the Riverbank Tribe always like this? I remember them as a remote little tribe.”

“They were,” the chief said. “No idea how they changed so fast.”

“I heard it was thanks to Doctor Jian Mo—he introduced several building materials, rebuilt the houses—and the tribe became like this.”

“Have you been to the Mengshui Tribe? I feel Riverbank looks even more impressive than Mengshui now.”

“Shh, quieter. Both are formidable tribes—no need to measure who’s better.”

“True. And look—the tribes near Riverbank all seem more spirited. I heard Riverbank opened classes and others send cubs to study there—that’s how they learned so much.”

“What are those classes like? Could we ask for a demonstration?”

Conversations like that echoed in many groups.

Curiosity won out. Delegations went to Wu Jiong and the others asking for a classroom demonstration—and for Riverbank to showcase what had changed.

Riverbank looked too good; everyone wanted to learn.

Wu Jiong gathered Jian Mo and the rest to discuss.

After listening, Qing Kuo sighed, “Never thought Riverbank would see a day like this. We used to be that unremarkable little tribe.”

De Jiang said, “We’ve been different since last autumn.”

Everyone looked at Jian Mo.

Qing Kuo patted his shoulder. “All thanks to Jian Mo.”

“My role isn’t that big,” Jian Mo said. “If I’d gone to a tribe that ignored me, I might not have made it through winter.”

“You and the tribe are… what you call ‘mutually reinforcing,’” Qing Kuo said.

Jian Mo cleared his throat. “Let’s not dwell on that. About the demonstration—I think we can show the classes. We already invite other tribes’ cubs to study. Broadening it a bit won’t hurt.”

Back then, he’d proposed ideas mostly to prove his own value. He hadn’t expected Riverbank to reach this day.

“I agree,” Wu Jiong said.

“So do I,” De Jiang added.

Qing Kuo looked around. “If no one objects, I’ll arrange it. By the way, Chief Yunlong offered to help. Should we have them pitch in?”

Wu Jiong’s deep voice rumbled, “Do it. We can’t handle the load alone.”

“Then I’ll set it up,” Qing Kuo said. “We’ll stick with the original plan: our people lead, and anyone from other tribes who wants to help can follow their lead?”

Jian Mo thought a moment. “Sounds good. Let’s also make a marker. Call those who help ‘volunteers’ and give them a little badge to wear.”

Qing Kuo had already stood up; he paused. “What kind of badge? Cloth strips?”

Jian Mo’s brow twitched. He waved quickly. “White armbands are unlucky—make it a brooch. The Dianxin Tribe is here; ask them to help. When we’re done, each tribe can take theirs home as a memento.”

Everyone mulled it over; it seemed sound.

With a small token for identification, the settlement would be less chaotic.

Jian Mo added, “Let’s engrave the year, to tell them apart later. Do we have a calendar here? What year is it?”

De Jiang and the others didn’t follow; only Wu Jiong answered, “No calendar—people count by months, by the moon.”

“Then let’s make this the First Year,” Jian Mo said.

“Alright,” Wu Jiong replied.

“Marking the year will help us remember,” Qing Kuo praised.

Jian Mo nodded. “Exactly.”

He went to the Dianxin Tribe and, with fish-glue in hand, explained the wooden brooch idea.

Dianxin folk were masters and lovers of ornaments; the moment they heard “brooch,” they were all for it.

“We could carve each tribe’s beast form on the wood to show identity,” someone suggested.

“What about mixed-form tribes?” another asked.

“Then ask their chief what emblem they want.”

“Tell them if one beast form isn’t enough, we can carve two or three—or pick another motif altogether.”

“Good—then we won’t mix them up.”

It was casual talk that day, and no one realized they were creating something like tribal heraldry.

Nor did anyone imagine that this simple Hunting Festival would lay a key foundation for a great confederation in this region.

But that was a story for much later.

For now, everyone’s eyes were on this fun, bustling festival right before them.