Chapter 6

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Bai Yun’s suspicion was correct—Bai Shuo indeed had his own plans, though they were still in their infancy. Over the past eight years, Bai Shuo had endured eight rainy and snowy seasons, fully understanding what these seasons meant for the Feather Clan. The year Bai Shuo hatched, the tribe saw over a dozen newborn chicks, but after a few years, only six of those his age, including Bai Su, survived. The primary cause of the high mortality among the young was insufficient food. Within the entire tribe, only a rare few like Bai Xun and Bai Yun could raise every newly hatched chick to survival.

Less than one-third of the Feather Clan that hatched successfully lived to adulthood.

Yet, adulthood brought even greater dangers in hunting. Though the Feather Clan could fly and had sharp claws and beaks, even a minor slip could lead to injury.

From infancy to maturity, dangers were many. Constant exposure to rain during the rainy season often made the young sick; the bitter cold of winter brought frostbite and death. No matter how well the caves provided shelter, it was impossible to remain inside all the time. The Feather Clan did not hibernate; even in the snowy season, they had to venture out to find food.

For the Feather Clan, food and shelter were paramount. With sufficient food, the mortality rate among the young would surely decrease.

From the moment Bai Shuo dreamed and recalled memories from his past life, he wanted to do something to improve everyone’s lives. Before, unable to take human form, he had to suppress all his ambitions. But now, transformed into a human shape, he could communicate and express his ideas.

Bai Shuo had many ideas but was still a fledgling. He understood clearly that even if he went to the leader with suggestions, no one would take him seriously—they would think he was just playing around. Trust from family alone was insufficient; his family would believe him unconditionally and follow his requests, but others would not.

Changing a tribe’s long-standing customs was no easy task. Before seeing concrete results, most of the Feather Clan would not act rashly. From another perspective, if his few words could easily sway them to abandon years of habit, the tribe would not have remained so stable and developed for so long.

Rome wasn’t built in a day. One must eat bite by bite, handle matters step by step. To have his words taken seriously, Bai Shuo first needed to demonstrate his abilities and earn the trust of others.

And food, to him now, was undoubtedly the best tool. The more people who tasted it, the more who trusted his words. When he spoke of other matters in the future, more would take him seriously rather than dismiss his words as jokes. Moreover, processing food not only earned him trade but also honed his cooking skills.

A triple win—why not seize it? Bai Shuo plated the pan-fried meat slices, layered a second batch, then handed a piece to the Feather Clan member who had just spoken to him. “You can try this first before deciding if you want to exchange.”

Tasting was crucial—after all, exchanging two pieces for one wasn’t easy profit. Bai Shuo was generous with this one sample.

The Feather Clan took the rolled meat, bit into it. The tender meat, easily chewed, was far from the blandness of boiled meat. Its savory and salty aroma filled the mouth. The clan member quickly finished and dashed back to the cave, leaving behind only one sentence:

“I’m going to get some meat!”

Before others could react, the clan member returned holding two pieces of fresh meat—obviously newly allocated food. In times of abundance, the Feather Clan usually didn’t consume all their hunts at once, reserving some as stores for leaner days.

“Bai Liang, is it really that good?” others asked, judging by his reaction.

Bai Liang didn’t answer but handed the meat to Bai Shuo. “I want to exchange for a bowl of pan-fried slices.”

After Bai Shuo accepted, Bai Liang boasted to the previous questioner, “This is the best food I’ve ever eaten! It’s as tender as the eggs of the clucking bird.”

Bai Xun, having tasted the earlier fried residue, found the pan-fried meat delicious, and Bai Liang, who only knew simple foods, was powerless against such temptation. Though two pieces for one was a bit stingy, the thought of savoring such flavors soon made him drool, only hoping Bai Shuo finished quickly so it could be his turn.

Most prey the Feather Clan ate was tough. The clucking bird’s eggs were among the few soft and tasty foods. Hearing Bai Liang’s praise, some Feather Clan members hesitated—if it truly tasted that good, maybe they too could trade a little to try?

...

Bai Shuo set aside some pan-fried meat and, along with the earlier fried residue, took it to Wuyan. If not for Wuyan’s quick reflexes catching him from a fall off a high cliff, it was uncertain whether he would have survived unharmed, let alone be cooking here now.

Wuyan was eating roasted meat. Compared to others, Wucang’s roasting skills were hard to assess. As a hearty eater, Wucang liked to roast all the meat at once, stuffing in the most sticks possible. Whether it got burnt was a matter of luck.

After suffering several times from meat tasting like unburnt wood, Wuyan quickly learned self-reliance. Since he was six, he had mostly handled the family’s roasting duties.

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Wucang, sitting beside Wuyan, finished two pieces of roasted meat but felt something missing. Looking around, he found nothing suitable and asked his cub, “Yan, where did you put the red-topped fruit? After meat, a few fruits are just right.”

Without looking up, Wuyan answered, “I ate it all.”

Wucang was skeptical: “It was here just now. When did you eat it?” He had been by the fire with his cub and hadn’t seen him eat.

Wuyan remained expressionless: “Just now.” He then looked up and noticed Bai Shuo emerging from the crowd, momentarily pausing his eating.

Wucang didn’t catch this reaction and muttered to himself, “Sigh, I don’t want to eat leafy greens.” Fruits and leaves were daily essentials; without them, illness would follow. The exact symptoms varied; Wucang often suffered toothaches so severe they robbed him of sleep, wishing he could knock himself out.

Unwilling to endure toothache, Wucang eyed the greens beside him but showed nothing but refusal.

Bai Shuo approached and saw this scene, tempted to smile but held back out of respect. Most of the Feather Clan disliked greens, but Wucang’s hatred was exceptional.

“Uncle Wucang, Wuyan, this is the pan-fried meat I made. Try it—you’ll find it tastes even better wrapped in leafy greens,” Bai Shuo said, saving Wucang from his gloomy expression. In the tribe, addressing elders was simple: men of parents’ generation were called uncle, women aunt, regardless of relative age.

“Remember to bring the bowl back after eating,” Bai Shuo added, setting down the bowl before leaving without waiting for an answer. Pan-fried meat was edible warm or cold, but fresh from the pan was best, so he delivered it promptly and hurried back to prepare the next batch.

Before Bai Shuo arrived, Wucang had already smelled something unusual but hadn’t expected it to be for them. He and Wuyan had only recently joined the tribe and weren’t fully integrated; the young ones kept their distance—an experience every newcomer faced.

He had resigned himself to another year before truly blending in, so when a youngling suddenly brought food, he was stunned before regaining his senses, only to see the youngster already running off.

Though the cub left, the aroma lingered. Wucang looked down at the familiar yet strange food—familiar because it smelled like meat, strange because its color and size were unlike their usual roasted fare.

As Wucang reached out to pinch a piece, the bowl vanished from before him.

“Mine,” Wuyan claimed ungratefully, snatching the wooden bowl.

“What do you mean ‘mine’? Didn’t you hear me call you uncle?” Wucang, usually feared by the younglings, was surprised to hear one address him so familiarly—definitely worth noting.

“It’s mine—plus a shout-out to you,” Wuyan said, setting aside the roasted meat and wrapping the pan-fried slices in leaves.

The news of Bai Shuo’s new way of enjoying food had already spread throughout the tribe in the short time since.

Wucang said, “Alright, alright, I know it’s because you took in Bai Xun’s family’s young ones. Hurry up and let me try some.”

Wuyan swatted away his empty-handed father’s hand: “Use leaves.”

Unwilling to eat greens, Wucang sighed, “Sigh.” In the end, he had to eat leaves—life in the Feather Clan was hard.

Moments later, seeing the empty wooden bowl, Wucang suggested, “Son, let’s also try pan-frying meat. Look, there’s still plenty of leaves.”

Wuyan turned to him: “Can you do it?”

The unreliable father, who couldn’t even roast meat properly, shook his head.

Ignoring his father’s incompetence beyond hunting, Wuyan took the wooden bowl and a bulging deerskin pouch and headed to the river.

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Wucang, sharp-eyed, noticed the pouch seemed quite full but, with night falling, couldn’t see what exactly was inside. He casually asked, “Where are you going?”

Without stopping, Wuyan replied, “To wash the bowl.”

Wucang wanted to ask more but Wuyan had already gone too far. Looking around, nothing was missing; what he had seen was still there, leaving him puzzled.

Elsewhere, Bai Shuo instructed several clan members who were rendering oil, pointing out where to be careful. Returning to his parents, he found a clean bowl of red-topped fruit and felt elated. After speaking so much all evening, his throat was a bit dry.

Bai Shuo picked up the bowl and sat next to his brother, peeling a fruit while asking, “Brother, who did you trade with for these?”

Most of the fruit they traded for that night was used for curing meat; the rest of the tribe had nearly finished theirs. To gather so many meant they had traded with many people.

“Wuyan brought them.”

“I’ll send him more food tomorrow.” After giving so much, he must really like tonight’s dish.

...

After dinner, the family prepared five more bowls of pan-fried meat; only then did their evening meal officially end. It wasn’t that no one else was trading anymore—Bai Shuo just didn’t want to work too late, saving the rest for the next day.

A few quick-moving Feather Clan members, guided by Bai Shuo, managed to produce their own batches. Initially, some pieces were burnt, but later results improved. Though their taste was slightly inferior to Bai Shuo’s, the clan only distinguished between delicious and more delicious—both far better than their usual roasted meat.

Those who didn’t cook or trade pan-fried meat drooled in envy, but Bai Shuo only accepted processing orders for the next day. To taste it, one had to wait a night. The amateurs, fearing improper fire control, only fried a few slices at a time—never enough to share. Many resorted to trading their small pieces with those holding full bowls, who ate while hiding, reluctant to give up their precious food.

Meanwhile, Bai Shuo’s family began tidying up their tools.

The stone pot and slab would be used again tomorrow; no need to carry them back up the mountain. After cleaning, they were covered with washed leaves and left at the foot of the mountain. The family took wooden bowls and other easily mixed items, along with food, back to the cave to rest.

Perhaps from the exhaustion of turning human and working all night, Bai Shuo felt tired. Back at the cave, he lay down and fell asleep almost instantly, dreaming once more of his past life.

For days now, Bai Shuo often dreamed of these things, becoming accustomed to the experience—he even knew he was dreaming.

The sensation was remarkable. If his past life were a book, the first dream was like opening the table of contents, rapidly displaying the breadth of his life in a blur—just an outline. Only when focusing deeply could he recall more details. Subsequent dreams turned pages to specific chapters, with richer, more vivid narratives, as if reliving them.

This time, he dreamed of his part-time job at the bookstore during school.

The bookstore was run by a senior from the same school, whom Bai Shuo had never met in person, communicating only via WeChat. The store was small, with an elderly employee. Bai Shuo’s duties were evening cashier and bookkeeping. Popular books were on the shelves, mostly chosen by students who would simply come to pay. The work was quite leisurely.

On the counter lay an old book with yellowed pages, evidently aged, accompanied by several similar-style reference books. These were purchased by the owner after binge-watching survival videos one night and mistakenly shipping them to the school address. Too lazy to retrieve them, the books became Bai Shuo’s pastime, flipping through pages when idle.

He never knew how many videos the owner had watched that night, but the thick stack of books surpassed the height of the store’s computer. Bai Shuo spent a year reading them all before graduation.

After recalling these memories, his awareness returned to the book in his dream.

The open page displayed the clear, glowing characters for “Cooking,” emitting a faint, mysterious light.