The door to language opened a crack, and light rushed in eagerly.
Gu Liang's mastery of the beastmen language accelerated. He could now understand many daily commands and even offer simple responses. This made his labor slightly easier—at least he could grasp the overseer's demands more accurately, reducing beatings from misunderstandings.
His relationship with Fangclaw grew subtly complex. Fangclaw seemed to relish his role as "teacher," often approaching during breaks to point at objects and teach Gu Liang their names.Gu Liang reciprocated the favor. Occasionally, while Fangclaw was sharpening his stone axe, Gu Liang would mimic the method he'd seen A Lie's men use earlier, employing the deep gray oilstone to hone it to an even sharper edge. Fangclaw was delighted by this, his gaze toward Gu Liang now resembling that of someone looking at a treasured secret.
This small act of "mutual aid" gave Gu Liang a rare, almost peer-like sense of ease. Yet he remained vigilant, especially around A Lie and his men, continuing to appear silent, compliant, and even somewhat slow-witted.
His focus on observation and learning gradually shifted from mere survival to the "improvements" he had been subconsciously contemplating. The idea of tanning hides never left his mind.
One day, the hunting party returned with several smaller, soft-furred prey. While processing the game, Gu Liang noticed the skinning orc's usual rough technique had slashed through several prime hides again. Summoning his courage, he stammered in halting orcish: "The... hides... such a waste... slower... please?"
The beastman froze, seemingly taken aback that a slave would dare offer advice. He then waved him away impatiently.
Gu Liang didn't give up. He found Fangclaw and gestured, asking, "Skin... soft... not tear... how do?"
Fang Claw scratched his head, struggling to grasp Gu Liang's meaning. "Soft? Grandma... I think she mentioned... using... some kind of tree sap? Or... animal... brain marrow?" He racked his brain, but his words came out haltingly. Clearly, he'd only heard fragments and hadn't truly grasped the process.
Tree sap? Animal marrow? Modern leather tanning principles flashed through Gu Liang's mind—using fats and enzymes. Animal marrow was rich in fats and certain compounds. It seemed feasible! But it required fresh, ample marrow and repeated, prolonged kneading.
He needed to try. But that required materials, time, and an opportunity free from easy disturbance or disruption. For a slave like him, it was as difficult as climbing to the heavens.
Over the next few days, Gu Liang paid extra attention to discarded animal skulls. He secretly observed which prey yielded richer marrow, then during waste removal, meticulously hid small pieces of suitable, discarded, slightly decomposed brain tissue. He wrapped them in large leaves and stashed them near his resting spot.
His small actions did not entirely escape the watchful eyes that constantly assessed from the shadows. During another "routine" patrol, Emma's gaze swept over the corner where Gu Liang hid his stash with the precision of a bird skimming water, her footsteps pausing almost imperceptibly.
[System Alert: Target Gu Liang is attempting preliminary technical modification (fur tanning). Motivation stems from improving survival conditions and achieving self-worth. Success would significantly enhance his sense of belonging and accomplishment, drastically reducing risk of corruption. However, critical catalysts (fresh enzyme- and oil-rich brain matter or specific plant juices) and a secure experimental environment are currently lacking. Failure rate: 99.9%.]
Emma's eyes flickered. Catalyst? Safe environment? She silently noted the details.
The opportunity arrived sooner than imagined—and far more perilous. An unexpected autumn downpour temporarily halted most outdoor activities in the tribe. Gu Liang was assigned to clean a makeshift shed piled with odds and ends. This shed stood relatively isolated, seldom visited.
Watching the steady drizzle outside and the dry interior of the shed, a wild idea took root in Gu Liang's mind. He touched the packet of brain matter in his pocket—now emitting a faint odor (he had rinsed the leaf wrapper with rainwater)—and felt his heart race.
He needed a piece of skin. He recalled a small, torn scrap he'd secretly saved days earlier while processing game—a fragment no one would notice. He soaked it in rainwater, attempting a preliminary clean.
The rain drowned out the faint sounds within the hut. Gu Liang's palms sweated with tension as he retrieved the scrap of leather and the now-less-fresh brain matter. He also fetched a relatively flat stone slab and a smooth bone stick. Recalling the vague principles of tanning, he attempted to mash the brain matter, smearing it onto the inner side of the leather before carefully rubbing it in.
The process was clumsy and pungent. The foul, putrid stench of brain matter filled the cramped hut. Gu Liang remained utterly focused, recalling the hazy principles of tanning and the scattered words of the fanged beast, striving to spread the sticky paste evenly across the skin's underside through repeated rubbing. He waited expectantly for some transformation.
After an unknown span of time, he paused his aching arms and picked up the hide for a closer look. In the faint light filtering through the cracks, he saw it coated in a grayish-white paste, its scent now more complex—the raw stench mingled with an indescribable, cloyingly sweet rot. He carefully pinched a corner of the hide between his fingers and rubbed it vigorously, trying to detect a difference.
The sensation under his fingertips was disappointing. The hide seemed... perhaps a fraction softer than before, but it was far from "supple." Instead, it carried an unpleasant, sticky clamminess, saturated with grime. When he tugged hard, it remained stiff, its edges even developing tiny cracks from his rough handling. A stronger, more putrid smell wafted up—like something had gone rotten.
Failure. And he'd created something worse than raw hide—more disgusting, almost unusable. Gu Liang stared at the failed product in his hands, a wave of irritation and helplessness washing over him. Knowledge was one thing; actually making it was entirely another.
Yet it was precisely this insignificant yet undeniable "difference"—even if it meant making things worse—and the failure itself, like a cold sting, that sparked a stubborn refusal to concede defeat. He stared at the hide, his mind rapidly replaying each step: Was the brain matter too stale? Had he not kneaded it enough? Or was it missing the "juice from a certain tree" mentioned by Fangzhu? Where exactly had he gone wrong?
Gu Liang was so immersed in dissecting his failure that he completely ignored the footsteps drawing nearer.
The shack's curtain was violently torn aside!
A Lie stood at the doorway, frowning, clearly drawn by the indescribable stench—a sickening blend of rot and cloying sweetness.When he saw the scene inside—Gu Liang crouched on the floor, hands covered in a grayish-white, viscous, repulsive paste, staring blankly at a stained, foul-smelling, ragged piece of leather, surrounded by crushed filth and scattered stone slabs—his expression darkened instantly, his eyes blazing with pure disgust and fury.
"What the hell are you doing?!" A Lie's voice carried suppressed fury.
Gu Liang was terrified out of his wits. He sprang to his feet and staggered backward—until his back slammed hard against the cold shack wall, leaving him nowhere to retreat.The impact seemed to drain his last ounce of strength. His body froze in place as if frozen solid, only his pupils trembling violently and dilating, fixed on A Lie's approaching face, filled with savagery and disgust.The filthy hand hung limply at his side, viscous fluid dripping from it, each drop making an inaudible "plop" in the silence.
A Lie's gaze, like a red-hot branding iron, swept over Gu Liang's fear-twisted face and his awkward, rigid posture—this pitiful sight only deepened his contempt and the sweet satisfaction of control.He strode in, his boots crushing the failed hide and scattered paste without mercy. "Who gave you permission to hide here, messing with this filthy, stinking garbage?! Playing your disgusting games with the tribe's food (referring to the waste)?! He reached out to grab Gu Liang by the throat.
Just then, Emma's clear, calm voice rang out from outside the shack: "A Lie, so you're here. Father is gathering every able-bodied fighter. The Wolf Clan across the river seems to be stirring. Their patrols have been spotted near Blackstone Beach."
A Lie's movement froze abruptly, his hand releasing Gu Liang's collar. The Wolf Clan were the Leopard Clan's sworn enemies; any news of them was the highest alert.
He shot Gu Liang a fierce glare, then looked with disgust at the mess on the ground. "I'll deal with you later!" With that, he turned on his heel and strode swiftly after Emma, disappearing into the rain.
Gu Liang slumped to the ground, his heart pounding so hard it felt like it would burst from his chest, overcome with fear. Once again... it was Emma.
He looked at the trampled, filthy, utterly ruined pelt on the ground, then toward the direction Emma had vanished outside the shack. This time, her timing was too coincidental—so coincidental that Gu Liang was almost certain she had come for him.
Not only did she know what he was doing, but it seemed she was also... secretly creating opportunities for him, even bailing him out?
Why?
The question burned with unprecedented intensity. He didn't touch the hide again, merely staring at it. The failure was obvious, but failure itself carried meaning.
Was the brain matter not fresh enough? Had he not processed it long enough? Or was the method fundamentally flawed? Could the "tree sap" vaguely mentioned by Fang Claw be the crucial element?
Emma... Did she know this was wrong? If she did, why did she just watch? If she didn't, why did she appear at this precise moment?
No glimmer of light, only deeper fog. Yet the stubborn urge to understand, to conquer the challenge before him, twisted together with his profound confusion about Emma, rose within him. This urge had nothing to do with "hope"; it was more like an instinctive struggle against utter numbness in the face of despair.
ns216.73.216.147da2
and then Add to home screen.