Kai instructed Lu Bu to sit by the fire and warm up while he attended to the boar carcass. The boy obeyed, though his wide eyes never left Kai as he approached the massive pig with a blade in hand. Kai worked methodically, peeling off as much of the hide as he could. The thick, coarse skin came away in large sheets, which he carefully rolled up and stored in his storage ring. As the hide disappeared into the ring with a faint shimmer, Lu Bu’s eyes lit up with childlike fascination. He leaned forward, his fear momentarily forgotten, as he stared at the ring on Kai’s finger.

  “How did you do that?” Lu Bu asked, his voice tinged with awe. “Where did it go?”

  Kai glanced at the boy and smiled. “It’s called a storage ring,” he explained. “It’s a special tool that lets me store things in a pocket of space. Handy, right?”

  Lu Bu nodded vigorously, his earlier anxiety replaced by curiosity. But as Kai turned back to his task, his smile faded. He stared at the ring on his finger, a frown creasing his brow. I’m running out of space, he thought.

  The storage ring Kai had was a useful tool, but it wasn’t as expansive as some of the higher-quality ones he’d seen. It could hold a fair amount, but between the supplies, tools, and sentimental objects he’d taken with him before burning his home down, the space was nearly full. Adding the boar’s hide had pushed it to its limits. He also had a collection of other hides from animals his spirit beasts had caught during their travels through the wilds—useful for potential trade, but each one taking up precious space. At this rate, he wouldn’t be able to fit much more.

  Kai sighed, shaking his head slightly. He’d have to figure out what to do about the storage issue soon. Maybe he could trade some of the hides for the local currency of Zan. But for now, he focused on the task at hand. The boar’s meat was too valuable to waste, and his spirit beasts would need to eat. He carved the carcass with practiced efficiency, setting aside the choicest cuts for himself and Lu Bu while leaving the rest for his companions.

  Kai called out to his spirit beasts, and the carnivorous ones immediately lined up in single file, their movements orderly and patient. It was a well-practiced routine, one they had perfected over countless meals. Kai handed out portions of the boar meat to each creature, carefully distributing it based on their size—larger beasts like Snow and Igni received hefty chunks, while smaller ones like Yinying and Shuiying were given more modest portions. Despite the sheer number of spirit beasts, the process was smooth and efficient, thanks to their discipline and Kai’s careful management.

  In the time since Kai had begun wandering the wilds, his bond with the menagerie had deepened in ways he hadn’t anticipated. Not only had his connection with each individual creature grown stronger, but the spirit beasts had also formed a unique bond among themselves. They saw one another not as rivals or strangers, but as members of a single, cohesive family—a flock, a pack, a clan. Species and size didn’t matter; they looked out for one another with a sense of unity that was rare in the wild. The carnivorous beasts, despite their predatory instincts, were fiercely protective of the smaller and weaker members of the group. Some even went so far as to forgo their own meals, offering their share to those who were hungrier or more vulnerable. It was a level of cooperation and selflessness that Kai hadn’t expected but deeply admired.

  It seems my teaching has paid off, Kai thought to himself as he watched the creatures interact. The sight of them sharing food and looking out for one another filled him with a quiet sense of pride. As the former stable master, he had dedicated countless hours to ensuring that the spirit beasts could coexist peacefully. It hadn’t been easy—spirit beasts, with their varied instincts and temperaments, were naturally inclined to compete for resources. But Kai had discovered that they possessed a level of intelligence somewhere between that of a child and a teenager, making them capable of learning and adapting. While the process had been tedious at times, it hadn’t been impossible. Through patience and consistency, he had taught them to respect one another, to share, and to protect the weaker members of their group.

  Now, as he watched them, he could see the fruits of that labor. The spirit beasts moved with a sense of purpose and harmony, their interactions marked by mutual respect and care. Even Igni, who had been sulking in the corner after Lu Bu’s reaction, perked up when one of the smaller creatures nudged him with a piece of meat. The flame-striped tiger accepted it with a low rumble, his earlier disappointment forgotten as he joined the others in their meal.

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  Kai couldn’t help but smile as he observed the scene.

  As he worked, he kept an eye on Lu Bu, who was now sitting cross-legged by the fire, staring into the flames. The boy seemed calmer now, though he still glanced nervously at the spirit beasts from time to time. Kai made a mental note to keep the more intimidating ones, like Igni, at a distance for now. The last thing he needed was to undo the progress he’d made in reassuring the boy.

  Once the boar was properly butchered and the meat stored or prepared for cooking, Kai joined Lu Bu by the fire. He sat across from the boy, studying him intently. Lu Bu noticed Kai’s gaze and shifted uncomfortably, his small hands fidgeting in his lap. Kai’s eyes softened as he took in the boy’s appearance. Lu Bu couldn’t have been more than seven or eight years old, but his frail frame told a story of hardship. His cheeks were hollow, his skin pale and stretched thin over his bones. Kai could even see the faint outline of the boy’s ribs through his tattered clothing.

  This poor child has gone without food for a long time, Kai thought sadly, his heart aching at the sight. He knew what hunger looked like, and Lu Bu’s condition was a stark reminder of how fragile mortals could be.

  Without a word, Kai stood and retrieved a large pot from his storage ring. He walked to the nearby river, filled the pot with water, and carried it back to the fire. Hanging the pot over the flames, he added a handful of dried rice he still had in his ring, followed by a pinch of rock salt he’d collected during his travels. The salt was a rare find in the wilds, and he’d been saving it for special occasions. This, he decided, qualified. He then took the portion of boar meat he’d set aside for himself and sliced it into thin, bite-sized pieces before adding them to the pot. The aroma of the simmering broth soon filled the clearing, rich and savory.

  Kai hoped the soup would be easier for Lu Bu to digest. He recalled from one of his dreams of another world that people who had gone without food for extended periods couldn’t handle solid food right away. For cultivators like himself, fasting for long periods was manageable, and his body could adapt quickly. But Lu Bu was a mortal—a child, no less—and his body would need time to adjust. The soup would be gentle on his stomach while still providing the nourishment he desperately needed.

  As the soup cooked, Lu Bu watched with wide, hungry eyes, his mouth watering as the scent wafted toward him. Kai couldn’t help but smile at the boy’s reaction, though his heart still ached for him. He glanced at Lu Bu again, his expression thoughtful, before reaching into his storage ring once more. This time, he pulled out a spirit herb. He hadn’t planned to use it, but seeing the state of the boy changed his mind. The herb would not only further nourish Lu Bu but also help fortify his weakened body and ward off any potential illnesses he might have picked up while wandering the mountains.

  Kai carefully washed the herb, then chopped it into fine pieces before stirring it into the pot. The broth took on a faint, yellow hue, and the aroma grew even more enticing. Lu Bu’s eyes widened further, and he leaned forward slightly, his earlier nervousness momentarily forgotten.

  “It’s almost ready,” Kai said gently, his voice warm. “This will help you feel better, I promise.”

  Lu Bu nodded, though he didn’t say anything. His gaze remained fixed on the pot, his small hands clutching the edge of his tattered shirt. Kai stirred the soup one last time before ladling a generous portion into a wooden bowl. He handed it to Lu Bu, along with a spoon. “Careful, it’s hot,” he warned.

  The boy took the bowl with trembling hands, his eyes glistening with gratitude. He blew on the soup to cool it before taking a tentative sip. The moment the broth touched his tongue, his face lit up, and he began eating with a ravenous hunger that spoke volumes about how long he’d gone without a proper meal.

  Kai watched Lu Bu quietly, a mix of relief and sadness in his eyes.

  The boy had devoured four bowls of soup, each one bringing a little more color to his pale cheeks and a little more life to his weary frame. By the time he set the empty bowl down, Lu Bu looked satisfied and content, as if he had just eaten the best meal of his life. The tension in his small body had eased, and for the first time since Kai had found him, the boy didn’t look completely terrified. Instead, he seemed almost peaceful, his earlier fear replaced by the simple comfort of a full stomach.

  Seeing that Lu Bu was more at ease, Kai decided it was time to gently broach the subject of the boy’s situation. He leaned forward slightly, his voice soft and careful. “Now that you’re feeling better, do you think you could tell me why you were wandering these mountains? And… where are your parents?”

  The moment the words left Kai’s mouth, Lu Bu’s expression shifted. The contentment that had briefly lit up his face vanished, replaced by a pained, haunted look. He stared down at the empty bowl in his hands, his small fingers tightening around it as if it were the only thing grounding him. For a long moment, he didn’t speak, his breath coming in shallow, uneven bursts. Kai waited patiently, giving the boy the time he needed to gather his thoughts.

  Finally, Lu Bu pushed through whatever trauma he was grappling with and spoke, his voice trembling but clear. “My parents… are dead. They… were killed by bandits...”

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