Morning came with unfamiliar voices.
Lin Yue woke first.
At first, he thought he was dreaming—but the low murmurs outside the cave were real, layered with sharp intakes of breath and hurried whispers.
"…Is this the place?" "…This can't be right."
Feng Lihan was already on his feet. "They came early."
They stepped out together.
At the cave entrance, more than a dozen clan members had gathered. Hunters, elders, even a few women and children stood frozen in place, staring inside as if they had walked into a different world.
For a moment, no one spoke.
Then—
"There's a fire," someone whispered. "And it didn't spread…" "Look at the ground—nothing is ruined."
Eyes moved deeper.
The raised bed.
The chairs with backs.
The stool near the fire.
Hanging herbs, woven vines, a space that looked ordered—lived in.
"This…" an elderly woman said, voice trembling, "this isn't a temporary cave."
A young hunter reached out and pressed the chair cautiously.
"It doesn't fall."
Lin Yue stepped forward before Feng Lihan could speak.
"Sit," he said gently.
The hunter hesitated, then sat.
His eyes widened.
"…My back," he said slowly. "It doesn't hurt."
That was all it took.
One by one, clan members tried the chairs. An elder carefully lowered himself onto the bed, then froze.
"…Warm," he murmured. "And soft."
Shock spread through the group—not fear, but wonder.
"We sleep on the ground," a woman said softly. "Every night." "Our legs ache," another added. "We thought it was normal."
Lin Yue demonstrated calmly—how to sit, how to rest, how the bed lifted the body away from cold stone. He spoke simply, without pride.
The clan listened in complete silence.
Finally, the clan head spoke.
"So this is why Feng Lihan did not hunt for two days."
Feng Lihan met his gaze steadily. "Yes."
The clan chief arrived,
Unlike the others, he did not stop at the cave entrance in shock. He stood still, silent, eyes sharp and old with experience, taking in every detail—the carefully placed fire pit, the raised bed layered with grass and moss, the chairs standing firmly on uneven ground. Nothing about the space felt accidental.
Feng Lihan stepped forward and bowed slightly. "Chief."
Only then did the chief move.
He walked inside slowly, fingers brushing the wooden chair, pressing down on the bed, testing its strength. He sat once—then twice—his expression changing with each motion.
"This eases the bones," he said at last. "I haven't sat like this in many winters."
The cave was silent.
The chief turned his gaze to Lin Yue.
"This was made by you?"
Lin Yue felt every eye on him, yet the chief's gaze held no suspicion—only curiosity. "Yes," Lin Yue answered. "I only wanted a place where the body could rest properly."
The chief studied him for a long moment, then laughed—a deep, satisfied sound.
"For generations, we believed pain was proof of strength," he said. "We slept on stone, sat on earth, and told ourselves this was the way of the forest." He gestured around the cave. "But strength is not only endurance. It is knowing how to protect your people from unnecessary suffering."
Murmurs of agreement spread through the clan.
The chief straightened and spoke loudly, his voice carrying authority. "From today onward, these ways will be shared among us. Every family will learn to build beds. Every fire will be kept safe. The forest gave us these materials—Lin Yue showed us how to use them."
He turned back to Lin Yue, expression softening.
"You did not come to our clan with claws or fangs," he said. "You came with knowledge. That is rarer than strength."
Lin Yue's chest tightened. "…I didn't know if I would be accepted."
The chief placed a firm hand over his heart. "You are already accepted."
Then, in front of everyone, he declared, "Lin Yue is under the protection of this clan. He may walk freely among us, teach freely, and live without fear."
Gasps rippled through the gathered members.
Feng Lihan's shoulders relaxed for the first time in days.
The chief smiled. "Feng Lihan protected him with his body. Lin Yue protects us with his mind. This is balance."
That afternoon, the clan moved with purpose. Elders supervised. Children carried grass. Hunters brought wood instead of prey. Laughter echoed through the forest as the first beds and chairs took shape.
Lin Yue stood among them, guiding hands, correcting gently, smiling more than he had since arriving in this world.
For the first time, he was not a stranger surviving day by day.
He was home.