Chapter Twenty-Eight: The Demon Beast Bamu

Deep within the forest stood a gigantic tree, transformed into a cozy treehouse. At the base of the tree was a door, beside which a spiral staircase wound its way up to the second floor.

Warm light glowed from the treehouse's upper level, and steam drifted out from a small wooden window. Outside, snow continued to fall relentlessly, showing no signs of stopping.

Peering through the wooden window, one could glimpse inside—a brown bear with short ears and furry coat, standing upright like a person. It balanced on a small wooden stool, holding a large spoon in its paws, constantly stirring the contents of a steaming pot.

From time to time, it added fresh ingredients to the bubbling stew. When the meal was nearly done, the bear wiped sweat from its brow, rewarded itself by grabbing a fruit from nearby, tossing it into the air, and catching it in its mouth with a single gulp.

Closing its eyes, it inhaled the aroma wafting from the pot and smiled contentedly, convinced it must taste wonderful. Unable to resist, it dipped its paw lightly into the stew and tasted it. The pleased expression vanished instantly, replaced with a look of bitterness as its face flushed red.

"Ah! So spicy!" it cried out, using a language only it could understand. As if suddenly remembering something, it quickly covered its mouth and glanced toward the bed.

There, a silver-haired man lay quietly, undisturbed by the bear's outburst. Relieved, the bear hopped off the stool and tiptoed to the table, plunging its head into a bucket of water.

The fiery taste gradually faded under the cool water. When the bear finally emerged, its wet fur drooped down, sticking to its head in a neat parting. Seeing its own reflection, it couldn't help but chuckle at the sight.

This was the first time the bear had brought a stranger home, the first time it cared for someone ill, and the first time it cooked a meal for anyone but itself.

The bear's name was Bam, which, in its language, symbolized hope. Bam was a low-tier mutant beast, possessing human-like intelligence and emotions.

In its earliest days, Bam wasn't alone; it had a family and companions—or so it believed. Within its clan, Bam was an outlier, the only one who lived as a vegetarian, refusing to harm other creatures and surviving solely on wild fruits. Naturally, no one acknowledged it as a true brown bear.

From birth, Bam's face was different, resembling that of a human, which made it the target of exclusion. The other bears treated it with cold indifference or avoided it like a plague.

To them, Bam was a harbinger of misfortune. Its presence was believed to bring disaster and ill fate to the family.

After certain events, even Bam began to wonder if it was a curse to its kin, questioning whether it should have been born at all or deserved to exist in this world.

When Bam was two years old, its mother fell ill and passed away. Bam was still young then, too small to weep or feel sorrow—only an aching pain deep within, a nameless discomfort.

Soon after, its father died in a hunt, killed by a far stronger beast. By the age of three, Bam had lost everything others took for granted.

From that moment, Bam learned how to be independent: to protect itself, seek food, and look after its own needs.

On the family's bookshelf, many diaries written by its father remained—volumes filled with observations and stories from his life.

Reading those diaries became Bam's greatest joy. Yet after each session, it would crawl under the covers and sob loudly, hiding its head beneath the quilt to release the longing and frustration in its heart.

Staring at the bookshelf, Bam recalled these memories, its mood sinking and tears glimmering in its eyes.

Lost in thought, it didn't notice the silver-haired man behind it had awakened.

"What is that? It smells wonderful!" The silver-haired man, drawn by the aroma, slowly opened his eyes. He first noticed not an outdoor scene, nor the snow, but a bed upon which he lay.

His wounds were bandaged, adorned with a thoughtful butterfly knot. An ice pack sat atop his forehead, warmed by his body heat, and his mouth held a glass rod resembling a thermometer.

The rod bore a tiny red bead, which had dropped from its highest point yesterday to the bottom today, indicating his fever had finally broken.

He found himself in a spacious room, clearly saved by someone. Turning toward the tempting scent, he saw a large pot on the left side of the room, from which the aroma drifted.

Looking further, he spotted a familiar figure—the same presence that appeared when he was on the verge of losing consciousness.

Was it this one who saved me?

Who is this person? Why help me? Could it be they too seek the secret and rescued me for that reason?

As he pondered, his mouth felt dry. He tried to reach for a bowl nearby but accidentally knocked it to the floor.

With a clang, Bam jumped and hid behind the large pot, peeking out to see the silver-haired man awake.

Man and bear regarded one another.

Never having spoken with a human, Bam didn't know how to greet him. Moreover, it had witnessed firsthand the man's deadly battle with three pursuers, which filled it with fear.

Silent, Bam revealed only half its head from behind the pot, tense and worried the man might kill it as he had those others.

"Um... thank you for saving me," the silver-haired man managed a smile. Seeing him speak, Bam grew even more nervous, retreating and accidentally knocking over a cabinet. Its contents tumbled down, burying Bam beneath a pile of books, and one final volume struck its head, raising a lump.

Still silent, Bam hid among the books, eyes fixed on the man.

To find his rescuer was an adorably clumsy brown bear left the silver-haired man feeling that fate was at work. Heaven wasn't ready to let him die—this was providence.

Gurgle!

Their eyes met, and the man's stomach suddenly growled. Embarrassed, he scratched his head and asked if he could have a bowl of food.

Bam remembered the fiery stew it had tasted earlier and shook its head vigorously. The man looked disappointed, gazing longingly at the steaming pot and licking his lips.

Seeing his wounds still healing, Bam reconsidered. It hopped onto the little stool, ladled out a bowl of thick, pitch-black soup, and handed it over.

The man took the bowl. Bam quickly retreated to the corner, watching from afar.

As the silver-haired man raised the bowl and drank eagerly, Bam's tense face slowly grew joyful. It hadn't expected him to enjoy its cooking.

When he finished, the man stretched, handed the bowl back, and said with genuine apology, "Could I have another bowl? It's truly delicious!"

To be praised by a human for its food, Bam was overcome with emotion, tears streaming down its face. That heart, lonely for so long, felt warmth once more.