In the Remote Small World, within the dragon palace converted from the Princess Mansion.
The fat beaver shook its rolls of blubber as it toiled away, gnawing down small trees and dragging them into the water to reinforce its dam. Its technique was exceedingly practiced. The three-month rainy season was coming, and the beaver did not want its dam to collapse and cause a Flood Disaster downstream.
It carefully stacked the materials, then looked at the sun and decided it was nearly noon.
It dove into the water and soon caught two plump fish weighing around ten pounds each. With its little paws, it snapped off a willow twig, threaded it through the fishes' gills, tied them up, and hung them from a steel fork. It swam downstream to the fishing platform beside the dragon palace, climbed ashore via the stone steps, then swayed toward the dragon palace with the fork over its shoulder to deliver ingredients.
It ambled past the short-tailed lynx sunning itself.
It glanced at the humans lined up to seek treatment.
There were poor and wealthy people, cultivators, and demon beasts. Wealthy dignitaries had servants attending them as they sat on brocade cushions and sighed endlessly, while the poor squatted by the roadside chewing dry rations. Regardless of status, all waited in line properly.
In truth, few poor people could come to the dragon palace for treatment. Only villagers and townsfolk from nearby could manage it. Poor people could not afford to travel, and anyone who could journey hundreds or thousands of miles to seek treatment needed some measure of family wealth.
A few days earlier, a cultivator about to undergo tribulation had brought others here seeking treatment. He had arrogantly barged in, trying to force his way into the dragon palace, only to end up