Chapter 103

Chapter 103

Some animals have such distinctive temperaments that even Bian Hong couldn't forget them after a single encounter.

The irritable mother bear standing before them now was one of them.

She had come running at Rong Feng's call during a poacher attack that winter, able to shatter a poacher's skull with one swipe of her paw. The way she'd roared so ferociously was burned into Bian Hong's memory.

Now, under the cover of night, she looked even more menacing. Bian Hong instinctively looked away, not daring to meet her eyes—they were the ones in the wrong, after all.

The tension was unbearable, like a war could break out any second.

But at least the little bear had a conscience. Seeing how things were going, it grabbed the cub it had lured and cautiously stepped forward.

The mother bear didn't move. In her eyes, this chubby little cub was no threat at all. The real problem was these two "humans" who'd taken her child and made her search all day—what the hell was that about?

The little bear stopped a safe distance from the mother, then nudged the cub beside it with its foot, pushing it forward.

The mother bear roared, but seeing her cub, her anger cooled a bit. Finally, with a heavy-lidded glare, she led her cub back a few steps. Before leaving, she swung her massive paw and sent the little bear tumbling.

The mother bear was so strong that the usually tough, playful little cub let out a grunt as it face-planted in the dirt. Bian Hong thought she'd done a great job and almost wanted to add a kick of his own.

The whole farce ended with the little bear's mouth swollen from that slap.

When they turned to head back inside, they saw the roe deer the little bear had brought back still standing at the door, looking dumbfounded. It blinked its big eyes, tilting its head this way and that.

Like it was just now starting to wonder if the little bear had brought it here not as a guest, but as a backup food supply.

Bian Hong worried the roe deer might have a family too—wouldn't its parents be worried? Since they hadn't managed to return the cub, and the torches were lit and coats were on anyway, he and Rong Feng led the silly thing into the mountains.

After searching around, they finally found a herd of roe deer lying in the bushes in the dark. He let the little one go, and the commotion startled the herd—they all stood up and stared curiously at the two men.

The herd didn't run or hide. They even followed the two men for a good distance, not turning back even at the edge of the woods.

Bian Hong finally laughed, now understanding how the bear had lured the little roe deer away. With that kind of personality and crazy curiosity, it was a sure catch every time.

Not just one—if he tried a little, he could lure back a whole herd.

But after all these strange events, Bian Hong felt that life, while a bit bumpy, was mostly calm and busy.

In late summer and early autumn, everything on the small hill had ripened. Long beans hung thick off the trellises, eggplants and peppers had produced plenty, and cabbages, with the dropping temperatures, had curled into tight, solid heads.

These vegetables had to be harvested before autumn—dried in the sun or pickled. All together, they were no small amount; this was their winter supply of greens.

This year's eggplants hadn't done great—maybe the soil didn't suit them. They were small, but better than nothing. At least they could be cut open for mature seeds. Seeds were precious, so even with a poor harvest, Bian Hong hoped next year's crop on the fertile soil by Mirror Lake would be better.

The peppers, though, were a great harvest, hanging in clusters, with a small patch already turning red. Peppers were a key seasoning Bian Hong couldn't live without, so he and Rong Feng hurried over before the hillside collapsed, leading the horse and bringing the bear to work the small plots. They picked a ton, filling two big cloth sacks.

Rong Feng tied the sacks and tossed them onto Silver Frost's back. Even with two full bags, the weight was fine—not too heavy, not too light, and Silver Frost still had strength to spare.

Compared to the other veggies, the beans Bian Hong had planted completely covered their trellises, weighing the vines down. Long beans hung thick off every branch—picking them all would make a huge pile.

Besides the garden veggies, there were potatoes and sweet potatoes in the fields. Both needed serious digging, but Rong Feng didn't mind at all. Tall and sturdy, his strength seemed endless—before long, he'd dug up a huge area.

What didn't fit on Silver Frost's back went into bamboo baskets and onto a cart. The plot wasn't big, but the harvest filled the whole cart. The trip back was tough, but the abundance made it worth it.

Even Silver Frost couldn't resist turning around now and then to grab a potato or a sweet potato from the cart, chewing slowly as it walked. The little bear would even stick its butt out and help Rong Feng push the cart.

Bian Hong, meanwhile, looked at the lush wheat fields along the road. A breeze swept through, stirring wave after wave.

Like the waves he'd once seen in the Fen River, but these wheat waves gave a sense of hope.

This was grain—seeds—the lifeline of the common folk.

At this time of year, they weren't the only ones heading home. People from several villages were busy shuttling between old sites and new homes, not letting a single trace of their old lives go to waste—let alone gardens they'd tended for two whole seasons.

And even if they weren't coming for old homes, at this season, if you looked, food was everywhere—ripe fruit and wild game were abundant.

Unlike famine years, even the wild fruit was extra plentiful and extra sweet this year. The wild apricots, plums, and grapes along both sides of the road had been picked clean.

People happily carried them home—boiled or pickled, they were a treat.

But the fruit trees deeper in the mountains, people didn't dare touch. That's when Bian Hong and Rong Feng would go in to pick seasonal berries.

The grapes were small and sour, hard to choke down, though the flavor was refreshing. So Bian Hong turned them into wine, sealed in clay jars. Whether it would work was anyone's guess, but it was worth a try.

The other fruits were sliced, pitted, and dried into fruit leather, to enjoy in winter when fresh stuff was scarce—a nice extra.

As they worked longer and brought back more, storage became an issue. They set aside a day to dig a cellar in the open space behind the house.

The cellar was just right—perfect for storing ripe potatoes, radishes, and other winter veggies and fruit. Fresh stuff could also be kept there, lasting a long time without freezing even in winter. That's the wisdom of working folks.

A few days later, Uncle Min brought over some mung beans.

He told Bian Hong these could be saved for winter when veggies ran out—just soak them in hot water, cover them in a basin, put it on the warm kang, and in a day or two they'd sprout fresh bean sprouts. Stir-fried with oil and a splash of vinegar, they were amazing.

So lately, Bian Hong had been busy every day, his days full of the smell of food. Even the little monkey came to help pick veggies, grimacing as it snapped beans, its little hands covered in bean sap. When it filled a small basin, it'd drag it over to Bian Hong, then grab another bundle and repeat the whole grimacing thing.

Bian Hong watched and laughed—that was one useful monkey.

With so much meat and veggies at home, Bian Hong thought about taking some surplus to the village. Not to give away for free, but to trade—swapping what they had for what they needed was a good deal.

So at first light, Bian Hong rode Silver Frost while the little bear carried a big sack of grain and pork into the village to trade. Rong Feng stayed home to keep digging the cellar—the small one just couldn't hold everything, and the wheat still wasn't in.

Bian Hong was almost obsessive about food storage. Maybe the taste of hunger was too burned into his memory—how crucial food was for survival. He meticulously sorted and organized everything, but even so, one cellar wasn't enough.

Rong Feng had never done storage on this scale before. In the old days, when he and his mother lived on the mountain, they stored a little and ate a little, whether the year was good or bad. They never starved, but they never ate great either—thinking back, it was pretty bland.

Now, this kind of busy work filled Rong Feng's heart with warmth. He felt life had flavor, had purpose, and was worth living.

Bian Hong came back in the afternoon, just as the sun was setting. Unlike his usual trips to the village, this time he ran back gleefully, clutching a big wooden box. Grinning, he hopped in front of Rong Feng, sweat on his nose, face flushed. "Guess what I've got in here!" he announced.

Rong Feng's ears twitched—he could tell something alive was in there.

But seeing Bian Hong so excited, he didn't spoil it, just scratched his head and said he didn't know.

After milking the suspense, Bian Hong lifted the cloth off the box, revealing over twenty fluffy little ducklings.

Rong Feng was genuinely surprised—he hadn't expected that many. In the old days, plenty of villagers kept chickens and ducks, and even a yellow watchdog or two in every house.

But when the famine years hit, these creatures all vanished—not just in these villages, but even in the nearby towns, they were rare to see.

After all, if people could barely survive, what chance did livestock have? These twenty-odd ducklings were a real surprise. Seeing the stunned man, Bian Hong smiled and explained.

When he got to the village, he found a big open space in the center where people had gathered to trade. Some brought grain, others brought handmade clothes or shoes—every household swapping what they had for what they needed. It was bustling, almost like a small market.

Just as he was in the middle of trading, people at the edge of the village started shouting, and a crowd rushed toward the path.

Bian Hong looked up and saw a small merchant caravan. For such a remote village, caravans rarely passed through. While he was wondering about it, Uncle Min grabbed his arm and pulled him along, saying as they ran: "Boy, let's hurry and see—these are the livestock traders! It's been years since we've seen anything like this."

"What's 'livestock herding'? Who are these herders?"

Uncle Biao explained, "They come from far away, herding ducks and donkeys, eating and sleeping as they go. By the time they reach their destination, the ducklings have grown into ducks, and the donkeys are ready to work. When they find a suitable village, they stop and trade, then hit the road again, selling until everything's gone. Then they use the money they've earned to buy new young livestock, and head back the same way they came, selling them again back home. That's how the business worked."

Though the journey was tough, the payoffs were big, and so this profession was passed down, until it finally died out during the famine years. It was said that in those years, most of these herders had their livestock stolen, and that wasn't the worst part—just surviving was a stroke of luck.

For the villagers, livestock were crucial. They needed them to work the fields, and after raising them for a year, they provided meat to get through the winter. Especially chickens and ducks—after feeding them for a year on table scraps and weeds, in winter they could not only eat their meat but also use their feathers for clothes and quilts to stay warm.

Humans and animals depended on each other in this small mountain village.

Bian Hong couldn't agree more, and so he traded almost everything he had for the ducklings, for these little creatures were pretty pricey.

After all, they were hard to come by back then, yet there were still plenty of people lining up to trade for them. Because once you had ducks to breed, you could hatch new ducklings every year, generation after generation. For villagers who couldn't hunt in the mountains, they were a valuable source of meat.

The donkeys that came with the ducks, however—hardly anyone bought them. Donkeys couldn't handle heavy work, and aside from pulling millstones and working in the fields, they didn't have much use. The horses that had traveled with them, though, got more interest.

The village heads discussed for a long time and finally decided that several villages would chip in together to buy a tall red horse as the main workhorse for next year's plowing.

It was during his conversation with the merchant that Bian Hong learned the horses were legit. With the war over, the court had lifted the ban on horse trading. More war horses had ended up with regular folks, breeding many sturdy horses for farm work.

Bian Hong nodded, feeling that things were looking up.

But getting the ducks was easy enough—raising them was a whole other story. He not only had to build a new duck shed, but it had to be solid, because although the nearby animals weren't interested in the smoked meat, they had their eyes on these twenty-odd lively ducklings.

The larger beasts were fine—they wouldn't risk it for a few bites—but wild cats, foxes, and the occasional weasel were a real pain.

These little creatures were sneaky, able to slip through any gap to reach the ducks, so it was a real hassle.

After losing one duckling, Bian Hong wanted nothing more than to stay by the duck pen all day. But he couldn't be with them day and night, so finally, Little Bear and Silver Frost stepped in.

The two of them no longer slept in the house or their usual spots. Since the late summer nights were still warm, they camped out by the duck pen. Every night when darkness fell, they stood guard. At the slightest sound, Silver Frost would jump up. Under its iron hooves, even wild cats were intimidated and would give it a wide berth. Little Bear had a hotter temper and would chase far out to scare off any critter thinking about stealing ducks.

Then the bear would lie drooling on the duck pen, eyeing the twenty-odd little creatures like a snack.

Bian Hong had said that when these little guys grew up, they'd lay eggs.

The bear knew eggs were tasty.

But keeping watch like this every day wasn't going to work forever. Rong Feng thought it over and decided on a single move to fix the problem for good.

He went straight into the mountains, quickly located the monkeys, and, before the Old Monkey King could even react, plucked those few precious Mountain Lord hairs from its head, then turned and ran.

The Old Monkey King hopped around in a rage, but that little punk ran too fast for him to catch up, so he could only beat his chest and stomp his feet in frustration.

So after Rong Feng tied the Mountain Lord's hairs to the duck pen, things finally calmed down. No animal dared mess with those ducklings anymore.

But Bian Hong was at a loss for words—those few hairs scared off not only the nearby duck thieves but also the trembling ducks inside the pen.

With that scary vibe around, Bian Hong wondered if these ducks would even grow up. Would they die of fright?

But funny enough, when the ducks grew up, any animal that came near and caught their scent would be momentarily stunned—why did these ducks smell like the Mountain Lord? Were they the Mountain Lord's secret kids?

Bian Hong couldn't foresee the day his ducks would boss the mountains around. At this moment, looking at the huddled, scared little things, he felt quite sorry for them.

After trading for the ducks, even Rong Feng became interested in the village market.

When Bian Hong took Rong Feng on their second trip to trade goods, the village heads asked Bian Hong for a favor—nothing too hard—just about finding some clay.

What kind of clay? The village head said he had once seen a grayish clay. Objects made from that clay, when fired, were really nice and didn't leak water. Many wealthy people in the county seat used such porcelain, but most villagers couldn't afford it.

This time, the court had built a kiln in the village. Besides firing bricks, it might be used for other things—like pots and maybe some porcelain. Whether it would succeed was uncertain, but it was worth a shot.

Bian Hong agreed, because he had indeed seen that kind of dirt in the mountains. After returning home, the two discussed it and set off up the mountain, hauling back a large cart of clay for porcelain to give to the villagers so they could try it out themselves.

After that, the two returned to their busy routine—drying fruit, picking fruit, going back and forth in and out of the mountains. The cellar filled up, and so did Bian Hong's heart.

He wasn't scared of going hungry anymore. He wasn't scared of famine.

Half a month after he'd put the whole clay thing aside, the villagers showed up at his door, all smiles, carrying a bunch of pots and jars.

Bian Hong saw that although they were roughly made, they were still porcelain—not pretty, but practical for them. The village had tinkered with it for a while and only a few days ago produced their first good batch from the kiln. Only two or three out of ten succeeded, and a lot of them broke, but they were still overjoyed.

Not just because they now had usable pots and jars, but because they'd discovered a new way to make money for the village, another way for the poor folks to get by. Though the yield was small, trading it in town could get them a bag of grain.

It wasn't until things slowed down that Rong Feng found time to go with the village heads to the city to update their paperwork and change their official addresses.

It was already late—if they delayed any longer, it would be autumn harvest time, and there'd be no time to deal with the paperwork. This was about how many seeds the court would hand out next spring, so it was urgent.

Bian Hong sat by the door, scattering feed for the ducks, and thought about Rong Feng, who was off in the city. Speaking of paperwork, he thought about the old days.

The two who had once said they'd split up their households in spring had instead ended up living together—from spring to fall, from last year to this one. Maybe from this year to the rest of their lives.

Life was funny like that, he couldn't help but think.

The city was far, and the guys who went wouldn't be back for a while. Bian Hong stared at the sunset for a long while before finally giving up and going inside, crawling into bed.

With Rong Feng away, the little monkey took the chance to slip into the bedding. Little Bear also ambled over to check things out, but ultimately, still wary of Rong Feng, didn't climb onto the kang—just huffed and grumbled on the ground, occasionally lifting its head to nudge Bian Hong's hand that hung over the edge.

Bian Hong simply couldn't sleep. Before—whether in the coal mine pits or in the earthen burrows during the famine—he could sleep anywhere, anytime, didn't matter the bed or who was around.

But now, he tossed and turned, remembering how warm Rong Feng's chest was.

A bright moon hung in the distance outside the window. Bian Hong blinked, felt the cold sheets, and finally sighed. In the end, he just pulled the blanket up over his head.

Ugh, frustrating.