Chapter Bonanza (4/10)

━━ 🐈‍⬛ ━━

A large tree stump served as a table, two smaller ones as stools. Huo Ling spent four or five days meticulously sanding them with horsetail grass each time he returned from the mountains, then applying a coat of wood lacquer.

Old Man Mu advised that for a better color, he should apply several coats. He ended up painting three times. After drying, the surface felt completely smooth to the touch.

That evening, they used the new table and stools for supper in the courtyard. Occasionally, they’d glance up to see how many green jujubes had ripened on the trees.

“He said he’d do carpentry, but in the end, he only sawed a few pieces of wood.”

Huo Ling took a bite of his bun, swallowed, and said, “That’s the advantage of living in the mountains—you can find any kind of wood you want.”

“I think it’s just fine like this. This stump is solid and heavy, sturdier than those four-legged tables. It won’t budge even in a strong wind.”

Yan Qi stroked the tabletop affectionately. Though Huo Ling made it sound simple, transforming an ordinary stump into a table was no easy feat—it had taken a lot of sandpaper alone.

They didn’t discard the stripped bark either, tearing it into thin strips to bundle things together.

Huo Ling devoured a bun in a few big bites and reached for another.

Today’s filling was radish greens and glass noodles. To solve the problem of not having pork on the mountain, they’d bought two pounds of fatty pork during their last trip down. They rendered it into lard, saving the crispy pork cracklings.

The lard could be saved for stir-frying, while the cracklings worked perfectly as filling for buns and dumplings. They were also ideal for stewing vegetables, tasting even more fragrant than lean meat.

Since all the oil had been rendered out, the meat cracklings were dry and crispy, making them ideal for long-term storage in the mountains.

Freshly rendered, the family couldn’t resist—each grabbed a piece to taste. It was truly delicious, even Dager and Huangya got a bite to sample.

“The dough for today’s buns didn’t rise well—it’s not fluffy enough.”

Huo Ling had already eaten half of his second bun. Seeing the ger still clutching his first one, taking a few bites before squeezing the dough, he sighed regretfully: “It’s been too long since I made them. My hands are rusty. I’ve wasted some good flour.”

“How could that be a waste? I wouldn’t have noticed if you hadn’t said anything. They’re just as good as the ones sold outside. Besides, go take a look around town. Not every shop selling buns tastes as good as the one we used to go to.”

After finishing his second large bun, Huo Ling carried both their bowls to the kitchen, ladling two spoonfuls of cornmeal porridge for each.

The tender radish greens, infused with the savory aroma of pork cracklings, and the unique texture of the glass noodles made it impossible to stop eating once you started.

“It’s been ages since I’ve eaten homemade buns this freely.”

Huo Ling ate six in a row before finally pausing to catch his breath.

Yan Qi, unusually ravenous, devoured two and a half. He broke off half of the last one for Huo Ling, ensuring nothing went to waste.

“Which do you prefer—baozi or dumplings? I’ll make them again soon.”

They hadn’t bought much white flour. The five pounds they’d originally carried up had been used up after making dumplings, baozi, and noodles.

Given Huo Ling’s appetite, if they ate white flour dishes freely, they’d easily go through twenty to thirty pounds a month.

After the meal, one of them cleared the dishes while the other carefully wiped the table. As Yan Qi washed the bowls, he asked Huo Ling. Without hesitation, he replied, “As long as you made it, I love everything.”

Yan Qi lowered his head and smiled softly. “Then I’ll make them all.”

━━ 🐈‍⬛ ━━

The tail end of June brought Huo Ling’s birthday.

In the village, birthdays were typically celebrated only for children and the elderly—the former to mark their birth, the latter to honor their longevity. Most of those in between were parents, burdened with elderly parents and young children, leaving little time for themselves.

In past years, Huo Ling’s birthday had never been properly celebrated. Alone on the mountain, if he wanted a bowl of noodles, he had to knead the dough himself, stretch it, and cook it in the pot.

Yet earlier this year, he’d shamelessly asked Yan Qi for a birthday gift, a rare flicker of anticipation stirring within him.

That said, as the actual day approached, he’d pushed the matter from his mind entirely, consumed instead by thoughts of gathering lingzhi mushrooms in the mountains.

In June and July, mountain rains grew plentiful. Wild grasses and shrubs vied for height, racing to grow taller. In the densest patches, they reached nearly waist-high, forcing people to raise sickles to clear a path through the thicket.

Amidst the fallen trunks scattered throughout the deep woods, colorful mushrooms began sprouting everywhere.

This was Yan Qi’s first lingzhi season since entering the mountains. Huo Ling had specially brought him along. Dager and Huang Yae walked one in front, one behind. With frequent trips into the mountains, Huang Yae had long memorized the path.

“The same spot won’t yield lingzhi twice in a row. But last year’s harvest was sparse, so this year should be better. Lingzhi, like pine nuts, has good years and bad years—abundant one season, scarce the next. It’s much like farming; you can’t expect bountiful harvests every single year.”

Huo Ling hacked a path through the mountainside with his axe, intending to lead Yan Qi to several fallen trees whose locations he had marked. He spoke slowly as he worked.

“Newly fallen trees rarely bear lingzhi. But after two or three years, they usually sprout. My father taught me this when I was young: when you find a fallen tree, take mental note of it. Return year after year to check. If you get lucky and find lingzhi growing there, wouldn’t that save you a lot of trouble?“

Yan Qi couldn’t help but ask, ”How do you remember them? The mountain is so vast, and there must be countless fallen trees.”

Huo Ling plucked a yellow wildflower and handed it to Yan Qi. Dazzled by the petals, Yan Qi paused before accepting it with a smile. He listened as the man continued, “I just remember them. I don’t know how. Maybe it’s something mountain hunters’ sons are born with, like remembering mountain paths.”

Yan Qi found this deeply true. His own ability to remember paths and directions was not bad, but it truly couldn’t compare to Huo Ling’s. Sometimes, after being in the mountains for too long, it was hard to distinguish east from west without looking at the sun.

Huo Ling, however, could always find the correct direction, never losing his way even after dark.

He casually twisted a wildflower stem into a loop and pinned it to the small basket slung over his arm.

Huo Ling watched with a smile in his eyes.

Sometimes he worried the ger wasn’t truly suited for mountain life—and it had nothing to do with courage or daring to venture deep into the wilderness.

Most people craved bustle—especially the wives and husbands down in the villages. They visited each other, stitched together, and gossiped about family and neighbors to ward off loneliness.

Yet spending time with Yan Qi gradually eased his worries.

Certain emotions couldn’t be faked, and besides, the ger had said himself that he enjoyed being with him, whether up in the mountains or down below.

A fallen tree lay across the path, its trunk thick and sturdy. When it was alive, even Yan Qi, with his long arms, couldn’t have encircled it alone.

“This tree fell three years ago. Bears stripped its bark, then a hollow cavity rotted out in the center. The hole grew larger and larger until the tree withered and died.”

Huo Ling motioned for Yan Qi to follow, circling the tree to search.

“I’ve come here both the past two years without finding any lingzhi. This year might be the one.”

Hearing this, Yan Qi also fixed his gaze on the trunk, examining it inch by inch, occasionally startled by passing insects.

This massive fallen log was not only covered in mushrooms and weeds, with wildflowers sprouting from scattered seeds, but its underside was also riddled with burrows dug by various small animals—rabbits, weasels, and mice darting in and out.

Huo Ling brushed aside a few blades of green grass and beckoned Yan Qi over.

“Look, this is the red lingzhi.”

After three years of marking this spot, his persistence had finally paid off.

Yan Qi gazed at the tiny red cap, surprised. “So lingzhi mushrooms are this small?”

He had imagined them at least as large as lion’s mane mushrooms, yet the little Lingzhi before him was barely the length of a finger.

“They vary in size, but this form is fully matured. Waiting longer won’t make the small ones grow larger.”

Huo Ling gently plucked the cluster of four lingzhi mushrooms. He had Yan Qi pick a larger leaf nearby to wrap them in.

These few light, “red mushrooms” were worth more than a basketful of wild greens.

“This counts as our first harvest.”

Huo Ling’s tone was cheerful.

Yan Qi took the lingzhi for now, placing it in his small basket, and followed Huo Ling to the next spot to continue searching.

There were over a dozen similar fallen logs. They spent more than two hours moving from one to the next. They weren’t entirely empty-handed along the way either. Whenever Huo Ling spotted kidneywort growing on a tree, he’d stop, strap on his climbing gear, and scale the tree to pick it.

Speaking of that climbing gear, Yan Qi felt nervous every single time he saw it.

Just two iron rings, each tipped with a sharp spike, and he climbed such tall trees.

Ever since witnessing it once, Yan Qi had insisted to Huo Ling that the device should only be used when both of them entered the mountains together. Otherwise, if something happened, there wouldn’t even be time to rescue him.

He didn’t want to speak of such unlucky omens, but the very essence of mountain-chasing lay in these risks. He couldn’t forget how his late father-in-law had perished.

Though mountain guides couldn’t do without their foot straps, Huo Ling still agreed to Yan Qi’s suggestion.

He didn’t want to frighten the ger. During their current ten-day stay in the mountains, they’d ventured in together half the time. Leaving behind the tree-bound mountain goods wasn’t difficult.

“Be careful. Skip anything in a tricky spot.”

Once again, before climbing, Yan Qi repeated his patient warnings.

Huo Ling secured his foot straps, tested his footing on the ground several times, and tightened the thick hemp rope looped around his waist.

“Don’t worry, this tree isn’t too tall.”

He walked to the base, took a running jump upward, and secured the rope after gripping the trunk with both hands and feet.

Then, taking two steps upward while pulling the rope loop higher, he moved not like a climber but like someone walking along the trunk.

The iron spikes at the front of the foot stirrups were razor-sharp and required regular sharpening and replacement. They were the critical part of the stirrups; if they became dull or bent, it was easy to slip and fall.

In such a situation, quick reflexes and the rope’s anchor could keep you suspended mid-air, buying precious time to recover.

Huo Ling climbed with intense focus, oblivious to the mountain breeze and birdsong until he reached a height where he wedged himself between branches. Only then did he glance down and call out to the ger below, signaling he was safe.

Yan Qi looked up. The tree was truly immense, its foliage so dense he could barely make out Huo Ling’s features.

Dager and Huang Yae also craned their necks to watch. Seeing this scene, Huo Ling quickened his movements.

In the past, when climbing trees, only Dager would wait below, always sniffing around, waiting to pick up whatever Huo Ling tossed down.

Now Yan Qi was here, Huo Ling knew he was acting much more cautiously than before.

Beyond several bunches of kidney grass, he also spotted a cluster of golden elm mushrooms.

He carefully drew his small dagger, cutting along the base of the mushrooms, and placed a full handful into his cloth bag.

Elm mushrooms weren’t in season, making today’s find a pleasant surprise.

He didn’t plan to sell them. Tonight, he’d catch a wild pheasant and stew it for soup.