Before heading into the mountains to dig for ginseng, Huo Ling took down the ginseng bag hanging on the wall.

However, the outer cloth bag had already shown signs of wear from last year’s use, and when he took it down this year, the rope on it let out a sharp “snap”—it was on the verge of breaking.

Yan Qi brought out the sewing basket. Before threading the needle, he inspected the empty cloth bag inside and out and said, “It’s not just this spot; we’ll need to sew up a few other places, too.”

He furrowed his brow slightly and said, “Why not just make a new one?”

“It’s been used for many years; it’s time for a replacement. It’s just that in the past, we’ve always made do with it year after year.”

The layers of patches on the cloth pouch clearly showed Huo Ling’s makeshift repairs. He knew the basics of sewing, but his stitches weren’t very neat, and he could only patch things up—he didn’t know how to sew a new pouch from scratch.

Yan Qi found a ball of thread, unwound a short length, threaded it through the needle, and began sewing the pouch carefully.

Huo Ling, meanwhile, began sorting through the row of tools he’d taken out of the pouch. Some were made of iron; he placed them on the whetstone and sharpened each one in turn, then wiped them clean with a soft cloth. Others were made of bone and had yellowed with age.

It didn’t take Yan Qi long to mend the nearly broken strap; he even took the opportunity to reinforce the other end as well.

This was a task that required only a few stitches, so he finished it quickly. To Huo Ling, it seemed like Yan Qi had merely flicked his fingers a few times before it was done; by the time Yan Qi bit the thread end with his teeth, Huo Ling hadn’t even realized it.

It took him a moment to realize he’d been staring at Yan Qi the whole time, causing the latter to freeze in surprise as well.

Huo Ling was the first to snap out of it. Holding the pile in his hands, he motioned for Yan Qi to come closer.

“Let me show you the Huo family treasures. These have been passed down from my grandfather’s generation.”

The row of items before him, as Huo Ling put it, was all tools for digging ginseng. Though they weren’t all necessary for every trip into the mountains, he always made sure to bring the entire set.

Huo Ling asked him, “Didn’t you see our family’s ginseng root down in the valley?”

Yan Qi nodded.

Huo Ling kept a ginseng root at home, stored in a wooden box, which he had once taken out to show Yan Qi.

Yan Qi remembered that the ginseng was slender, about the size of a finger, and not very long if you didn’t count the ginseng roots. No wonder they say wild mountain ginseng is hard to grow—it takes decades before it’s ready for medicinal use.

In thirty years, it only grows to the size of a finger; if it’s any younger than that, there’s probably not much to harvest.

“Think about it—aren’t those ginseng roots barely thicker than a strand of hair? To dig one out without breaking it, you have to rely on these.”

Huo Ling picked them up one by one to show Yan Qi. These tools looked much like farming implements, only they were all made very small so they could fit into the sling-style ginseng bag.

The small pickaxe was for digging soil, the miniature iron rake for clearing stones, the tiny shears for snipping troublesome weed roots, and the small hatchet for chopping tree roots. There were also two short knives—one large and one small—one resembling a wood-chopping cleaver and the other a curved sickle used for harvesting wheat.

While Yan Qi could still make out the uses of these tools, he couldn’t fathom the purpose of the other two unremarkable sticks at all.

“What are these for?”

Before picking it up, he thought the stick was made of wood, but upon holding it, he realized it was made of bone, just like the hairpin on his own head.

“They’re for prying out ginseng roots. Once we’ve cleared away the surrounding rocks, soil, and grass roots, we’ll use these two to gently pry the ginseng out bit by bit.”

The reason for using bone is twofold: it’s easy to obtain, and it doesn’t rot. Moreover, bone can be polished to a smooth enough finish that the longer it’s used, the less likely it is to damage the ginseng roots.

With the exception of the two bone sticks, the rest of this set consisted of heavy iron implements. Given how well-maintained they were, one could imagine just how valuable they were. After all, aside from gold and silver, iron was the most valuable material rural folk could come into contact with—just like an iron pot, it was something that could be passed down through generations.

“Whenever I have time, I take them out to polish them and apply a bit of oil now and then. That’s what my father taught me.”

Yan Qi put the bone sticks back in their place and remarked instinctively, “They don’t look like something from our grandparents’ generation that could be passed down.”

“Hmm, after all, we don’t use them more than twice a year, so there’s hardly any wear and tear.”

He placed each tool back into the gourd bag, which was lined with a bundle of Ula grass. “When the time comes, we’ll pass these on to our children.”

Regardless of whether his and Yan Qi’s children would want to become mountain caravanners in the future, passing these items down would serve as a memento.

He recalled how his father had left these things behind when he passed away—he never imagined Huo Ling would actually carry on the tradition.

While they were sorting things inside the house, the people in the courtyard weren’t idle either.

Huo Feng was showing Lin Changshui how to polish two wooden sticks with horsetail grass. These were called “Sobao Sticks”—ginseng diggers carried them into the mountains to probe the ground for ginseng and to signal to companions if they became separated.

Experienced ginseng diggers usually have their own. Huo Ling had already prepared Yan Qi’s stick long ago, but since this was Lin Changshui and Xiao Mingming’s first time, Huo Ling had been helping them find suitable branches for the Sobao Sticks ever since they set out for the mountains. Whenever Lin Changshui had a spare moment, he’d head out to the courtyard to whittle the wood.

By today, he had nearly finished; the stick felt quite smooth to the touch and wouldn’t prick his hands.

Next, Xiao Mingming brought out ten copper coins and tied them to the two sticks with a red string. When he picked them up, the coins clinked against each other, making a tinkling sound.

On this trip up the mountain, both of them had learned a great deal, especially many of the rules and techniques of mountain guides.

Logically, such knowledge should either be passed down through families or acquired only after formally apprenticing under a master. Yet neither Huo Ling nor Huo Feng held anything back; they shared everything they knew. Hearing this, the two felt a bit ashamed, thinking there was nothing they could do to repay them.

Huo Ling, however, had no further instructions to offer—just one: he asked Lin Changshui and Xiao Mingming to say as little as possible to others about their time in the mountains once they returned.

Everyone knows that venturing into the mountains can be profitable. Huo Ling had previously refused to take people into the mountains precisely because he feared the hassle; if too many people came, even if he still refused them, dealing with each one individually would be quite a nuisance.

Setting aside other considerations, the Lin couple’s character was trustworthy in this regard.

Since tomorrow would be another day spent in the mountains from dawn till dusk, they boiled several pots of hot water in the evening. The group took turns bathing; to save water and time, the four of them—excluding Huo Feng—split into two pairs to go together.

Although it wouldn’t be a problem for Yan Qi and Xiao Mingming to bathe together, Huo Ling and Lin Changshui clearly weren’t comfortable staring each other down bare-chested.

Both of them were rather solitary types; if it were summer and they were washing in the river, that would be one thing, but being in the same room felt downright strange.

Huo Ling stood to the side, scrubbing himself with a loofah, while Yan Qi, fearing the cold, had draped a cloth over himself and sat on a small stool, washing his hair with soapberries.

Huo Ling’s gaze inadvertently fell on the ger’s knee, where a bruise had formed. He immediately tossed the loofah aside and reached out to gently touch the other’s knee.

Yan Qi was startled—not because Huo Ling had suddenly moved closer, but because his knee had been touched at that very moment.

It instantly brought to mind many things he shouldn’t be thinking about right now.

Plus, since he was bent over washing his hair, he had to grab the strands blocking his view and brush them aside before he could see what Huo Ling was doing.

“When did you get that?”

Huo Ling, tall and broad-shouldered, crouched in front of Yan Qi, gently tracing the small bruise as his brow furrowed.

“I don’t know. I only noticed it just now when I took off my shirt. I must have bumped into something by accident. It doesn’t hurt.”

When traveling through the mountains, bumps and bruises were all too common, and some people were simply prone to bruising—it looked alarming, but they felt nothing themselves.

Huo Ling understood this, but it still pained him to see it.

He’d been crouched there so long that he seemed to have forgotten he wasn’t wearing a single thread of clothing. When Yan Qi accidentally caught a glimpse of something, he quickly covered his face with his hair, pretending he hadn’t seen a thing.

Unfortunately, he might have escaped this one, but he couldn’t escape the next.

When he let go, Yan Qi felt as if his palms were on fire; it took several washes to get the sensation off.

Huo Ling washed his hands as well, then took the damp cloth to wipe the ger’s stomach and the area just above it.

Yan Qi, his face flushed, took the cloth and said he’d do it himself.

They were almost finished with the bath when his premonition came true—he knew a man who’d been deprived for so many days wouldn’t let such a golden opportunity slip by.

The two of them squeezed together and busied themselves shamelessly for a while. If anything, it was indeed pleasurable; Yan Qi even felt so relaxed that he was starting to get drowsy.

As a result, when they returned to their quarters that evening, Yan Qi fell fast asleep shortly after lying down. After a full night’s rest, he saw Huo Ling in the morning and noticed that the other man was also in high spirits.

━━ 🐈‍⬛ ━━

By daybreak, the five of them were fully prepared and ready to set out.

Huo Ling had already selected the mountain peak they would visit today; exploring it from dawn to dusk would take several hours.

He chose this spot because he recalled seeing an immature two-cycle ginseng here many years ago. Calculating the years, if it had been left until this year, it would be ready for harvesting.

However, the ginseng might not still be there, and even if it were, there was no guarantee they could find it.

Sometimes, mountain-scavengers from other villages would follow the mountain trails into Huo Ling’s territory; perhaps they had already dug up the ginseng. This was unavoidable, and there was no need to stop them—as long as they didn’t go right up to someone’s doorstep. Unlike hunters, mountain-guudes didn’t concern themselves with so-called “territory.”

After all, mountain foraging began as a collective endeavor. When people met in the mountains, they didn’t view each other as competitors; instead, they felt safer knowing there were more people in the woods.

Aside from humans, wild animals also nibble on ginseng leaves, while birds eat ginseng seeds or may simply uproot the grass in that area to eat the roots.

They cannot distinguish between what is valuable and what is not; in their search for food, they will eat anything.

For this reason, snakes are often found in the grass near ginseng patches; they lurk nearby to prey on animals drawn by the ginseng’s scent.

This is where the treasure-seeking staff proves its worth: the clinking of the copper coins on it isn’t very noticeable to human ears, but to the keen ears of wild animals, it’s extremely jarring—they’ll avoid the area the moment they hear it from afar.

At the foot of the hillside, Huo Ling went over today’s rules one last time—this was the very reason the ginseng foreman existed.

Searching for ginseng on the mountain was by no means aimless wandering; if one did that, they might search for a year or two without finding a single ginseng leaf.

Since everyone except Huo Feng—including Yan Qi—was a first-timer and “outsider” on this trip, Huo Ling explained the details with particular care.

Holding his stick, he traced a line along a section of the path at the foot of the slope, gesturing for the group to take their designated positions. Then he raised the stick and waved it toward the hillside.

“The five of us will line up in a row, with a distance of two stick lengths between each person.”

He tapped the ground with the stick. “When you’re looking for ginseng, swing the stick from side to side. Follow the tip of the stick with your eyes—wherever the stick points, that’s where your eyes should look. That way, you won’t miss anything.”

Going into the mountains to search for ginseng is called “pressing the mountain,” meaning the group moves forward inch by inch, sweeping the area as they go.

“Whoever finds one, shout out, but look carefully—don’t mistake the ‘ginseng decoy’ for real ginseng. If you’re unsure, call me.”

The “ginseng lookalike” is actually wild eggplant; it’s eaten as a wild vegetable in spring, and its leaves closely resemble those of wild ginseng.

Seasoned mountain hunters never mistake them; it’s mostly beginners who get it wrong. Actually, finding wild eggplant isn’t a bad thing—wild ginseng might just be nearby.

But the real danger is shouting out a mistake, only to find upon reaching it that it isn’t what you thought.

According to the old rules, even if you realize you’ve made a mistake, you must still dig up the “ginseng lookalike” and “carry it down the mountain,” then head home—meaning today’s trip was a total waste.

Wild ginseng is rare, and accordingly, there are many rules surrounding it. Some have been passed down for so long that no one knows why they exist, yet they are still followed.

The high mountains are said to be inhabited by spirits, and everyone fears accidentally offending something that might ruin their livelihood.