The fish in the net thrashed its tail on the ice. Its mouth was long and pointed, somewhat resembling a duck’s bill, and its body was equally slender, as long as one of Yan Qi’s arms. At first glance, the fish’s eyes seemed to be positioned right in the center of its body.

“A dogfish weighing over twenty pounds—it’s no spring chicken. Dajun, you’d better call this fish ‘Uncle.’”

Huo Feng joked.

Qi Laoda, the oldest person present, recalled, “When we were kids, someone in Sanjia village caught a three-foot-long river pike. Do you guys remember that?”

“I remember.”

Yang Qingsheng was the first to speak up. “I don’t remember what that family’s surname was, but we all went to check out the spectacle back then.”

He pointed at Huo Ling, “Their family lived up on the mountain back then, so they missed the commotion. By the time they came down to see it, the fish had already been divided up and eaten by that family.”

Huo Ling: “…I’d actually forgotten about it, but now that you mention it, I remember.”

Back then, the two brothers had regretted it terribly and swore they’d go ice fishing to catch a fish that big themselves. But over a decade had passed, and they still hadn’t managed it.

Lin Changshui didn’t remember much either. Back then, his deadbeat father was still alive, and the things he could recall weren’t exactly happy memories. Even if there was a spectacle to watch, it wasn’t his place to go see it.

Qi Chunshu crouched on the ground, watching the fish, and said in a matter-of-fact tone, “Our master says that according to the records, some pike are as big as boats and can live for two hundred years.” 

“Two hundred years? Wouldn’t they have turned into spirits by then? Did your master really say that?”

Qi Laoda was quite surprised. He pondered, “If that were true, why aren’t there any aquatic beings among the Five Great Sects?”

He then convinced himself that aquatic creatures find it difficult to interact with humans and thus cannot seek official titles; they can likely only become spirits, not immortals.

“The books mention this, too? I thought they only contained poetry and prose.”

Yang Qingsheng knew a few characters and could read ledgers, but he didn’t like reading books.

When he was a child and went to the village school, he studied the Hundred Family Surnames and the Thousand Character Classic, but he’d forgotten half of it by the time he finished, which infuriated his father so much that he beat him with the sole of his shoe.

“Books have everything in them. Some even teach you how to farm.”

But Baojia Town was too small, and the selection of books available was very limited. Compared to the common primers, the Four Books and Five Classics that scholars were required to memorize, and some crudely printed picture books and story collections, the rarer the books were, the more expensive they became—prices that ordinary families, especially the children of farmers, could not afford.

“Are there really scholars who write books who are also good at farming?”

Qi Laoda still found it hard to believe, but he patted his son on the shoulder and encouraged him, “Then you could write one yourself someday.”

Qi Chunshu felt there were some things he couldn’t quite make sense of when talking to his father—for instance, the saying that “a son should not speak of the strange, the violent, the chaotic, or the supernatural.” A big fish was just a big fish; why drag ghosts, gods, and spirits into it? Still, upon hearing this, he nodded in agreement.

His family had spent a great deal of money on his education, and as long as he had the drive, he still wanted to make a name for himself through his studies. As long as it didn’t involve matters of principle, he rarely argued with his family.

Huo Ling stepped forward, placed the fish in a net, tied it tightly, and tossed it into a corner of the tent. It was cold out; even if the fish died, it wouldn’t stink, so there was no need to bring a live one back.

Pike, salmon, and pike-perch…

Large fish took the bait one after another. When the line finally went still, Huo Ling scattered another batch of bait and began the next round of waiting.

For Yan Qi, who was here for the first time, he was still somewhat excited during the early part of the night. Later, he discovered that fishing here was actually far too easy. The big fish beneath the ice hole seemed almost stupid—they bit at any bait and were hooked the moment he gave a tug. Combined with snacking here and there, his stomach was stuffed to the brim. When Huo Ling gently shook him awake, he was startled to realize he’d actually fallen asleep.

He rubbed his eyes, slid off Huo Ling’s shoulder, and sat up.

At a glance, he saw that everyone had already started packing up.

“It’s already midnight. We’ve used up all the bait we brought, so let’s head back.” 

“Why didn’t you wake me up sooner? Everyone else was busy, and I was the only one sleeping.”

Yan Qi’s yawn caught midway, and he looked a bit annoyed.

“We just decided to leave.”

Huo Ling tugged him to his feet; the two of them straightened their clothes and joined the main group.

Heidou, who had also been sleeping leaning against Yan Qi, stood up, shook off the cold in his fur, and nudged open the tent flap with his head to go out and relieve himself. Every family had a bountiful catch—so heavy they couldn’t lift it, so they had to scoop it up with nets and drag it across the ice.

For families like the Huo and Lin clans, with fewer members, a single fish weighing over ten pounds would last at least two meals. Since they wouldn’t eat it every day, today’s catch would be enough to last until the New Year.

But eating too much of the same thing gets tiresome, and besides, they could always go fishing again once they’d finished. Huo Ling planned to set aside one fish to send to Hou Li in town, while Huo Feng picked out the largest one to take to his in-laws.

In the gloomy winter night, the group, wrapped in fur coats like bundles, trudged slowly across the river back to the village road.

To avoid disturbing his wife and child, Huo Feng went with Qi Laoda and his son to spend the night at the Qi household. Huo Ling and Yan Qi, meanwhile, led Heidou into the courtyard. After parking the handcart, they were so exhausted they could barely keep their eyes open. To avoid making any more noise, they didn’t even wash up; they simply took off their clothes and fell asleep.

The next day, when Huo Feng returned home, and Qi Laoda came to pick up his wife and daughter, the two were finally roused from their sleep. Only after the visitors had left did they slip on their clothes, step out of the house, and brush their teeth and wash their faces, their eyes still heavy with sleep.

Ye Suping and Huo Ying stood in the courtyard, marveling at last night’s catch.

Huo Ling glanced out the door and saw Huo Feng holding up the largest bream fish. He was apparently saying he planned to send this one to the Ye family as a gift for his father- and mother-in-law, and his older sister-in-law nodded approvingly.

Huo Ling, who had no in-laws to show respect to, glanced at Yan Qi. His hair was still tousled from sleep; he’d slept soundly last night. He must have felt hot in the middle of the night, because when he woke up, one of his legs was sticking out from under the covers.

Yet the ger used to be the most sensitive to the cold; as soon as autumn arrived, he was always the first to put on thick clothes.

He spat out the water from rinsing his mouth and happened to meet his brother and sister-in-law—the three of them—coming in from outside. He asked if the heated bed had been a bit too warm lately. Ye Suping replied:  “To be honest, I’ve felt it getting pretty toasty too. I figured it was because I’m expecting, and I didn’t want to worry you guys about the cold, so I didn’t say anything. But if Qi really feels hot too, then we’ll just put out the stove a little earlier from now on.”

“I don’t know why, but as soon as night falls, it feels like my heart is on fire.”

Sometimes during the day, he also felt a tightness in his chest. When indoors, he assumed it was because the doors and windows were shut, blocking the breeze; but when he went outside, he suspected it was because he was wearing too many layers to stay warm.

Not wanting to worry his family, he didn’t say much.

“You’ve had mutton twice in the last few days—could that have caused a heat buildup?”

Ye Suping took Yan Qi’s hand and felt it; she found his palm was warm, unlike before when it was always cold.

Now she wasn’t so sure either. Huo Feng chimed in from the side, “Isn’t it a good thing he’s not afraid of the cold? It means his constitution has recovered.” 

“That’s not quite the same thing.”

Huo Ling shook his head. Yan Qi had been tossing and turning on the kang all night—it seemed more like restlessness—but if it were a case of “internal heat,” he wouldn’t have sores in his mouth.

“Why don’t we go ask Bearded Ma to take her pulse?”

No sooner had he said this than Yan Qi immediately replied, “Why go see a doctor when I’m perfectly fine? It’s just a matter of taking two less pieces of firewood from the stove.”

Ye Suping added, “Exactly. Why drink that bitter herbal concoction when there’s nothing wrong? All medicines are toxic to some degree. Tonight, we should put out the fire early. If the room gets too dry, bring two basins of water to the bedside and drape a damp cloth over the rim.”

“I’d completely forgotten that trick.”

Yan Qi became even more convinced that the stuffy, dry air in the room was caused by heating the bed without opening the windows during the winter.

Since they’d gotten up late and weren’t going to town, Huo Ling and Yan Qi—who’d stayed in the village—went to the butcher’s to buy meat, then went to the Qi and Lin families to collect scallions.

Combined, the two households had fifty jin. They bought them at five wen per jin. Before the snow season, a jin of scallions would fetch no more than three wen in town, but during the snow season, everything was more valuable—even eggs had risen to four wen each.

There wasn’t much of the previously stored chives left either. Unlike scallions, which could be tossed directly into the vegetable cellar and simply had their outer leaves peeled off when needed, storing chives for the winter required washing them while fresh, draining them thoroughly, chopping them into fine pieces, and then burying them directly in the snow to freeze.

The price paid for chives is much higher than for scallions, and few households stock up on dozens of pounds of chives. So the two had discussed it beforehand: once the chives ran out, they would switch to other vegetarian fillings. It was the perfect opportunity to try making them today while they were at home.

Yan Qi came up with two recipes: one with cabbage and tofu, and another with green beans and glass noodles. Both required buying ingredients from outside. Tofu was slightly cheaper than glass noodles, but mixing cabbage into the filling required squeezing out the water—an extra step compared to the green beans. It could be said that each had its own pros and cons.

He prepared a small batch of each and combined them into a single pot for the family to taste. After everyone sampled them, they couldn’t decide which was better, so Huo Ling suggested, “Why don’t we make both and take them to town to see which one sells better?”

“We have plenty of cabbage and green beans at home—enough to last through the snowy season. If all else fails, we’ll just sell both.”

The extra effort of preparing an extra batch of filling was nothing compared to the joy of counting the money.

After dark, Huo Ling brought in two basins of water and, following Ye Suping’s instructions, wrung out a cloth and draped it over the bed. The heated brick bed felt warm to the touch, and lying on it was much more comfortable.

By candlelight, the two rubbed badger oil onto each other’s hands. To spread it evenly, they playfully interlaced their fingers and rubbed them together in a chaotic dance. They’d used the snake oil ointment they’d bought a few times before, and since Yan Qi’s chilblains hadn’t flared up again, they’d put it away and stopped using it; badger oil was sufficient for daily use.

Badger oil has no scent; he’d never noticed it before, but after applying it today, Yan Qi remarked, “It really is oil rendered from fat—it has a greasy smell.”

Huo Ling sniffed the back of his hand carefully, then said after a long pause, “If you must say so, there is a bit of it.”

The scent wasn’t bothersome when he didn’t notice it, but once he did, Yan Qi couldn’t ignore it; over time, it even made him feel a bit queasy.

“Does it bother you?”

Huo Ling furrowed his brow slightly after the person beside him lay down. He didn’t turn off the light just yet, and Yan Qi still didn’t think much of it.

“I probably ate too much for dinner. I had half a bun left at the end—I couldn’t finish it, but I thought it would be a waste to feed it to the dog.”

Yan Qi swallowed hard, suppressing the faint urge to vomit.

“Go to sleep. We have to get up early tomorrow to knead the dough.”

The night passed without incident.

When Yan Qi got up, he looked perfectly fine, so Huo Ling put his worries aside for the time being.

To test the new filling flavors, they skipped the chive and seafood filling today and switched to cabbage and green beans, plus pork and scallions. When customers came to buy buns and heard about the new flavors, most chose one of each.

Some were too eager to wait and ate them right there on the spot, so Huo Ling and Yan Qi would ask them which one they preferred.

By the end of the day, quite a few people said the cabbage was delicious, and there were also many who liked the green bean filling. The two decided not to rank them, but simply to sell both as they had planned.

Since so many people wanted to try the new buns, they closed up shop earlier than usual.

Huo Ling left Yan Qi behind and carried the large fish to the Hou residence himself. Hou Li wasn’t there, so he handed the fish to a familiar servant and left. If he’d seen Hou Li, the man would surely have urged him again to go into the mountains to find the black oil mushroom; it was better not to meet him, saving him the trouble of arguing.

On his way back, Huo Ling was figuring out which day to take the dog into the mountains when he came upon a crowd gathered by the roadside. Curious, he peered over to take a look and discovered they were slaughtering a donkey on the spot to sell the meat.

“Dragon meat in the sky, donkey meat on the ground.” Many people beyond the Pass loved donkey meat, but it wasn’t always available. While not as rare as beef, it was still far from common.

The freshly slaughtered donkey meat was still steaming. Taking advantage of his tall, sturdy build, Huo Ling pushed his way through the crowd and snatched up a heavy chunk of meat still covered in skin.

Bringing the meat back to their stall, he presented it to Yan Qi like a prized treasure, laughing, “Thank goodness we got here early; otherwise, we wouldn’t have been able to snag this piece of meat with the skin on. It’s perfect for making braised meat—let it marinate, then let it cool, slice it up, and eat it in a flatbread. It’s incredibly fragrant.”

Yan Qi had never eaten donkey meat before. Since donkeys, like oxen, were beasts of burden used for pulling carts and grinding grain—and were rarely slaughtered for meat—he reasoned that if it could be compared to “dragon meat,” it surely couldn’t be bad.

Listening to Huo Ling’s lively description, he should have been salivating, but when he saw the fresh, blood-streaked donkey meat, his throat suddenly began to churn with acid. He couldn’t hold it in any longer; covering his mouth, he turned and ran to the nearest tree, crouching down and vomiting into the roots.