With a swift motion, she grabbed a river crab—a sturdy, all-green creature with tiny eyes and comb-like teeth along its sides, also known as a hairy crab.
“Wow, this one’s a decent size!” she exclaimed, hefting it in her hand.
She estimated its weight at about two hundred grams.
After tossing the hairy crab into her vegetable basket, she moved on to the next rock. Underneath, a crayfish and another crab darted for cover.
The crayfish vanished in a blur, but her hand shot out and caught the crab—a larger specimen, likely around two hundred and fifty grams.
Crab-catching can be addictive, especially with so many rocks to overturn, plump crabs to find, and clumsy crustaceans that are easy to catch.
Deep in this remote mountain wilderness, where few humans ever ventured, the fish, shrimp, and crabs thrived in the pristine streams.
Xia Qingyue couldn’t resist catching five crabs in one go—enough for tonight’s meal. Eating too many at once wasn’t wise, given their cooling nature.
Remembering her plan to visit the pine forest, she secured the crabs and shrimp in her vegetable basket at a shallow spot along the stream bank, flipping it over and weighing it down with heavy stones.
With her woven basket slung over her shoulder, she continued onward. After about ten minutes of walking, she reached the pine forest, interspersed with cypress trees.
As Xia Qingyue entered the pine forest, occasional raindrops pattered down from the leaves, still damp from the recent rain. The ethereal calls of birds echoed through the air.
Her feet sank into the soft, damp layer of decaying leaves as she scanned the ground, wary of snakes or insects lurking beneath. She poked through the litter with a wooden stick, her movements casual. To her surprise, she unearthed a Matsutake mushroom pushing through the soil.
Smiling, she knelt down and gently plucked the mushroom, inhaling its unique, delicate fragrance.
Matsutake mushrooms are prized delicacies, renowned for their exquisite flavor.
She continued her search with the wooden stick.
“Woof! Woof! Woof!” Heihei stood nearby, tilting its head expectantly.
She ran over to find that Heihei had discovered several Matsutake Mushrooms growing close together.
“Wow, Heihei, you’re amazing! You’ll get a special treat tonight!”
She carefully harvested each mushroom.
With Heihei’s keen nose leading the way, Xia Qingyue unerringly pinpointed the mushrooms’ exact locations. Before long, her basket was more than half full.
Time flew by. The pine forest grew dim, the fading light making it difficult to see distant objects.
Xia Qingyue felt increasingly uneasy, as if unseen eyes were watching her from the shadows, sending shivers down her spine.
She hurried to chop some Chinese arborvitae leaves with her sickle, filling a back basket to the brim. “Come on, Heihei,” she called, “let’s head back.”
Rushing back to the spot where she’d trapped the crabs, she gathered them back into her vegetable basket, covering the top with large leaves to prevent escape.
By the time she retrieved the fish traps, dusk had already fallen. The two traps were heavy with their catch, and she returned to the sinkhole laden with her bounty.
Her first priority was to gather the items drying at the bottom of the sinkhole to protect them from potential rain overnight.
Another day of drying would thoroughly dry the bamboo shoots, bamboo fungus, and water celery.
The jizong mushrooms, however, needed several more days in the sun.
The fiddlehead ferns still required processing. She began by rinsing the rice and starting the rice cooker, then heated a large pot of water to blanch the ferns.
While waiting for the water to boil, she sorted through the fish traps.
The first trap overflowed the wooden basin, teeming with large fish, small fish, and shrimp, all jumping and flopping wildly. Heihei snagged a few stray minnows for a snack.
The basin held two three-kilogram fish—a grass carp and a silver carp—along with several fish longer than chopsticks and numerous smaller fish and shrimp.
Normally, a basin of fish and shrimp would last Heihei, the chickens, and the ducks for two days. But today’s harvest was exceptionally bountiful. She took the basin to feed them, pouring the remaining catch from the fish trap into a large wooden tub to keep them alive.
When the water in the pot came to a boil, she blanched the fern fronds briefly, then scooped them out and immersed them in a wooden bucket of cold water to soak overnight. She’d spread them out to dry in the sun tomorrow.
As night fell, a light rain began to drizzle, and a cold wind rustled through the trees.
The crackling fire in the stove chased away the encroaching darkness, casting a warm, golden glow.
Under its flickering light, Xia Qingyue threaded the cleaned crabs onto wooden skewers, rotating them over the flames until their shells turned a vibrant crimson.
Her dinner consisted of rice, leftover stir-fried pork belly with jizong mushrooms from lunch, and the roasted crabs and river shrimp.
She had only managed to catch a few crayfish, and since they were troublesome to clean, she tossed them back into the stream.
When the roasted crabs cooled to a comfortable temperature, she cracked open their shells with both hands, revealing snow-white meat and rich, golden roe.
The first bite was incomparably tender and fresh.
She had never imagined that such small crabs could contain so much succulent meat. She couldn’t stop after just one bite, devouring several crabs in quick succession, yet still feeling like she hadn’t had enough.
The grilled river shrimp were unseasoned, their fresh, subtly salty, and sweet flavor the focus, the meat tender yet springy.
She finished the leftovers with rice, eating until she was about seventy or eighty percent full, as she never ate much for dinner.
After eating her fill, she washed the dishes and tidied the kitchen.
The fire in the stove blazed brightly.
Using firewood from the storage room, she arranged two logs in an X shape, drove them into the hardened ground about four or five meters from the stove with an axe, one on each side, creating a makeshift frame.
She threaded the marinated meat onto two thick wooden poles and rested them across the frame.
Beneath the frame, she lit a small fire with cypress branches. As the flames dwindled, smoke curled around the meat.
Suspended safely above the fire, the meat wouldn’t cook through. She added more cypress leaves to smolder slowly, releasing smoke.
It rained all night.
By morning, the rain had stopped. Xia Qingyue went to check on the smoked meat.
After smoking all night, the meat had taken on a slightly yellowish hue. The embers still glowed red; she added more cypress leaves to keep the smoke rising.
As dawn broke, Xia Qingyue ran laps around the dry edges of the pit, avoiding the rain-soaked areas. After thirty minutes, she took a short break before practicing the Eight Brocades exercises.
Starting today, she resolved to exercise morning and evening to improve her physical fitness. This would both strengthen her immunity against colds and build the stamina she needed to defend herself in dangerous situations.
Her plan was this: mornings, when her mind was sharpest, would begin with running, practicing the eight brocades, and using her slingshot. After a busy day, evenings would conclude with thirty minutes of horse stance training followed by thirty minutes of aerobic exercise.
By the time she finished practicing her slingshot skills, it was nearly eight in the morning.
The sky had brightened fully, and Xia Qingyue was drenched in sweat. New to this routine, she collapsed onto the ground, her legs trembling from exhaustion.
The chickens and ducks, ravenous, squawked loudly. After a brief rest, she chopped some bamboo shoots, mixed them with rice bran, and fed the hungry birds.
As the saying goes, “A day’s plans begin at dawn.” For breakfast, Xia Qingyue prepared a hearty meal. She simmered a pot of millet porridge and whisked two eggs into wheat flour with chopped scallions and salt.
She greased the iron wok with lard, leaving a thin layer, and used a ladle to spread the batter into a thin, circular pancake.
The crust crisped to a golden brown, its scallion fragrance filling the air.
After frying a plate of scallion pancakes, she used the remaining oil to pan-fry a white carp.
Sautéing scallions, ginger, and dried chili peppers until fragrant, she added salt and soy sauce, splashed yellow wine around the edge of the wok, poured in some water, and braised the fish until flavorful. A braised fish dish was ready.
After breakfast, the sun came out in full force. She stood at the bottom of the pit and gazed upward at the clear blue sky dotted with white clouds.
She hesitated, wondering whether to bring out the bamboo shoots and bamboo fungus to dry in the sun.
After washing the dishes, she made up her mind decisively: “Bring them out to dry!”
She disliked indecision and hesitation, seeing them as a waste of time. Once she made a decision, she stuck to it.
Even if the outcome wasn’t ideal, she wouldn’t dwell on it or blame herself.
Life is unpredictable, and it’s foolish to shoulder all the blame. If she could learn from her mistakes and grow from the experience, that in itself would be a valuable gain.
Of course, when she realized she’d made a mistake, she would first reflect and self-examine before moving on, ensuring she wouldn’t repeat the same error.