Ergouzi lay on the ground, panting for a long time, before finally struggling to stand up.
Now his whole body ached fiercely, and his ribs felt as though they had broken.
He felt inside his lined jacket. Fortunately, the Yellow-Skinned Gourd was still there.
He pulled out the stopper, gulped down several mouthfuls of water, and felt slightly better.
Whether it was just his imagination or not, every time he drank the water from the gourd, strength seemed to flow back into his limbs.
With this mysterious gourd in his hands, as long as he survived this immediate hurdle, rising to wealth and rank and becoming a wealthy landlord in the future was not an idle dream.
Yet how was he supposed to get through the present difficulty?
Standing amidst the snow-covered wilderness, with the world pitch black all around, where was he supposed to go?
He didn’t need to think twice to know what his uncle’s family had in mind.
Throwing him out into the snow meant to send him to his death.
Not to mention having nothing to eat or drink, with the freezing cold turning water to ice instantly and no shelter from the wind and snow, he would freeze to death soon enough.
Every winter, plenty of frozen beggars appeared by the roadside, and he was no more resilient against the cold than a beggar.
On top of that, he was covered in injuries.
It was practically certain death!
His uncle’s family had calculated cleverly, unwilling to bear the reputation of beating their own nephew to death.
Pushing Ergouzi outside to freeze, then pretending to shed a couple of tears before digging a shallow grave to bury him, would wrap the matter up neatly.
He had served as a dog for his uncle’s family for eight years, and now he was to die like a dog all over again.
The only lifeline left to him was the small patch of rice he had planted on the mountain.
At least there he would have something to eat, and he could gather some firewood to build a fire for warmth.
Having made up his mind, Ergouzi used the faint light of the snowy night to stagger up the mountain along the stream.
Wading unsteadily through the deep snow, dizzy and lightheaded, he collapsed headlong to the ground after only a few steps.
A searing pain racked his entire body, especially around his chest. He couldn’t tell if his ribs were broken, but he could barely catch his breath.
Lying powerless in the snow, he felt a strong urge to just stay there and let it end.
Yet he finally struggled back to his feet and forced himself onward; he did not want to die.
And so he stumbled forward, stopping and falling every few steps.
Whenever he wanted to give up, he would touch the Yellow-Skinned Gourd and daydream about owning a hundred mu of fertile land in the future, living in a large brick-tiled house, wearing thick cotton-padded jackets, eating fatty pork at every single meal, and rinsing his mouth with honey water…
Then he would take a large gulp of the water inside the gourd, feeling strength flood through him once more.
By daybreak, sustained by his rosy visions of the future, Ergouzi finally crawled his way up the mountain.
Across the vast, blinding expanse of ice and snow, a patch of lush green seedlings grew, looking utterly out of place.
The rice stalks had already headed and were filling with grain, their heavy panicles bowing low.
Ergouzi plucked a few grains from a stalk, put them into his mouth along with the husks, and chewed slowly.
The unripe grains burst with a slight pop, releasing a hint of fresh, sweet flavor.
Though the rough husks scraped his throat raw, it was countless times better than pig slop.
After chewing raw through a dozen or so panicles, with food in his belly, his body gradually regained a measure of strength.
Suppressing the urge to stop and rest, he cleared a patch of ground in the snow, pulled some raw grains from the panicles, and scattered them across the dirt.
Then he watered them all with the water from his gourd.
The rice he had planted earlier would not last many days; he needed to plant more as soon as possible.
Fortunately, with the heavy snow and the New Year festivities, no one else came up the mountain, so he didn’t have to worry about being discovered.
The food problem was temporarily settled, but surviving the bitter cold remained a formidable challenge.
Luckily, having spent years gathering firewood on the mountain, he knew the terrain intimately. Not far away was a spot that could block the wind.
It was a stone hollow flanked by massive boulders on two sides, capable of keeping out most of the biting wind.
He gathered a small pile of dry wood nearby, picked out some tinder-dry grass and leaves, rubbed them together for a moment, and heaped them into a small mound.
Then he pulled two finger-sized stones from his lined jacket.
These dark red stones were known to everyone as firestones; striking them together produced sparks used for starting fires.
A barren hill nearby had plenty of these stones, and local folk used them regularly.
Ergouzi held a firestone in each hand and struck them together, sending a few tiny sparks flying.
After dozens of rapid strikes, the sparks finally caught the dry leaves.
A small fire flickered to life. He held his frozen hands and feet close to the flames until warmth spread through his limbs.
At that moment, he felt this stone hollow wasn’t bad at all—even more comfortable than staying at his uncle’s house.
Sitting by the fire, he finally had a chance to open his jacket and inspect his injuries.
His face was swollen like a pig’s head, and bruises covered his entire body.
The worst injury was in his ribs; they hurt at the slightest touch, and breathing made them ache, though he couldn’t tell if they were actually fractured.
Still, aside from the pain, there were no other immediately dangerous signs.
He had heard that if broken ribs pierced the heart or lungs, a person would die quickly.
His injuries presumably hadn’t reached that stage.
Sitting by the fire, he gathered all the straw left over from stripping the rice panicles and laid them near the flames to dry and soften.
Then he pulled the straw over himself like a blanket, though there was rather too little of it.
No sooner had he warmed up a bit than his stomach began to rumble with hunger once more.
What a nuisance; his stomach was utterly uncooperative, demanding two meals a day without fail.
He had heard that certain oxen and horses could work all day without needing fodder.
He had also heard there were immortals in this world who didn’t need to eat at all.
If only he possessed immortal abilities, he would never have to worry about starving again.
No, if he had the power of an immortal, why worry about mere hunger? He would eat meat every meal, drink honey water, use golden bowls and chopsticks, take ten wives, and father a whole crowd of children.
By then, even Old Moneybags Huang would be drooling with envy.
In Ergouzi’s limited experience, Old Moneybags Huang was the epitome of wealth.
A fairy-tale life wealthier than Old Moneybags Huang was simply beyond his imagination.
People said the county magistrate was an immortal figure with vast and wondrous powers, able to conjure white rice, pork, eggs, fish, and fine wine out of thin air…
Lost in these wild daydreams, he reached for the gourd and took another deep gulp of water.
Perhaps the miraculous Yellow-Skinned Gourd in his hands really was a treasure left by immortals.
For supper, he plucked a few more bunches of rice panicles and held them directly over the fire to roast.
As the grains roasted, they crackled and popped, bursting open into fluffy clusters of pure white rice flowers that gave off a rich, fragrant aroma.
Roasting such rice required a gentle flame and quick hands.
Holding two twigs, he scooped the grains out the very instant they popped.
Otherwise, they would quickly burn in the fire and turn to charcoal. Being unpalatable was one thing, but he simply couldn’t afford the waste.
He roasted a bunch of panicles without burning a single grain, blew away the ash, and tossed them all into his mouth.
“So fragrant!”
The puffed grains crunched crisply in his mouth, savory and sweet—ten times better than the pork at his uncle’s house.
Unfortunately, grain was scarce, so he limited his supper to four panicles and dared not eat more.
A long winter remained ahead, and he needed to save some seeds.
Since he wasn’t full, he could just drink more water to fool his stomach; he wasn’t some wealthy landlord who could afford to waste grain like that.
That night, he leaned against the fire, clutching a bundle of straw, and managed to sleep through.
Several times he drifted off only for the fire to die down, waking him quickly from the cold, whereupon he would toss on more wood and go back to sleep.
Drifting between sleep and wakefulness like this, he finally made it through until dawn.
Stretching his limbs, he found that his injuries didn’t hurt quite as much.
Especially around his chest, where things felt noticeably better.