Fang Youwei’s father, Fang Yunshan, and Fang Yunping were cousins who shared the same great-grandfather, making Fang Youwei a distant nephew.
Fang Yunshan had been fond of martial arts since childhood. He apprenticed under a guard from a county escort agency. Later, when his master was killed while protecting a shipment on the road, Fang Yunshan realized the dangers of the outside world. The martial skills he had learned were barely enough to keep him alive, let alone make a name for himself.
After that, he returned to Fangjia Village.
Perhaps feeling that his time away had brought him no glory and that he had returned in disgrace, he chose to live in the mountains, surviving by hunting.
Later, he got married and had a son. Only then did he come down from the mountains, settling alone at the foot of the hills.
Fang Yunping’s family wasn’t particularly close to them, partly because Fang Yunshan had left to study martial arts as a child and lived in the mountains upon his return.
It wasn’t until Fang Youwei was five years old that the family moved down the mountain. Even then, they didn’t interact much with the rest of the clan—until Fang Yunshan passed away two years ago from a cold.
Still, they were all part of the same clan, and living in the same village meant they looked out for each other to some extent.
Fang Yunping hadn’t expected them to get separated during the escape.
Truth be told, if Fang Youwei were here, things would be a lot less stressful.
At the very least, his family had lived in the mountains, and he was an expert hunter. He understood the wilderness better than any of them and knew the habits of wild animals inside and out.
He could teach the villagers how to avoid animal attacks, allowing them to live in the forest across the water instead of being stuck on this dirt slope.
Fangjia Village had over a hundred people, with the elderly, women, and children making up more than half. That was why Fang Yunping didn’t dare stay near the forest and instead chose this small, isolated slope.
After all, being surrounded by water offered some safety. In the past, Fang Yunping believed that farming or studying was the path to usefulness. But now, he realized that martial skills and hunting abilities were far more important in a situation like this.
Their group had spent years drooling over the game Fang Youwei brought back from his hunts—so why had no one thought to learn from him?
Now, they couldn’t even catch a pheasant or a rabbit. They didn’t know how to dig traps or set snares.
His younger brother Fang Yunan’s son, Fang Youfu, had actually learned from Fang Youwei. Back then, Youfu had been envious of how Youwei could hunt and trade game for money, enjoying meat every few days.
But after Youfu learned how to set snares, his mother, worried about him going up the mountain and getting hurt, refused to let him go. No matter the skill, if you don’t practice, you forget. And given how dense Youfu could be, he probably hadn’t even remembered the lessons clearly in the first place.
There was really nothing left to say.
…
Of course, Fang Youwei had no idea he was being missed back in Fangjia Village.
He was currently busy making a harness for their donkey. Once it was done, they could attach the cart to the donkey when the floodwaters receded.
He modeled the harness after the ones used for oxcarts.
He’d never actually seen a donkey cart’s harness, but he assumed it was more or less the same.
After a few trial runs and several rounds of adjustments, he finally got it right.
Fang Youwei secured the harness to the cart shafts and then hitched the donkey to the cart. After testing it, everything seemed sturdy enough. The donkey pulled the cart back and forth across the slope without any issues.
After the trial, he unhitched the donkey and tied it back to a tree. Fang Zhiyuan and Jiayin went nearby to pull up some fresh young grass and brought it over to feed the donkey.
The donkey looked at the grass, then at Jiayin. With her encouraging nod, it obediently ate all the grass.
Fang Zhiyuan was thrilled to see it finish so quickly. He ran off to gather more and brought it back to the donkey’s mouth—but this time, the donkey didn’t even glance at it.
Fang Zhiyuan blinked and looked at Jiayin, confused. “Why won’t it eat mine? This grass looks the same as before.”
Jiayin asked telepathically: Why aren’t you eating?
The donkey replied in her mind: The grass you two pulled is white clover seedlings. Eating that will make my stomach bloat. I don’t feel good.