Chapter 19

Today's harvest was unprecedented. Cen An didn’t dare to bring out all the supplies at once, instead taking them out little by little.

[Bamboo x8, Bamboo shoots x24, Earth fruits x42, Cassava x21, Timber x350, Hay x250, Wheat x30, Rice x45, Various beans x60, Assorted dried mushrooms x32]

A mother behind him was in a hurry to treat her child’s illness but had no dry food or fuel at home. Since she made a living selling mushrooms, she brought all her dried mushrooms over. Seeing her plight, Cen An exchanged some goods with her.

Additionally, there were two wind-cold fruits and three mutated wind-cold fruits.

He first placed the wheat, rice, and beans into the dry food jar inside the house. The once-empty jar was immediately filled to the brim.

Hundreds of pounds of dry food—enough to last him a good while.

Next, he neatly stacked the timber and hay. With several hundred bundles of hay, the outer room was full, so he moved half of it inside.

Originally, the inner room was sparse—a single grain jar, a wooden rack for medicines, and a worn bamboo bed. Now, half a wall was piled with timber and hay along the wall.

It looked rough, but Cen An felt a profound sense of security.

Finally, he took out the beast-skin pouch used for selling wind-cold fruits and packed the earth fruits and cassava inside.

With that, the outer room was packed to the brim, barely leaving any space to step.

A humble home worth a fortune—more goods meant better fortune.

After tidying the inside, he still felt uneasy about the outside. Donning his raincoat, he went out for an inspection.

White radishes, the lowest grade crop, similar to bok choy, belonged to the beginner’s bounty. They were undemanding and looked fresh even after several days of rain.

The sweet asparagus, true to its “rain-loving” nature, thrived amidst the downpour. The pointed asparagus shoots stood tall and proud, drinking in the rain joyfully. Their growth period had even shortened by half a day—from over eight days to seven and a half.

The dew essence lamp, too, hadn’t slackened, having collected a considerable amount of dew essence, filling a fifth of its scale.

After surveying everything, Cen An returned inside to wash up before sleeping.

The next day, as expected, the rain intensified. By weather forecast standards of his previous life, this would be considered moderate rain: large, dense droplets, moist air, and thin puddles forming on the ground.

But he couldn’t rest yet.

After a quick breakfast, he donned his raincoat and bamboo hat and stepped out.

There were fewer villagers on the mountain than yesterday. He wasn’t sure if it was because he rose earlier or if the heavy rain made going out difficult.

He hurried toward the bamboo grove, catching his breath briefly before searching for the traps he had set the day before.

The first was a small trap, which, as expected, yielded no catch.

He picked it up, packed it away, and moved to the next.

The second trap was not only empty but damaged—the woven bamboo basket had been gnawed open from the inside. Cen An shook his head resignedly but still packed it up.

A broken trap couldn’t be reused but could serve as firewood.

The third trap finally bore fruit: a bamboo partridge sat wide-eyed inside, motionless, either scared or injured.

Bamboo partridge—he had never eaten one before.

A faint smile appeared on his lips. He lifted the bird, weighing roughly four pounds, and planned to bleed and pluck it. It would yield about a pound of meat—enough for one meal.

He tied the partridge with hemp rope. Since live animals couldn’t fit in his backpack, he pulled out a beast-skin pouch and placed the bird inside.

Encouraged by this start, the next seven small traps yielded six catches: two wild chickens, one mallard duck, two rabbits, and one frog.

The frog was too unappetizing, so Cen An released it and stuffed the rest into his pouch.

He then checked the intermediate traps.

These traps could catch more dangerous game, so Cen An drew his iron sword.

The first intermediate trap was empty.

Before he reached the second, he saw a half-man-tall bamboo tube struggling violently and ran over immediately.

Inside was a howling rabbit!

The howling rabbit was a level-two mutated beast. Its call could cause dizziness and tinnitus, though its strength was slightly weaker than other level-two beasts.

Still, it was a beast. It must have struggled for a long time because it had chewed through the medium-sized trap’s bamboo tube. Had Cen An arrived an hour later, it might have escaped.

The meat was inedible, and it had destroyed one of his traps. Cen An’s expression remained blank as he walked over, killed it with a blow, and tossed it into his backpack.

Only one intermediate trap remained.

Cen An had lost hope but was surprised when this last trap brought him a big prize.

As he approached, he heard familiar grunting. Inside was a piglet!

The black piglet had little strength left after a night of struggling and could only weakly move its hooves upon seeing him.

A pig! What did a pig mean?

Lard, braised pork, sweet and sour ribs, soy-braised hocks...

Cen An, usually reserved, couldn’t help but salivate in respect at the sight of a live piglet.

The piglet weighed about forty pounds. Lacking another beast-skin pouch, Cen An prepared it on the spot.

He collected the pig’s blood in a bamboo tube and roughly cut the meat into large chunks, stuffing them into his backpack.

With ease, he lifted the beast-skin pouch and reset the remaining eight small traps and two large traps, rebaiting each.

There was no time to rest yet. It was still early. He ate two earth fruits he had roasted in the morning as a quick lunch.

Then he plunged into the bamboo grove and cut down fifty bundles of bamboo.

Only when night fell did he hurry home.

Along the way, silhouettes appeared intermittently—many villagers took advantage of the few days before the heavy rain to gather supplies.

As Cen An passed through the village on his way home, a familiar voice called out: “Glad I ran into you here.”

He turned to see a wide, bright smile—a familiar face. After a moment, he recognized it as Tian Yuan.

Tian Yuan approached, carrying a large fish by a grass rope through its gills—the fish was still alive. “Here, the fish I promised to treat you to earlier.”

Cen An smiled as he took it. “Why are you here today?”

Tian Yuan wore a soft bark raincoat, exuding a woody scent. “The rain’s going to get heavier tomorrow. Hunting on the mountain will be impossible for a while, so I came today.”

He shook his head with some frustration. “I heard someone traded for wind-healing apricots at the market yesterday. I rushed here to check but they were all gone…”

He was genuinely troubled, but then saw his business partner smile faintly and produce a blue-green fruit.

Tian Yuan blinked. “This is…”

“For you,” Cen An said, handing it over. “I didn’t know if you needed it, but now that I know you want one, here you go.”

Tian Yuan stared at the fruit in surprise, momentarily dazed. “You… saved this for me?”

Cen An nodded, puzzled. “Don’t you need it?”

“No, no,” Tian Yuan smiled again, both solemn and relieved. “Thank you.”

He was naturally sturdy and had awakened a special ability, though it wasn’t very useful. He rarely fell ill.

Still, someone used to give him a wind-healing apricot every rainy season. After that person was gone, it became a habit.

But wind-healing apricots were hard to find, and he had been searching for a long time without success.

He looked at Cen An, who stood calmly in the rain, as if he had done a trivial favor.

Tian Yuan suddenly smiled again. “By the way, I live west of here, the house with the green roof. If you need anything, come find me. I’m usually home after dark.”

Cen An nodded, hesitating, “I…”

Tian Yuan waved him off with a smile. “Alright, go home quickly. It’s cold.” Then he warned, “The rain will get heavier as the season goes on. Once you’ve prepared, don’t go out anymore.”

Cen An nodded, watching him leave.

The fish, nourished by the rainwater, was still alive when he got home, even wagging its tail as if to greet him.

He didn’t mind and emptied a wooden basin to keep it in.

The beasts in the pouch were alive too. Cen An felt a bit regretful; if he had a ranch system, he could raise these little ones.

Without such a system, wild game had only about a 30% survival chance—too risky to gamble on.

He butchered the animals one by one.

Fresh bamboo partridge meat was wrapped in leaves and set aside carefully.

The remaining two wild chickens, one duck, and two rabbits were seasoned.

Having frequently ventured into the mountains lately, he had gathered various spices and dried them, accumulating quite a stash.

After cleaning the birds and rabbits, he added chili peppers, scallions, ginger, Sichuan peppercorns, star anise... and plenty of fermented bean paste to marinate them.

After marinating overnight, they would be smoked over the fire tomorrow, resulting in delicious smoked chicken and duck.

Looking at the whole basin of prepared meat, Cen An thought of the dog owner who used to be his meat-eating companion.

The dog owner and the puppies hadn’t come by for a long time… The thought flashed briefly before he dismissed it.

Tonight’s main event was the pork.

Over forty pounds of piglet, yielding nearly thirty pounds of meat. It didn’t seem like much, but the large bones, ribs, offal, and even pig’s blood were too precious to waste.

He spread thick large leaves on the ground and laid the meat on them.

Fresh pork glowed with a pink sheen and retained warmth.

He cut the meat into convenient portions, wrapped them in leaves for easier future meals. The ribs weren’t for tonight and were stored separately.

The large pig bones were split with an axe and put into a pot to boil.

The pig’s liver, heart, and other offal were cleaned and soaked in clean water.

The temperature was cool during this rainy season, so storing them for five or six days was no problem.

Finally, only white slabs of leaf lard and fat remained on the leaves.

Cen An took out a large iron pot.

He liked cooking but had never rendered lard, only watched videos.

There were two methods for rendering lard: with water and without water. The water method supposedly produced clearer oil and was beginner-friendly.

As a true novice, Cen An naturally chose the water method.

He cut the white fat into suitable chunks, placed them in the iron pot, added a little water, and simmered over low heat.

Before long, crystal-clear oil began to seep out.

Nearby, the pot with pig bones and water boiled vigorously, turning into a creamy white broth filled with rich meaty aroma.

In this pot, the pork fat’s fragrance was bold and unrestrained. Tiny bubbles formed and burst, producing a faint crackling sound.