Chapter 13

The snow had finally stopped.

The entire tribe was now blanketed in white. The tall, dried grass that had once stood nearly as high as a person was now bent under the weight of snow, reaching only to Zhuo Yan’s calves. The landscape was open and much more expansive under the clear, snowy expanse.

If this were modern times, with all the warmth and comfort available, Zhuo Yan thought this scene would be truly stunning. He could see himself happily camping out here, buying a tent, setting up a small stove, boiling a pot of hot water, soaking in the scenery, and savoring life…

“One day, days like that will definitely come,” he muttered, as if planting a seed of hope.

Having given himself a much-needed pep talk, Zhuo Yan felt invigorated and ready for work. He wrapped a large hide around himself against the biting cold since his small vest and leather skirt were far from enough to keep him warm.

With his spirits lifted by his vision of the future, he decided to skip fetching water for now. Instead, he thought back to the direction where he had chased the chicken last night and started retracing his steps. There was a chance that the resilient chicken had a family somewhere, and if so, maybe he could bring them all back and care for them together.

Unfortunately, Zhuo Yan’s “good intentions” didn’t pan out. He located the patch of grass where he’d chased the chicken last night, hoping to find its family nearby, but his search turned up nothing. With no choice but to give up, he headed down to the river.

In the narrower areas, the river’s surface had frozen over, though the wider upstream waters continued to flow freely. Zhuo Yan hadn’t explored this upper area much before, so he decided to seize the opportunity for a little adventure. His efforts weren’t entirely in vain; he found a few decently thick branches, roughly the size of his arm. They seemed to be leftovers from someone in the tribe who’d likely cut them as firewood but left them, perhaps thinking they were too thin.

The orcs’ sense of what was “thick enough” clearly didn’t match his own.

“Well, waste not, want not,” he thought, bundling the branches together and loading them into his woven basket. There wasn’t much else to be found. On his way back, he slipped, his foot skidding across a snow-covered slope. Thankfully, it was a gentle incline, and his slip simply kicked up some snow, revealing patches of wild grass underneath.

The grass looked somewhat familiar—it resembled wild greens. They were in pretty poor condition, though, and he couldn’t be sure if they were edible. With the chicken gone, he had no way to test them for safety.

So, he took note of the location, intending to check it again in the spring.

By late morning, Zhuo Yan’s haul was modest: a small bundle of snow-dampened firewood and a bucket of water.

“Home!”

Arriving at the entrance, Zhuo Yan gave his fur cloak a good shake to rid it of the snow, then stepped inside and shut the door. After spending time outside in the bitter cold, the warmth inside the cave felt even more inviting. He placed the water bucket in the kitchen area and cast a glance at White Fur, still lying on the animal hide. The potato he’d left by White Fur’s paw that morning was still untouched.

It seemed White Fur hadn’t stirred at all.

Zhuo Yan’s expression grew serious. Not eating while ill was not a good sign. Turning to the chicken he’d left aside, he decided to prepare it right away, stewing it into a hearty broth that would be perfect for the cold weather and easy to store. Plus—

The fact that this chicken had shown up meant there were likely more in the vicinity.

Zhuo Yan didn’t want to sit idle, so he began considering the idea of setting up some traps nearby. He’d already checked the upper part of the river that morning but hadn’t spotted any fish, which made him wonder if he’d been looking in the wrong place. Tomorrow, he decided, he’d try breaking through the ice on the narrowest part of the downstream river to see if there were fish hiding there.

Eating potatoes every day was becoming a struggle—even for him, let alone White Fur.

Back in the modern world, he’d been a die-hard meat lover, so now he mused to himself, “Could it be that I’m a natural-born half-beast? Maybe there’s orc blood in me that makes me crave meat like this.”

Humming to himself, Zhuo Yan got to work. He cut up the damp firewood he’d collected that morning into smaller pieces and left them out to dry near the firewood stack, so they’d be ready to burn by dinnertime. Then he set about boiling water and preparing the chicken. Once he was done plucking, he looked down at the pile of feathers filling the pot and had a wild, almost absurd, idea.

Could I use these feathers to lure some prey?

Worth a shot.

Zhuo Yan didn’t immediately dump the pot of chicken feathers mixed with dirty water. He didn’t want to take the easy route by pouring it out right at the entrance of his cave. Instead, he decided to let it cool down first, then transfer the contents to a bucket and take it to the river to deal with the chicken properly. For now, he needed some wooden stakes to set traps.

Sitting by the fire, he began whittling the stakes he would use for trapping.

Chickens ate bugs, and that patch of dead grass might be home to insects or seeds that could serve as food for the chickens. With the heavy snow outside, everyone needed to eat, including the chickens.

This thought made perfect sense to him, and it even quickened his pace as he whittled the stakes. After working for a while, he took a break to eat some taro. He was growing tired of the monotony of potatoes, so for lunch, he opted for taro instead. He placed a freshly cooked piece next to White Fur’s paw as well.

“If you don’t eat it, I’ll finish it all tonight,” he said, unwilling to waste food.

White Fur remained motionless.

Zhuo Yan returned to his task, continuing to carve. The chickens might be hanging around somewhere nearby, and given the depth of the snow, he picked up sticks about the length of his forearm. He sharpened one end of each stick, preparing five or six of them in total.

By this time, it felt like it was already past one in the afternoon, and Zhuo Yan dared not delay any longer. He tidied up his things, took the dirty water bucket in hand, and slung the basket with six wooden stakes over his back before stepping out of the cave.

He had been so focused on his tasks that he hadn’t noticed that White Fur had briefly opened his eyes, only to close them again shortly after.

Outside, it was lightly snowing, and a cold wind was blowing. Zhuo Yan made his way to the patch of grass he had visited that morning, where he inserted the wooden stakes into the ground. He then poured the bucket of dirty water mixed with chicken feathers around the stakes. After observing that there was nothing else of interest, he headed to the river to wash the bucket and rinse off the chicken.

On his way back, Zhuo Yan contemplated whether he should make a detour to check the trap. However, he decided against it, fearing that he might alert any potential prey. The sky was getting darker, and he thought it best to finish boiling the chicken soup before venturing out to check.

Once back at home, Zhuo Yan first washed the stone pot with snow, then rinsed it with clean water from the bucket. He chopped the chicken in half, placing one half into the pot while reserving the other half for tomorrow. He added water to the stone pot, put in the chicken, and set it to simmer over a low flame. While it cooked, he took the opportunity to peel some potatoes.

Before long, the cave was filled with the rich aroma of chicken.

It smelled so good, so delicious that Zhuo Yan started to salivate. He glanced over at White Fur and asked, “Can you smell that? You might not be able to eat solid food, but you can have some chicken soup, right?”

When the chicken soup was finally tender and simmered to perfection, a layer of oil floated on top. What he would have considered greasy and unappetizing in modern times now felt like a precious treasure.

Zhuo Yan was beginning to understand the true flavor of broth that lacked richness, feeling the emptiness of having no oil in his stomach.

He tossed in the washed potatoes, chopping them into chunks before boiling them. After they were cooked, he sprinkled a handful of salt on top, and the scent wafted invitingly. Zhuo Yan took a spoon and poured himself a cup of the soup, blowing on it gently before taking a sip.

“Ah! Hot, hot, hot—” he exclaimed, sticking out his tongue to cool it down. Feeling blissful, he cradled the cup in his hands, only to find his gaze locked with White Fur’s—???!!!

“You’re awake!” Zhuo Yan exclaimed in surprise after a moment of shock. He quickly set down his cup and hurried over, squatting beside White Fur. “How are you? Are you hungry? I’ll serve you some soup. Take your time with it—don’t fall asleep again. Drink a few sips first; I’ve been stewing that chicken for a long time, and it’s really delicious.”

White Fur looked as if he might faint again at any moment.

Zhuo Yan knew that not eating was not an option. He hoped White Fur would manage to eat a few bites. In this era, there were no medicinal herbs or IV drips available; it all relied on one’s own resilience to get through. The saying went, “A sickness fears three bowls of rice,” and at the very least, one had to eat something.

Unsure if his words had any effect, Zhuo Yan noticed that White Fur didn’t seem to fall back asleep. It was clear he was straining to keep his eyes open, even shaking his paws slightly in an attempt to stay alert.

“I’ll go get you some soup,” Zhuo Yan said, rummaging around until he found the shallow dish he had started to make, which was essentially just a shallow plate. It turned out to be the perfect size for serving soup to White Fur.

He ladled a few spoonfuls of the broth into the dish, then used his chopsticks to pick apart the chicken, ensuring he removed all the bones. The meat was tender and fell apart easily, so he scooped it all out. After adding a few chunks of potato, he mashed them with a spoon until they turned into a creamy puree. The dish was now filled with a hearty mix of chicken, broth, and mashed potatoes.

Zhuo Yan placed the dish in front of White Fur.

“Here, eat this.”

“There’s still more if you need it, but right now, you don’t know how much you can handle. Just eat small amounts often and don’t waste any,” Zhuo Yan advised.

White Fur struggled to lift his front half, thinking he could no longer feel hunger. However, at this moment, it was as if he had ‘woken up.’ A burning pain twisted in his stomach, and he realized he was very, very hungry. Yet, instead of diving into the food before him, he fixed a deep gaze on the half-beastman.

With great effort, he raised his paw and placed it gently on Zhuo Yan’s wrist.

Zhuo Yan was taken aback for a moment. Then, meeting the fluffy creature’s gaze, he couldn’t help but smile. He reached out and gently rubbed the top of White Fur’s head, carefully avoiding the injured side, and said softly, “Are you trying to thank me?”

White Fur’s eyes seemed to sparkle with determination. “You need to take care of yourself too. I’ll be counting on you in the future.”

Zhuo Yan’s smile widened. “Once you’re back to full health, we can go hunting together. It doesn’t have to be dangerous; we can catch chickens or sheep… Now eat up, and let’s get you better soon.”

Zhuo Yan felt a surge of warmth. Despite White Fur’s current appearance—his head was patchy and bruised, with one swollen eyelid, hardly resembling a cute, fluffy cub—his earlier gesture reminded Zhuo Yan of a little kitten trying to be affectionate. It was undeniably endearing.

It reminded him of A-Yin, the cat from his home.

White Fur lowered his head and began to lick the food with his rough tongue.

“How about I give you a name?” Zhuo Yan suggested.

White Fur paused in his licking, and Zhuo Yan quickly added, “You can keep eating.” But White Fur didn’t resume; instead, he tilted his head to look at Zhuo Yan. With just one eye visible, it reflected Zhuo Yan’s figure, giving him a serious expression as if he was waiting for something.

A smile unconsciously spread across Zhuo Yan’s face.

“How about I call you A-Yin? My name is Zhuo Yan. I shaved your fur yesterday, and it’s not just white; it has silver and leopard patterns. It’s very beautiful.”

White Fur lifted a paw, and Zhuo Yan gently took hold of it.

With that, A-Yin had agreed to the name.

“Now, let’s eat. I’m going to have my meal too.”

Zhuo Yan sat nearby, sipping on the warm chicken soup that had cooled slightly. His mood was uplifted, but he noticed that A-Yin struggled to eat after consuming about half of the food. Yet, A-Yin persisted, and Zhuo Yan quickly remarked, “If you can’t eat anymore, that’s okay. You can eat whenever you want later; don’t push yourself.”

“You’ve already eaten a lot.” Zhuo Yan thought to himself that he was being quite the doting parent.

With his head drooping, A-Yin lay on the fur, breathing slowly. It wasn’t long before his eyes began to close. Just before he shut them, he kept his gaze fixed on Zhuo Yan, watching him intently until he could no longer hold on, and his eyelids finally fell shut.

No one could know what thoughts were swirling in A-Yin’s mind at that moment.

He had a new name—A-Yin.

…Your fur is beautiful, with leopard patterns.

I’ll call you A-Yin.

He is now officially A-Yin.

Zhuo Yan drank another two cups of chicken soup, along with a potato and a generous portion of chicken thigh and breast meat. The meat here was incredible—perhaps it was due to the scarcity of food making him crave it more, or maybe it was simply delicious.

The chicken was tender and juicy, not at all dry. Zhuo Yan had consumed half of it, and his belly felt pleasantly full as he leaned against the fire to warm himself. Despite the poor material conditions surrounding him, Zhuo Yan truly felt a sense of happiness at that moment.

After filling his stomach and resting for a while, he noticed that it had grown dark outside, and the wind and snow had picked up again, though not too heavily. Zhuo Yan grabbed the water bucket, intending to fetch more water and check the traps to see if he had caught anything.

He arrived at the trap first. Although it was dark, the snow on the ground reflected some light, and with his good eyesight, he found that he had not returned empty-handed. The snow around the grass thicket was a bit disheveled, and there was a wooden stake that had been knocked askew. It wasn’t the snow that had caused it to lean; something must have come by but had since run off.

Even though he hadn’t caught anything, Zhuo Yan felt quite pleased. The fact that something had visited indicated that his trap was set up correctly. However, he realized that his trap wasn’t very secure, so he crouched down to think. Since there were only a few wooden stakes, he couldn’t space them too far apart. The dead grass around him was nearly as tall as he was, and he began to twist several strands together, which had a good amount of resilience. With just a few quick movements, he twisted together a few strands and looped them around the stakes, then began to clear away the snow in the area.

After completing all of this, Zhuo Yan picked up his water bucket and headed back home.

Once back, he closed the door and decided not to eat anything just yet. Instead, he added a couple of logs to the fire and began working on making a wooden bowl and a small spoon…

Through the flickering firelight, Zhuo Yan glanced at A-Yin, who was still sound asleep across from him. Living alone before, he had often talked to himself; otherwise, the solitude felt almost maddening. He feared that if he got through the winter alone, he might regress in his speech. But now, he didn’t have to worry about that—he had a companion.

“A-Yin, I’ll make you a big bowl too. If you don’t say anything, I’ll take it as a yes.”

“You need to get better soon.”

That night, after working hard, Zhuo Yan cleaned up and went to bed. By midnight, the fire had burned down to embers, leaving only a faint warmth behind. A-Yin was propped up on his front legs, bending down to lick the bowl of cold soup that had been set aside.

He ate with great difficulty and effort; his stomach still ached, and the food only intensified the pain. Despite this, A-Yin was meticulous, making sure to finish every last bit.

‘You need to get better soon.’

Alright.