The mountain stream water was crystal clear, even purer than the river at the foot of the mountain. Few people came here, allowing the fish in the stream to live freely, growing plump and healthy.

Zhou Song waded into the deeper part of the water, which came up to his calves. He could clearly see the fish swimming around, agile and quick.

Shen Qingzhu found a stone by the bank and sat down, watching Zhou Song catch fish.

Standing in the stream, Qian Yuan held an arrow halfway up and stared at the fish swimming below, patiently waiting, not rushing to strike.

Zhou Song remembered his first attempt at fishing—he’d been too eager. When a fish swam close, he lunged, unable to resist, but he didn’t even touch a scale, only to end up splashed all over his face by the fish’s tail.

Spotting a fish, he focused on its movement, waiting for it to pause ever so slightly before swiftly striking. Water splashed as the arrow pierced the fish’s body. Zhou Song straightened up, looking at the sizable fish. He lifted it, signaling to Shen Qingzhu on the bank.

Shen Qingzhu’s eyes crinkled in a gentle smile.

Zhou Song waded back, wiping the splashed water from his face with his sleeve. Barefoot on the shore, he didn’t bother putting on his shoes. Instead, he rummaged through his belongings for a short knife.

Looking at Kun Ze, he said, “It might be a bit bloody. If you’re squeamish, don’t watch.”

Though Shen Qingzhu didn’t cook, he wasn’t one to shy away from watching someone clean a fish. Still, seeing Zhou Song pause with the knife in hand, Shen Qingzhu appreciated his consideration. “I’ll go gather some firewood.”

It was a simple task and spared him the bloody scene. Zhou Song nodded, watching him stand up. He couldn’t help but remind him, “Don’t go too far; be careful of sharp branches.”

Shen Qingzhu replied with a soft acknowledgment and walked off.

Zhou Song watched him pick up sticks within sight and felt reassured. Squatting by the river, he carefully cleaned the fish and plucked the feathers from the wild chicken he’d caught earlier, leaving them both on a clean rock. After washing his hands, he stood up, ready to call Shen Qingzhu back. But when he looked around, he couldn’t see him anywhere.

His heart tightened as he quickly shook the water off his hands and strode toward the last spot he’d seen him.

“Shen Qingzhu?”

The surroundings were silent; no one answered.

Feeling a pang of panic, Zhou Song clenched his fists, forcing himself to stay calm. Taking a deep breath to steady his racing heart, he carefully searched the area for signs.

In front, some branches had been gathered, evidence that Shen Qingzhu had indeed been there. Zhou Song moved over, crouched down, and noticed faint footprints leading into the nearby woods. He must have wandered in while gathering firewood.

Zhou Song frowned. This spot bordered the deep woods, where wild boars and other large animals occasionally roamed. If he ran into one of those…

He didn’t dare hesitate and followed the footprints, countless worst-case scenarios flashing through his mind, his steps quickening.

He was the one who had brought Shen Qingzhu here, and he had let him go off alone. If anything happened to him, how could he possibly…

He stopped in his tracks, staring blankly at the figure crouched not far away.

All his worst fears melted away in that instant. Zhou Song’s tense nerves loosened, and he let out a long breath of relief—he was fine.

With his heart finally at ease, he wiped the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve, straightened his clothes to mask any sign of his earlier panic, and walked over.

“What are you looking…”

The crouching figure turned around, raising a finger to his lips, motioning him to stay quiet.

“Come here,” Shen Qingzhu whispered, beckoning him to a spot beside him.

Obediently, Zhou Song crouched down next to him, feeling his arm brush against Shen Qingzhu’s. His heart skipped a beat, and he quickly shuffled to the side to create some distance.

Shen Qingzhu didn’t seem to notice, his attention focused elsewhere. As Zhou Song settled in, Shen Qingzhu pointed forward. “Look over there.”

Following his gaze, Zhou Song saw two little foxes rolling around, biting and playing with each other, their bushy tails swishing behind them.

They were still young, smaller than adult foxes, their faces round and cute, with an air of innocence.

So he liked these fluffy little creatures, Zhou Song thought, glancing at Kun Ze. He was tempted to offer to catch one as a pet.

“That fur would make a warm cloak,” Shen Qingzhu muttered, resting his chin in his hand.

“… ” Zhou Song swallowed the words he’d been about to say, pausing before replying, “I could hunt them for you.”

At this, Shen Qingzhu turned, chuckling. “I was only joking. It’s not cold enough yet to need a fox-fur cloak.”

In a few months, winter would come, Zhou Song thought to himself. Perhaps then he could hunt a few fox pelts for him. Without showing his thoughts, he simply said, “I’ve seen white foxes deep in the mountains.”

“White foxes?” Shen Qingzhu raised a brow. “Those are rare. Their pelts are pricier than red foxes. Did you catch one?”

Zhou Song shook his head. “I only caught a glimpse from afar, didn’t harm it.”

Hunters like him followed certain rules, sparing pregnant females and avoiding excessive hunting in spring when animals were breeding. This way, nature remained balanced.

White foxes were rare. There were probably only a few in the mountains, and he didn’t need that pelt, so he’d let it go.

Shen Qingzhu didn’t understand these customs, assuming Zhou Song had found the fox beautiful and couldn’t bring himself to kill it. He didn’t press further, gathering the small pile of sticks beside him. “I suppose you’re done with the fish, yes? Let’s head back.”

Zhou Song, seeing him collect the wood, moved closer, scooping it into his arms. He stood up. “Let’s go.”

Shen Qingzhu’s hands came up empty. Following Zhou Song’s movements, he looked up, noticing Zhou Song’s tense profile. Smiling, he rose to his feet as well.

As they left, the little foxes continued their playful tussle, oblivious to the two humans who had considered, if briefly, capturing them.

Back by the stream, Shen Qingzhu noticed the cleaned chicken and fish. “Why did you kill the wild chicken too?”

“Since I’m starting a fire, I figured I might as well prepare everything.” Zhou Song replied as he crouched down, setting the firewood in place.

Shen Qingzhu crouched beside him. “We might not finish all this.”

It was an awkward time, not quite morning, and not close to noon either. Though they’d spent some time in the mountains, he wasn’t feeling particularly hungry.

“No worries. I’ll finish it if you don’t,” Zhou Song replied, pulling a firestarter from his pack.

He was skilled at making fires, and soon, flames flickered to life in the pile.

Shen Qingzhu watched him skewer the fish and chicken onto sticks, securing them near the fire. Zhou Song then opened a small pouch, revealing a few packets of seasonings. Shen Qingzhu raised a brow. “You seem to have everything.”

Zhou Song, meeting Shen Qingzhu’s gaze briefly before looking down, replied, “I always bring essentials when hunting, just in case.”

Shen Qingzhu nodded, understanding. The forest was vast, and once inside, you never knew when you’d be back, so it made sense to come prepared.

Soon, the food began to give off a tantalizing aroma. Zhou Song flipped the meat to reveal the browning side, sprinkling on the seasonings. They were simple, common spices, nothing fancy. Usually, Zhou Song wasn’t particular about food, but today, as he roasted for Shen Qingzhu, he felt uncharacteristically nervous. He glanced at him, then quickly looked away. “It might be a bit plain.”

Watching his movements, Shen Qingzhu responded, “Outdoor cooking is all about the experience. The taste isn’t what matters; the fun is.”

“… Mm.” Zhou Song nodded. Perhaps it was all those books Shen Qingzhu read; he always seemed to have a way with words, his temperament warm and easy to be around.

If he knew Zhou Song’s thoughts, Shen Qingzhu would probably scoff. He wasn’t as gentle as he seemed; he was just good at putting on a front.

Watching him roast for a while, Shen Qingzhu rose and walked to the stream, splashing some water. The mountain stream was colder than the river below, and he shivered, pulling his hand back, lost in thought as he watched the fish swim.

His mother used to say that when his father retired, she wanted to find a peaceful place in the mountains to live, tending to a garden and enjoying a simple life. It might be tough, but it’d be fulfilling.

Back then, Shen Qingzhu saw this as just a dream of comfort, never imagining he’d one day live it in her place—at such a cost.

Zhou Song turned the fish and chicken, then glanced over to see Shen Qingzhu crouching by the stream, looking down, seemingly lost in a sorrowful thought.

For a moment, Zhou Song paused, carefully observing his expression.

Then, with a sudden splash, a fish flicked its tail, spraying water onto Shen Qingzhu’s face.

Caught in his thoughts, he didn’t react in time and looked a bit dazed.

Zhou Song’s reflexes were quick. He hurried over and pulled him up by the arm, moving him away from the water.

There wasn’t much water on his face, just enough to dampen his bangs. A few droplets trailed down his chin into his collar. Zhou Song instinctively lifted a hand, but halfway through, he hesitated and dropped it, letting go of Shen Qingzhu’s arm as well. “Wipe your face.”

Shen Qingzhu snapped out of it, thanked him, and took out a handkerchief, dabbing his face before chuckling.

Zhou Song looked puzzled. “What is it?”

Shen Qingzhu shook his head, smiling. “Nothing, just funny that I got ‘bullied’ by a fish.”

Zhou Song looked back at the stream, hesitating. “Should I catch it for you?”

Shen Qingzhu raised an eyebrow. “How would you even know which one it was?”

Zhou Song fell silent; he had been too far away to tell.

Shen Qingzhu chuckled again, drying his face and tucking the handkerchief back into his sleeve. “Forget it. I can’t really hold a grudge against a fish.”

So, Zhou Song let it go. At least they had already caught one fish, from the same stream, so eating it could be considered “revenge.”

Zhou Song washed a few large leaves, cut the tenderest part of the fish belly, and handed it to Kun Ze.

Shen Qingzhu used the wooden chopsticks Zhou Song had carved for him, picking up the fish. The seasoning was simple, but the freshness made it taste great. “Delicious.”

Noticing his approval, Zhou Song relaxed, slicing more meat from the chicken for him, carefully arranging it for easier picking.

Shen Qingzhu quietly watched him, saying nothing, but accepted every piece Zhou Song handed over.