The night wind rustled, sweeping through the withered forest with a whooshing sound. Song Chuyi and Zhao Yilou were perhaps too tired and soon fell into a deep sleep. Just before dozing off, Song Chuyi did not forget to give Zhao Yilou a kick to the side.
The next day, Song Chuyi slept until broad daylight.
The straw was covered with white frost. The sunlight was bright and dazzling, yet carried little warmth. Hidden deep within the thick pile of straw, Song Chuyi still felt cold, but Zhao Yilou was already crouched by the pond, preparing to slaughter a pheasant.
Seeing this, Song Chuyi’s spirits suddenly lifted. She sprang up in a flash and trotted over to Zhao Yilou’s side. “You caught it?”
Zhao Yilou seemed to think her question hardly needed answering. He kept his head down, using a sharp stone to jab at the pheasant’s neck. Before long, it was bloody and mangled, yet the pheasant still struggled violently.
“How cruel,” Song Chuyi said, her face full of pity.
Zhao Yilou gave a cold snort and continued grinding with the stone. He still remembered one time when he had gone through great pains to catch a rabbit, only to be forced by some aristocratic lady to set it free. Although she later gave him a small bag of grain as compensation, by then he had not tasted meat in half a year. Moreover, in winter, eating meat helped ward off the cold, so to this day he harbored no good impression of aristocratic ladies. Song Chuyi’s reaction at this moment was exactly the kind he despised most.
Song Chuyi crouched down, picked up a stone of suitable size from beside the rocky pool, reached out to cover Zhao Yilou’s hand, and pinned the pheasant he was holding to the ground. Then she raised the large stone and brought it down with a heavy smash. In an instant, blood splattered everywhere, and the pheasant convulsed only twice before dying completely.
Two drops of blood landed on Zhao Yilou’s face. He stood there frozen in shock.
“Hey, when it’s time to strike, you strike.” Song Chuyi tossed aside the stone, clapped her hands, and sat down cross-legged beside him. “Hurry up and get on with it, or by the time we get to eat, the sun will have set beyond the western hills.”
Zhao Yilou stared blankly at her for a long moment before coming to his senses and lowering his head to continue dressing the pheasant.
Pheasants are quick and elusive – hard to catch without experience or proper tools. Zhao Yilou had simply gotten lucky this time. Up until the moment Song Chuyi picked up that stone and smashed the bird’s head, his mood had still been quite excited.
“Hey, my cooking skills are passable. Want me to give it a try?” Song Chuyi offered, seeing that he seemed rather inexperienced in dressing game.
In normal times, Zhao Yilou would rather die than hand his food over to someone else. But perhaps it was because Song Chuyi had returned the fruit to him yesterday, which had earned a bit of his goodwill, or perhaps he figured that even if he gave it to her, she wouldn’t dare to keep it all for herself. After a moment’s hesitation, he let go of the bird and shuffled aside.
Song Chuyi boiled some water in a clay pot nearby, dipped the pheasant in to scald it, then quickly plucked off the feathers. Even with only a sharp-edged stone to work with, Song Chuyi gutted and cleaned the bird with practiced ease.
“Let’s prepare this in two ways,” Song Chuyi said, splitting the pheasant in half. “This larger half we’ll roast over the fire – it’ll keep longer. The smaller half we’ll use for soup today. What do you think?”
“Good.” Zhao Yilou thought this was an excellent plan – they’d have dried meat to store and a warm, filling meal today.
Song Chuyi’s skills were not particularly refined, nor could she make any delicate dishes. But back when she had fallen on hard times and often went hungry, she had relied on this crude craft to make a living – helping merchants dry and cure meat into jerky in exchange for a bowl of millet porridge each day. If she did extra work, she might even get half an egg-sized piece of millet cake. So she had learned to do this work quickly and efficiently, all for the sake of that extra half-piece of millet cake.
For a strategist, trading manual labor for food was undoubtedly pitiful and humiliating.
Song Chuyi had once resented her father for it. But upon reflection, she realized he had been quite farsighted. She was not good-looking, her family was poor, and she would likely not marry well in the future – in times of chaos, she could hardly fend for herself. It was better to learn some real skills and carve out her own path in life.
Even if the hardships along that path were beyond what others could imagine.
Song Chuyi did not know why she had suddenly recalled such distant memories. Perhaps it was because her current situation was too similar to those days back then – at that time, she had thought every day about how to make something of herself, but now she felt quite content.
Song Chuyi built two fires and soon had the pheasant cooked through.
The two of them devoured the food straight from the clay pot, wolfing it down ravenously. At this moment, neither could afford to be picky about the other – getting the meat into their own mouths was what mattered most.
Like a whirlwind sweeping away scattered clouds, not even a single drop of broth remained in the pot.
With no salt or any seasonings at all, the boiled food naturally could not match the tempting aroma of roasted meat. Setting down the earthen pot, the two sat cross-legged facing each other by the pond, sleeves tucked into their hands, staring at the half-roasted pheasant before them and swallowing their saliva.
They sat from morning until afternoon, until Song Chuyi finally said, “Let’s have a bite.”
Zhao Yilou hesitated for a moment, then nodded.
Each tore off a piece of meat and compared the sizes for a while, refusing to put them in their mouths until they were evenly divided.
Even though they had already had a pot of chicken soup that morning, the moment they popped the sizzling, oil-dripping roasted pheasant into their mouths, a wave of sourness rose at the root of their tongues, and saliva gushed forth with craving. After finishing one piece of chicken, there was almost no sense of satisfaction at all.
Zhao Yilou wrapped up the remaining meat and put it away. He then brought out the leftover millet porridge from yesterday, added some water, and boiled it. The two drank their fill of the thin gruel.
“Ah, honestly, meat really does taste better with a bit of salt,” Song Chuyi sighed.
Zhao Yilou was full and in a good mood, so he actually struck up a conversation with her. “Three years ago, I had some in Ying City too. That was my first time having it – it was delicious.”
Song Chuyi gave a faint smile. She had eaten the worst things and also the finest foods, but the most unforgettable meal in a person’s life was always the best one they had during their most desperate times.
“We have nothing. We won’t make it through the winter here,” Song Chuyi suddenly changed the subject and said, “Let’s hunt more game over the next few days. I’ll go with you. We need to leave this place before winter comes.”
Here, even the spot that offered shelter from the rain was tiny, let alone the fierce winds and blizzards of winter. With no place to escape the cold and no thick clothing to cover themselves, freezing to death was only a matter of time.
Zhao Yilou nodded.
“But…” Song Chuyi raised an eyebrow, suddenly grabbed him, and shoved him toward the water. “From now on, wash yourself clean every night before bed!”
Taken by surprise, Zhao Yilou lost the upper hand as Song Chuyi seized the advantageous position, and for a moment, he could not shake her off.
Song Chuyi scooped water from the pond and wiped it over Zhao Yilou’s face. Watching the grime spread and dissolve in the water, she couldn’t help but curse, “How many years’ worth of filth have you been hoarding, you bastard?”
“Pfft…” Zhao Yilou lifted his head from the water and spat out a mouthful. “None of your business!”
After a midday’s worth of sun, the water in the pond was slightly tepid – not too cold. Song Chuyi took the opportunity to scrub his hair as well.
After nearly half an hour of hard work, Zhao Yilou ended up as smooth and bare as that pheasant from noon.
“You… what kind of aristocratic lady are you? So crude – you’re even worse than a village woman!” Zhao Yilou glared at her in anger.
Song Chuyi sat contentedly by the pond, washing her hands without even glancing at him. “You’ve got wounds on your face. If you don’t clean them properly, do you want them to rot?”
Zhao Yilou was taken aback. Only then did he realize that the wound at the corner of his mouth was already showing signs of redness and swelling. If he didn’t tend to it in time, it would inevitably fester.
The sky was already growing late. Song Chuyi stood up and turned around. When she caught sight of Zhao Yilou’s appearance, she paused briefly, then clicked her tongue and said, “Not bad-looking at all.”
