The roar that echoed across the ice field took away all the accumulated pressure in Lin Yu’an’s heart and exhausted his last bit of wild ecstasy.
He slowly lowered his arms, his chest heaving violently like an old bellows, breathing in the cold air deeply.
After the extre excitent, his gaze gradually regained the calm and sharpness inherent to a Hunter.
The silver harvest made up of over forty fish in front of him was both a badge of victory and a huge, ticking countdown trouble.
Such a strong fishy sll, on this ice field extrely sensitive to scent, was like a dinner bell broadcast to all the predators within several tens of kiloters.
Wolves, wolverines, and even polar bears further away, their keen noses likely already caught the scent and started moving towards here.
He must patiently unravel the fish one by one, although it’s slower this way, it maximizes the preservation of the stinging net’s integrity.
"Now is the ti to test patience and technique," he said to the cara, his tone urgent but his gaze exceptionally focused.
"I must get these fish off the net with minimal losses in the shortest ti possible. It’ll be troubleso, but it has to be done."
Instead of starting imdiately, he first strode back to the ice fishing shack and carefully carried out the tin barrel inside burning with charcoal and dry wood.
The handle of the tin barrel was scalding hot, but he wore thick gloves, held the handle steadily, and placed this "mobile furnace" right next to the huge pile of fish.
The fiery flas danced more fiercely in the piercing cold wind, the orange-red glow reflecting off the surrounding ice and snow and the pile of fish, creating a peculiar scene.
Lin Yu’an smiled confidently at the cara, "During prolonged delicate work in such low temperatures, the biggest enemy is fingers getting stiff and losing sensation."
"Though I’m wearing waterproof gloves, which isolate moisture, they cannot prevent heat from quickly escaping due to contact with the cold fish bodies."
"But with this mobile heat source, I can warm my hands whenever needed, ensuring that my operational precision does not decline."
He stretched his gloved hands above the fire barrel, feeling the heat quickly penetrate the glove materials, restoring warmth and sensitivity to his fingertips.
After completing the preparations, he then walked to the "silver carpet," knelt in the snow, and began his long and detailed "fish unraveling" work.
The first one processed was a tightly caught Red Spot Salmon, its head already through the sh, but its open gill cover and plump body were firmly strangled by the tough nylon line.
He didn’t yank; that was the least efficient and most damaging thod for the fishing net. He pinched the fish’s head with the fingers of one hand, forcefully closing the gills.
Then, with the fingers of the other hand, he carefully peeled off the nylon net lines tangled around the gill cover, like plucking harp strings.
His fingers quickly moved between the cold fish body and the slippery net lines. When all the net lines had detached from the gill cover, he pushed the fish body in reverse out of the sh.
With a soft "puff," the first fish was successfully liberated, the undamaged fishing net only leaving a shallow mark on its body.
He showed it to the cara: "See, this is the correct thod. The key is to close the fish gills and push backward. If pulled forward, the gills open wider and get stuck tighter."
Using the sa thod, he swiftly dealt with those Red Spot Salmons stuck by the standard way.
One, two, three... the pile of fish beside him grew ever larger.
But soon, he ran into a trickier problem, those few huge Lake Trouts.
Their bodies were too large, their heads and bodies tangled together in several broken sh holes and surrounding net lines, like a ssy ball of wool.
Faced with this situation, he showed even greater patience.
First, he made a wooden shuttle and used its flat tip like a scalpel to probe into the tangled net lines, slowly picking apart the knots and straightening the threads.
This process was extrely ti-consuming and required keen eyesight, especially in the biting cold wind. Every dozen minutes, he had to stop and warm his hands above the fire.
Once his fingertips regained the sensitivity for delicate touches, he returned to work.
Ti ticked away, and like a focused, silent craftsman, he thodically repeated the cycle of unraveling fish, warming hands, and unraveling fish again.
Finally, after nearly an hour of work, he successfully "peeled" the last and largest Lake Trout off the fishing net.
He stood up, stretching his stiff back and waist from the prolonged kneeling.
Then, looking at the fishing net, slightly stretched and deford but with its main structure intact, and the pile of intact fish beside it, he smiled with a sense of accomplishnt.
"It’s done," he breathed a long sigh of relief.
"This took at least three tis longer than simply cutting the net, but..."
He lifted a corner of the net, showing it to the cara, "The net is still intact, which ans my ’Money Printer’ can continue working."
"The effort of this hour traded away the longer ti that would be spent repairing the fishing net, making this transaction very worthwhile."
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