He watched the plane wobble its way into the sky, disappearing into the thick clouds.
The Far North Tundra fell silent once more. Feng Mountain found it a little unsettling. He looked down at Prince and Coca-Cola in his arms and muttered to himself, "Now it’s just the three of us again."
With that, he tossed the cat and dog, who had been snuggling in his arms for warmth, into the snow.
"All you two do is eat and sleep, sleep and eat. Ti to get so exercise. Walk ho yourselves."
AROO!!
MROW!!
Coca-Cola and Prince were stunned. They watched their master’s figure recede into the distance. Coca-Cola was fine; cats are naturally agile and light, so walking on the snow was relatively easy, though his paws were a bit cold.
Prince, however, was in for a rough ti.
He was barely taller than the snowpack and couldn’t keep up with his master. He yelped frantically, but his cries sounded a bit... off.
Like he was cursing soone out!
...
Back at the camp.
The guest was gone, but the work had to continue.
Feng Mountain picked up the Wanta Card and continued to clean the brown bear hide. The blade scraped off flakes of fat and scraps of at, which fluttered down like snowflakes.
Prince and Coca-Cola were roughhousing in the snow.
Coca-Cola couldn’t be bothered with him at first, but he couldn’t stand Prince’s shaless pestering. The dog shalessly sidled up to tease him, finally pissing Coca-Cola off. The cat pinned him in the snow and gave him a flurry of furious smacks.
Prince yelped as he was smacked around. He struggled free from Coca-Cola’s hold and ran to Feng Mountain with his tail between his legs to tattle.
Feng Mountain was swamped; he had no ti to deal with the two of them. He grabbed a handful of the scraped-off fat and at scraps and tossed it to Prince.
Prince curiously trotted over. Slling the at, he took a bite, and his eyes instantly lit up. He imdiately forgot all about tattling and began to gobble it up with happy snorts.
Hearing the commotion, Coca-Cola ran over too, joining Prince in eating the delicacy that had fallen to the ground.
Feng Mountain didn’t shoo them away. In fact, he let the two little guys eat as much as they wanted. Bear fat contained a large amount of calories, which was very helpful for animals resisting the severe cold.
Ti passed quickly. He had cleaned half of the entire bearskin, exposing the mbrane layer of the hide, but Feng Mountain temporarily stopped his work on it.
As the temperature rose, the snow began to lt. He had originally planned to process the bear at in a couple of days, but it looked like he needed to move it up on his schedule.
Once the snow touched the ground, it could beco contaminated with bacteria, which would in turn contaminate the bear at and cause it to spoil.
’What a pain. If only I had a refrigerator!’
He imdiately tossed the thought to the back of his mind. Even if he had a refrigerator, it would be useless without electricity.
The only way to process it now was to make smoked and cured at. Fortunately, among the supplies from his grand-uncle that Frank had delivered from customs, there were over ten pounds of salt.
He dug the bear at out of the snow, trimd off the excess fat, and cut it into long strips.
The cut strips of at were divided into two parts. One part was hung in the smokehouse to be made into smoked at. With the other part, Feng Mountain planned to try making salted, air-dried at.
He heated the salt in a wok, added Sichuan peppercorns and chili peppers, and stir-fried them until fragrant. After letting it cool, he rubbed it evenly onto the surface of the bear at, threaded ropes through it, and hung it to dry under the wooden shed.
The trimd fat couldn’t be wasted either. Bear grease was not only the best skin protectant against the cold but could also be used for cooking.
He lit the stove, set a stewing pot on it, cut the bear fat into small pieces, and added cold water to render it slowly. Before long, the fragrant aroma of oil wafted from the pot.
Ti flew by, and in the midst of all this busy work, evening arrived before he knew it.
Looking at the strips of red bear at hanging under the wooden shed, the smoking smokehouse, and the snow-white bear grease solidifying in the pot, a strange sense of accomplishnt welled up in the exhausted Feng Mountain.
...
As evening fell, strong winds once again swept across the Far North Tundra. Feng Mountain was too exhausted to work anymore. He piled the remaining bear at on a wooden rack; with the temperature dropping at night, it would be fine for a while.
As for whether any animals would show up to steal the at during the night... ’All the better if they do. I was just worried I didn’t have enough food for the winter.’
He cooked a simple pot of rice porridge, and after eating, he sat in his recliner to rest.
Coca-Cola and Prince, their bellies round from eating at, dozed by the stove.
The dim yellow light of the kerosene lamp filled the narrow interior of the bus, creating an exceptionally warm and peaceful atmosphere.
Feng Mountain picked up his long-dead phone and fell into thought.
’I wonder how Black Hide and the others are doing. Are they still waiting for to let them know I’m safe?’
’When I go to Fairbanks in a few days, I’ll be able to call them.’
’Right.’
’Frank said Grand-uncle also kept a copy of a docunt. I’ve cleaned the bus inside and out, and I’m sure I haven’t seen it. Could Grand-uncle have hidden it sowhere?’
’Where could it be?’
’The entire Crown Territory is huge. If he hid it in so random spot, it would be impossible to find.’
Feng Mountain propped his chin on one hand, frustrated.
His gaze inadvertently fell on his right hand, and he suddenly rembered that he had hunted a brown bear today. He still didn’t know how much Soul Power the Witchcraft Artifact had absorbed.
His eyes fell on the sixth finger of his right hand, and a thought flashed through his mind.
The Witchcraft Bone Ring appeared, and a red pattern materialized on its rough, grayish-white surface.
’Hey!’
’What an unexpected surprise. To think a single brown bear could fill up one Soul Power pattern.’
’What can one Soul Power pattern do?’
Feng Mountain narrowed his eyes, recalling the Witchcraft his ancestor had used in his dreams. ’Moving mountains and parting seas is definitely out. There isn’t enough Soul Power for an earth dragon to roll, either.’
’Life Breath, Mountain Flattening, Water Calming, Earth Dragon, Soul Suppression, Beast Taming...’
His gaze fell on Prince, who was sleeping on his back with all four limbs splayed out, his tongue hanging out.
’Maybe I should try the Beast Taming Technique. In the dream, my ancestor used the Beast Taming Technique to make wild beasts acknowledge a master, awaken their intelligence, and work for the tribe.’
’Coca-Cola and Prince aren’t very big. It shouldn’t take much Soul Power. One Witch Pattern should be more than enough.’
Thinking of this...
Feng Mountain ford a complex hand seal, pointed at the dozing Coca-Cola and Prince, and softly chanted an ancient Spell, "Beast Slave!"
The Witchcraft Bone Ring flashed with red light. Inside the silent bus, the Soul Power gave rise to an indescribably profound and mysterious aura, which appeared and vanished in an instant.
Lying by the stove, Coca-Cola and Prince simultaneously lifted their heads. A glimr of intelligence now shone in their clear eyes.
Feng Mountain could feel that so kind of change had occurred in the two little guys, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was. So, he spoke.
"Coca-Cola, go to the bedroom and bring Grand-uncle’s diary."
ow!
Coca-Cola stood up, trotted into the bedroom, and when he ca out, he was struggling to drag the thick diary toward Feng Mountain.
anwhile, the red Witch Pattern on the Witchcraft Bone Ring had faded considerably.
Feng Mountain looked at Prince. "Prince, go help Coca-Cola."
Woof woof!
Prince, lying on the deerskin blanket, glanced at the diary, pretended not to hear, and yawned before burying his head between his legs.
’This dog is hopeless.’
’Even ancient Witchcraft can’t cure his laziness.’
Feng Mountain shook his head, bent down to pick up the diary Coca-Cola had brought, and then scooped the cat into his arms.
Inside the quiet and peaceful bus.
The stove burned with wood, releasing warmth. The kerosene lamp sat by the window, its dim yellow light glowing against the brilliant aurora outside.
The recliner rocked gently, its wooden joints creaking rhythmically. Coca-Cola, nestled in his arms, purred softly.
Feng Mountain leaned back in the recliner, flipping through his grand-uncle’s diary by the lamplight. In those lines of text, he could almost see his grand-uncle’s figure, striving forward through the long river of ti.
...
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