abnormal mutation

Chapter 12 Eating chicken tonight
“The day before yesterday morning, Karl and I were attacked in an alley in the East Market. Karl died, and I was kidnapped. When I woke up, I was in the snowfield. Luckily, the attackers were attacked by a pack of wolves, and I escaped in the chaos. They all perished in the wolves' jaws…”

It wasn't that he deliberately concealed it; the kidnapping incident was very complicated, and the teenagers were impulsive. Telling them would be pointless and would only cause more trouble.

"Big brother, are you alright?"

"Who did this...?"

"..."

Aiven and his companions' faces flushed red, their teeth clenched, and their fists unconsciously tightened. They might not be particularly skilled, but they certainly didn't lack courage and bravado.

“Everyone I’ve seen is dead, and the real culprit hasn’t shown up.” As he spoke, he tore open the shirt at his chest, revealing a gruesome wound that had already scabbed over. “It’s not a big problem; it’ll be fine after a few days of rest.”

But these horrific, crisscrossing wounds undoubtedly further agitated the boys, making them tremble with rage, their eyes bloodshot, their teeth bared, like a pack of wild dogs driven mad.

But without a target, they don't know who to vent to.

Tears streamed down Evan's face. In his haste, he stumbled to the corner, yanked open the cabinet, and frantically rummaged through the medicine box. It took him a while to remember that he had taken all the wound medicine to the orphanage and that he only had one bottle of frostbite cream at home.

"Don't put on this show. You're far from dead. It's just scary to look at." Roland straightened his clothes, pretending to be indifferent.

He was pleased with the performance of the boys; with proper training, they might become a group of helpful assistants in the future.

"If I find out who it is, I'll chop him into mincemeat and eat him piece by piece!" Every word Targen uttered seemed to be squeezed out from between his teeth.

“Me too,” Andrew said, sticking his neck out.

"Alright, nobody's going to get away with this. Do you think I'm the one who's going to suffer a loss?" Roland waved his hand. He didn't think the others were overreacting, but it's not advisable to get too caught up in extreme emotions.

He opened the backpack at his feet, revealing various weapons and odds and ends of spoils: "We're not at a loss, we've made a small profit."

Attracted by the various knives, the group gathered around, touching and examining them, asking questions, and their anger gradually subsided.

"Each person picks one item for self-defense, and the rest will be sold tomorrow."

No boy is immune to the allure of weapons, and the group's enthusiasm was instantly ignited. Roland, however, possessed a revolver and paid little attention to these other melee weapons.

"What kind of bird is this? It's so fat!" Andrew said, holding a white-crested snowcock in one hand, his eyes shining brightly. You know, foodies always have something different to look at.

“This is a white-crested snow chicken,” Roland said with a smile. “Clean it up, and we’ll have chicken for dinner tonight.”

"It looks delicious, this big rooster comb..." When it comes to food, Andrew is more enthusiastic than anyone else. He held the rooster comb closer and closer to his face, and anyone who didn't know better would think he was going to eat it raw.

"Why don't we sell it? We can just eat bread," Amy suggested in a low voice. He didn't recognize the white-crested snow chicken, but instinctively felt that it wasn't cheap.

“If others can eat it, why can’t we?” Roland didn’t want to make himself suffer. “We’ve already processed it. We’ll eat two, and the eggs and the rest will be given to Grandma Mia and the children to help them recover.”

After hearing his explanation, the foodies' troubled expressions vanished, and they happily set up the pot to boil water.

They hadn't eaten for most of the day and were starving, so they were busy working hard under the temptation of delicious food.

The two snow chickens only weighed a dozen kilograms, but luckily we had five or six loaves of bread, a few frozen white fish, a few unknown sausages, plus the salted meat and bread that Roland brought back, which should be enough.

Roland had some culinary skills in his previous life; he could make stir-fried chicken and ribs quite well. Unfortunately, after searching his entire house, he only found half a jar of solidified, unidentified grease, a small bag of coarse salt, and a little sugar, without any spices.

There was no other way but to stew it, as this cooking method relies the least on spices.

Luke and his companions worked quickly and efficiently, cleaning up the snow chickens in no time, and collecting all the feathers in a separate basket.

Roland had them chop the chickens into small pieces and then wash them repeatedly with warm water. These chickens had all been killed by the two wolves, and in the frigid weather, there was no way to bleed them, so the blood had to be removed.

After processing, separate the chicken pieces, packing the two fattest ones separately to take to the orphanage tomorrow.

The iron pot hung above the fireplace, the fire burning brighter and brighter. Roland scooped out a large spoonful of oil and pounded it into the pot. Once the oil was hot, he poured in the chicken and stir-fried it until golden brown. The plump snow chicken released its oil, sizzling and releasing a rich aroma that filled his nostrils.

*Gurgle...* Someone's stomach growled first, triggering a chain reaction until everyone's stomachs started rumbling. "Let's eat some bread to tide us over," Roland suggested, but no one listened. Several pairs of eyes seemed glued to the iron pot.

Once the chicken is almost cooked, add enough water, coarse salt, and a little sugar. Cover the pot and simmer slowly. Hang the bread and sausages on iron hooks above the pot and smoke them with steam.

"Big brother, when will it be ready?" Andrew had already taken out his big bowl.

"An hour and a half."

"what?"

More than an hour later, the fragrance gradually intensified, filling the entire room. Roland had never smelled this scent before; it was mellow and lingering, with a subtle sweetness. Taking a deep breath, the warm aroma spread from her chest outwards, making her feel warmer all over.

'This thing seems unusual.' He belatedly realized, and suddenly felt a pang of heartache, as if he had lost a hundred million.

He turned his head and saw that Evan and the others were each holding a piece of bread, not eating a single bite. They were staring intently at the bubbling iron pot, swallowing their saliva incessantly, and they looked like they were really suffering.

He lifted the lid and poked the meat with his fork; it was firm, but edible.

"Let's eat."

With a whoosh, four large bowls appeared in front of Roland as if they had just appeared. Behind the bowls were four pairs of eyes that were practically starving. No one spoke, perhaps because they were afraid of drooling.

"Is it really necessary? I haven't been starving you guys, have I?" Roland teased.

As he spoke, he didn't dare to delay, filling each person's bowl to the brim with the chicken soup. He was afraid that if he lingered, the "father-son" bond would be broken in this pot of chicken soup.

One chicken leg and one chicken wing per person, to avoid comparisons.

He picked the two chicken heads into his own bowl, not because he liked eating chicken heads, but simply because he felt that the white crest of the white-crested snow chicken must have a story behind it, and since he was injured, he needed to recover!

The rooster combs are very large, with the females having combs that are more than half the size of a palm. After stewing, they turn a deep white color, and the electric patterns on them become even more noticeable, as if there are flowing light and shadow under the lamplight.

One bite and you're greeted with a tender, bouncy texture, a delicate and delicious flavor that hits you right in the head—truly an ultimate taste experience.

When he came to his senses, both chicken heads were already inside his stomach, and even the small bones had been chewed up and eaten. He felt warm all over, as if his soul had undergone a baptism, his mind was clear and his thoughts were sharp.

'This thing... I'm afraid it's some kind of highly nutritious medicinal herb!' He smacked his lips, seemingly still wanting more.

He ate a few more pieces of chicken, but he felt it was lacking; the simple, fresh flavor wasn't particularly outstanding.

The boys nearby were still engrossed in the delicious food. Andrew ate the fastest, almost finishing his soup. Evan ate the most elegantly, unhurriedly, as if he were enjoying his dinner.

"There's more in the pot, help yourself," Roland said, gesturing as he looked up.

He cut the still-hard bread into small pieces, soaked them in the chicken soup, and ate them together. He had eaten the best parts of the snow chicken; it wouldn't be right to compete with them for the meat.

Andrew glanced around, picked up a spoon, ladled out only a little more than half a bowl of chicken soup for himself, and then, like Roland, soaked bread in it and ate it.

"Eat some meat!" Roland scooped up a few pieces of meat, but Andrew hugged his bowl and dodged away.

"That's enough," he mumbled between mouthfuls of bread.

Not only him, but everyone else did the same, refusing to eat anymore and insisting on leaving the food for him.

Roland didn't force anyone. He ate the rest of the meat, and the large pot of chicken soup was shared among everyone. Even the pot was polished to a shine with bread, so not a single bit was wasted.

After dinner, a group of people lazily gathered around the fireplace, chatting idly about food and drinks, or the everyday matters of Ice River Town.

No one mentioned Karl, but a trace of sadness and gloom would occasionally flash in their eyes.

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(End of this chapter)