Flip the table and divide the family property! Take his wife and daughter into the mountains and eat

It was four in the morning. A thin layer of glistening ice had formed on the surface of the water tank inside the house.

Zhao Shanhe quietly climbed out of bed and first glanced at the mother and son who were fast asleep on the kang (heated brick bed).

Perhaps because she ate a full meal of white steamed buns last night, Niu Niu slept soundly, her little mouth slightly pouting, no longer curled up in a ball and complaining of being cold as she used to.

Zhao Shanhe put on his patched old cotton-padded coat and squatted in front of the stove.

The fire in the pit had long since gone out, leaving only a pile of bright red embers.

Instead of leaving immediately, he turned around and rummaged through the woodpile for a while, picking out the thickest and hardest piece of "lumpy wood" (elm root).

This stuff is hard to start, but it burns for a long time; one piece can last for two or three hours.

He carefully stuffed the wood deep into the stove pit, poked at the embers with a fire hook, and then blocked the opening of the pit with a brick to control the airflow.

After doing all this, he reached out and touched the edge of the kang (a heated brick bed). It was warm. The piece of wood was lit, and when Lin Xiu and her mother woke up in the morning, the kang was still warm.

Only after settling into their homes can hunters go into the mountains without any distractions.

……

Using the faint red light from the stove pit, Zhao Shanhe began to "put on his leg wraps".

He pulled out a few handfuls of Ula grass from the bundle of golden dry grass at the end of the kang (a heated brick bed).

This grass looks ordinary, but it is one of the three treasures of Northeast China: the poor man's mink fur.

Zhao Shanhe placed the grass on the wooden stump, swung the wooden mallet, and started smashing it with a "bang, bang, bang" sound.

His voice was muffled; he controlled his strength.

In no time, the originally hard grass stems were smashed until the fibers broke, and they became fluffy and soft like cotton.

He took off his shoes, stuffed the warm, grassy scent into his leather felt boots, and then put his feet inside.

It's compact, warm, and breathable. In a snowdrift at minus thirty degrees Celsius, this layer of grass is the last line of defense for your toes.

Next came the gun. The old cannon was disassembled, and the gunpowder inside the tin can emitted a pungent sulfurous smell.

Zhao Shanhe held the copper spoon firmly, his wrist as steady as a rock.

Three and a half spoonfuls. Not even half a spoonful more would do. He pressed the single-pointed lead bullet, which he had specially scored with a knife at the top the night before, into the barrel and tamped it down hard with a cleaning rod.

Push open the door and go out of the room.

"Creak—"

The clanging of the door hinges was particularly jarring in the quiet night.

As soon as he stepped outside, a gust of icy wind rushed into his lungs, like swallowing a knife. Zhao Shanhe couldn't help but cough, and his exhaled breath instantly frosted over his eyebrows and stubble.

It's so cold. This kind of cold is cold enough to crack stones.

……

At eight o'clock in the morning, we went ten miles into the mountains.

Daylight broke, but the sun seemed frozen, hanging in the sky without a trace of warmth, just a pale, lifeless orb.

The wind in the deep mountains becomes a "ghostly howl" here. It's the shrill sound of the wind whistling through the dense pine forest.

Occasionally, a crisp "crack! crack!" sound can be heard from the depths of the distant forest.

That's the sound of an old tree unable to withstand the severe cold, its trunk cracking from the freezing temperatures; in the local dialect, it's called "tree blasting."

Zhao Shanhe pulled down the ears of his dog-skin hat, covering them completely, leaving only his eyes showing.

The snow here is already above knee-deep. The surface is a hard "snow shell" that crumbles when you step on it, and your ankle sinks in, making it extremely difficult to pull your foot out.

But he walked steadily. He stepped on the raised areas of tree roots with each step, trying not to damage the integrity of the snow crust.

Zhao Shanhe stopped at a sheltered mountain pass.

The road ahead was half blocked by a huge old elm tree. A large piece of bark had been rubbed off the trunk, revealing the glossy wood that gleamed oilily in the pale sunlight.

"The Itch-Scratching Tree".

Zhao Shanhe took off his gloves and touched the smooth spot. It was cold, hard, and had a few black hairs like steel needles stuck to it.

Looking again at the terrifying depth of the footprints, and then glancing back at the chest-high scratch marks... Zhao Shanhe understood.

It's definitely him. It's "Black Yama".

In my previous life, it was the 28th day of the twelfth lunar month of that year.

That was a once-in-decades "Great White Disaster" (a massive snowstorm). The snow blocked the mountains for half a month, and the wild animals in the mountains went crazy with hunger. A huge male wild boar, unable to find food in the deep mountains, actually took a risk and sneaked into the neighboring Kaoshan Village to steal livestock feed.

That guy was nearly two meters long, and his left ear was missing half, earning him the nickname "One-Eared Black Yama".

Zhao Shanhe was also present at the time.

He watched helplessly as the ravenous beast, its eyes bloodshot with hunger, rampaged through the village's threshing ground like a maddened tank.

The village militia company commander led five or six skilled hunters and three of the best hunting dogs to surround it.

And the result? Two of the three good dogs had their bellies ripped open, their intestines spilling out onto the ground;

One of them had its spine snapped by the pig's snout, which was like a steel whip. Even the militia company commander's thigh was ripped open by the fangs, almost crippling him for life.

Although it was eventually shot to death, Zhao Shanhe still vividly remembers the horrific scene.

When the scale was stepped on, everyone gasped – the net weight was 480 pounds!

Facing this ferocious god who had once wreaked havoc in his memory, Zhao Shanhe's palms were covered in a layer of cold sweat.

If it were any other day, he would have run as far away as possible from such a ferocious creature.

But today, he hesitated. He subconsciously glanced back down the mountain.

According to my memories from my previous life, the once-in-decades heavy snowfall is coming in just a few days.

The three old mud houses in the family are too old. Although the main beams can still hold up, if the snow falls above the window frames, the roof may not be able to support such a heavy weight.

Even if it doesn't collapse, just a slight deformation from the pressure will cause drafts throughout the house. In the freezing cold, are Lin Xiu and Niu Niu really going to have to huddle together in bed?

Fortune favors the bold. If we don't make this windfall before the heavy snow closes the mountains, buy some thick timber to reinforce the roof beams, and exchange it for enough coal and cotton, how can we possibly have a peaceful winter?

Having been reborn, he not only wants his wife and children to live, but also to live comfortably, sleep soundly, and no longer live in fear.

This risk is worth taking.

Of course, Zhao Shanhe was not a reckless man.

This "Black Yama" is now starving and ten times more aggressive than usual, which also means it's easier for it to take the bait.

A direct confrontation would be suicide; we must devise a plan.

"This time, we'll have to use a dirty trick on it."

Zhao Shanhe took a deep breath and forced himself to calm down.

He looked around, his gaze sweeping across the surrounding terrain, and quickly formed a three-dimensional ambush plan in his mind.

This is a windy, narrow area, a necessary route for wild boars to come down the mountain.

He selected two red pine trees three meters apart beside the animal trail. He took out the two specially made steel cables from his basket.

Zhao Shanhe's fingers flew nimbly in the cold wind, weaving a complex "chain pulley buckle".

This kind of loop is a specialty of experienced hunters. Once it's around the neck or leg, the more the animal struggles, the tighter the pulley mechanism will tighten, until it digs into the flesh and locks the bones.

But this is not enough.

For the wild boar king, clad in pine-oil armor, simple restraints cannot hold it back for long.

Zhao Shanhe drew his dagger and with a few swift strokes, chopped down several thick pieces of hardwood.

He whittled the wood into sharp "spikes," each one half a meter long.

He inserted the spikes diagonally into the snowdrift behind the lasso, with the pointed ends facing the way he came, sprinkled a layer of loose snow on top, and finally covered them with a few withered yellow leaves.

This is a vicious "surprise attack." Once a wild boar is caught in the snare, it will instinctively retreat and struggle frantically. What awaits it then are these silent, sharp knives that will pierce its soft belly.

Finally, Zhao Shanhe took out the three steamed buns. He broke them into small pieces, each crumb containing a potent sleeping potion he had obtained from the pharmacy. He scattered the bait two meters in front of the trap.

In the depths of winter, when everything is withered, this rich aroma of wheat is like a lighthouse in the darkness, enough to drive any hungry beast to madness.

After doing all this, Zhao Shanhe glanced at the sun.

Noon is approaching, the warmest time of day and the peak time for wild animals to come out and hunt for food.

He retreated fifty meters and chose a large poplar tree with high branches and lush foliage.

He hung the basket under the tree, and like a nimble monkey, he climbed up using both hands and feet, sitting on a branch four meters off the ground.

The view from the high vantage point is expansive.

Most importantly, at this height, wild boars cannot charge at it, nor can they reach it with their tusks.

Zhao Shanhe set up the old foreign-made cannon, pressed the butt firmly against his shoulder, and pierced through the gaps in the branches and leaves, locking the seemingly calm but actually deadly bushes.

The wind seemed to have stopped. Only the steady beating of his heart remained in the entire world. Thump, thump, thump…

After an unknown amount of time, a sudden commotion arose in the previously silent forest in the distance. Several crows cried out in alarm and took flight.

Immediately afterwards, the ground began to tremble slightly.

"Crack—" The sound of a thick, dead tree being violently broken by foot came from the ground.

Zhao Shanhe's pupils suddenly shrank to the size of pinpoints. From the shadows of the distant forest, a massive cloud of black mist, carrying a suffocating, foul wind, broke through the snow and emerged.

coming!