Chapter Twenty-Four: Grilling Skewers

Lu Hu continued his questioning, “So all those holes around us are the homes of the old lady’s children and grandchildren?”

“Exactly. There are holes within holes. When the children are old enough to work, they first dig their own holes. Once their strength is trained and their bodies grow sturdy, only then can they go aboveground to learn foraging and hunting with the adults.”

“How does the smoke from inside the holes get out? Don’t people outside notice?”

“You silly donkey, you really are slow. There’s an ancient tree above us, hollowed out in the middle to serve as a chimney. The smoke rises through the tree and drifts away. Who would ever notice?”

“There seems to be another hole on the left as you enter; I heard horses in there.”

“Of course. The hole on the left is much larger. Inside are over a dozen horses, more than twenty hunting dogs, and stores of horse feed, firewood, dried meat, preserved meat, blueberries, wild greens, pine nuts, hazelnuts, dried fruit—enough provisions for an entire winter.”

“This place is so big. There can’t be just one exit, right?”

“There are plenty of exits. Some are hidden in tree hollows, some beneath piles of grass, others beside large rocks. Every few families share a small exit. By the way, the big entrance we came through is only used by hunters when they head out for a hunt.”

Impressed, Lu Hu genuinely admired them. “Are all the clans scattered in the mountains like this?”

“This is a large clan. Most clans are made up of forty or fifty people, and the number of horses varies. There are even more small clans of ten or twenty members, but that depends on the underground terrain—digging holes requires taking advantage of the landscape.” Yana Li spared no detail.

Living so deep underground, it’s warm in winter and cool in summer; natural air conditioning, protected from beasts, thieves, and enemy raids—perfect.

Several copper trays hung from the ceiling, each holding a burning pine torch as thick as a child’s arm.

The mountains are filled with pine trees; their trunks are full of shiny, sticky resin—flammable and slow-burning. Cut into sections, they make perfect torches for light.

The mountain folk call them pine torches.

Near the stove stood a large wooden table, with a wooden chair beside it. After entering, Old Grandma Du took the chair to rest.

The other hunters returned to their own holes.

Soon, a young man emerged from a large hole behind Grandma, carrying two simple wooden stools and placing them beside her.

Grandma waved her hand, “Princess, don’t just stand there. You two come sit.”

Yana Li pulled Lu Hu over, and the two sat beside Grandma.

An Shizhu, ever observant, knew Grandma had seen he was merely a servant, so he didn’t even get a seat.

Meekly, he stood beside Lu Hu with hands at his sides.

“Princess Li, you must be hungry,” Grandma Du ignored Lu Hu, as if he didn’t exist.

The big, clumsy An Shizhu was as invisible as air.

Before Yana Li could reply, Grandma tapped her cane on the table.

Four women tending the fire quickly uncovered the pots, each filling a large basin and placing them on the table.

One basin of venison, one of wild boar, one of glutinous rice, one of mixed grains.

The aroma of meat grew stronger.

The scent was the signal for mealtime; families queued from each hole, adults leading children, orderly and disciplined.

Each carried a large bowl and a pair of wooden chopsticks in their right hand, a woven grass seat—round or square—in their left.

The bowls came in all varieties: porcelain, wood, clay, stone.

The four middle-aged women served rice and meat in each bowl.

Grandma Du squinted her cloudy eyes, keeping a close watch, ensuring each bowl held half rice, half meat.

Able-bodied hunters used large bowls; elders, women, and youths used medium bowls; children had small ones.

Grandma hugged a small wooden bucket from her feet, trembling as she pried open the lid, carefully pinching a small handful of coarse salt. Each hunter received a sprinkle.

The weaker, the elderly, and the young got even less.

Once served, everyone took their place, set their grass mat on the floor, and sat cross-legged to eat.

This was a communal society!

The four formidable women managed household affairs, cooking, and distribution.

Grandma Du supervised the portions; everyone ate together, food distributed by need, open and fair.

Her descendants all hunched over, devouring their meal. Grandma nodded in satisfaction, exhaling a cloud of breath and closing her eyes to rest. She handled the distribution, not the eating or the aftermath.

Lu Hu and his companions each received a large bowl, with a small bowl placed before Grandma.

Grandma Du coughed again, tapping her cane with force.

The four women returned to the stove, each taking several skewers of meat from a clay basin in the center. Squatting beside the hearth, they rotated the skewers over the dying embers.

The aroma of roasting meat was mouthwatering.

Each of the four women was dark-skinned, with waists thicker than barrels, yet their hands were quick and nimble—they were the clan’s chosen housekeepers.

When the meat was nearly done, they wrapped it in perilla leaves and roasted it a bit longer.

Once satisfied, they brought the skewers to Grandma and Lu Hu’s group, then returned for more skewers to grill.

Lu Hu took a skewer—tender lamb, crispy outside, juicy inside, neither greasy nor gamey, melting in the mouth, exquisitely delicious.

After the lamb came beef, then grasshoppers, nameless mountain birds, squirrels, wild rabbit, river shrimp, river crab, small white fish, small yellow fish, and all sorts of unnamed little fish.

This barbecue feast was both varied and filling—everything that flies, runs, or swims.

The clan members finished their meal swiftly, licking their bowls and gazing expectantly.

Several children, unable to resist, cried out, their wails reminiscent of a cat in heat, desperately summoning its mate—long, sorrowful, and heart-rending.

Lu Hu and Yana Li, unable to bear it, walked over and handed their skewers to the children.

An Shizhu, unconcerned, kept eating—skewer after skewer, as though his life depended on it. The iron skewers sparked as he gnawed, nearly pulling his own fingers into his mouth a few times. He hummed with pleasure, unwilling to share even a single delicious skewer.

“You cry, I eat—each minding their own business,” he thought, head down, focused on devouring.

Full of food and meat, but alas, there was no wine here. The wild fruits and grains harvested in autumn, aside from what was handed over to the Oront headquarters, barely filled their stomachs—no spare for brewing.

An Shizhu smacked his lips, still unsatisfied, as if he hadn’t eaten enough.

He noticed a few grains of rice left in Yana Li’s bowl on the table, and wanted to lick it clean like the other hunters. But then he reconsidered: I am the loyal servant of the beautiful goddess and handsome god, my status extraordinary—licking bowls is beneath me, I’ll never do it.

A hunter, quick as lightning, grabbed the bowl, pressed it to his mouth, twisted it, and with a swirl of his tongue, cleaned it spotless in an instant.

An Shizhu regretted it deeply—how could he let that coarse hunter lick the bowl used by the goddess! Am I truly such a fool? Unable to kiss the goddess, even a little contact would be a blessing—how could I let this chance slip?

Next time, whatever happens, I won’t let anyone snatch it first. If I can’t kiss the goddess’s lips, licking the bowl for a taste is better than nothing.

The god won’t beat me up for such a small thing, will he?

The hall grew quiet. Only then did Grandma Du begin to eat, pursing her lips and taking tiny bites. She had given all her skewers to An Shizhu earlier—perhaps fearing that the fat man, in his frenzy, might accidentally devour her old body as well.

“Grandma, has anyone passed through here these last two days?” Yana Li’s bright eyes looked elegantly at Grandma Du.

Hunters often went out, and even when they didn’t, sentries watched and listened for any outside movement. Anyone passing by would not escape their eyes and ears.

All information had to be reported to the clan elder, Grandma, who, along with the wise members, analyzed the situation to understand outside events, and to pass the idle hours.

Grandma Du stopped her slow, laborious chewing. “Last night, three or four horses passed by. They moved quickly—the night sentry couldn’t see who they were.”

“Do you know which way they were headed?” Yana Li and Lu Hu exchanged a glance and continued asking.

“Northwest,” Grandma Du replied, then lifted her bowl and took another small mouthful.

Northwest was exactly where the Xilot tribe was located—the scoundrel who used bamboo for a latrine, oh no, Ashina Zhugan. Nine times out of ten, it was him last night. With treasure in hand, he’d have the confidence to return and strike his uncle’s lair.

No time to waste—they needed to catch up and join forces…

Suddenly, the dim light brightened, then flickered, growing alternately lighter and darker. The pine torch in the hanging lamp above was about to burn out.

Lu Hu’s body tensed, his heart pounding fiercely…