Chapter 16: A Day of Rest at Home
On the walk back, Zhao Man was utterly depressed. If those twenty points had gone toward food and daily supplies, it felt like he could have bought a mountain of goods—he could have picked up a hundred vials of nutrient solution with that alone. Looking back now, he had also spent thirty points at the clinic a few days prior, but that outing had yielded energy stones and farming opportunities; all told, he had still come out ahead. Spending money to learn a lesson was fine, but this lesson was far too expensive.
Back home, the treated wound had stopped aching. Zhao Man emptied the bag of berries into a basin. Several had already burst, so he rinsed them twice in clean water before starting the scans.
Testing them ate up the entire afternoon. In the end, he obtained two small bowls of edible fruit, which, added to yesterday’s bowl, made just under half a basin.
He sliced the rest of the water bamboo to lay out for sun-drying. Right in the middle of slicing, scavengers began trickling back into the neighborhood, and the murmur of conversation drifted from outside.
Thump, thump. “Young man!”
Because the knocking wasn’t forceful, the defensive system didn’t discharge. Checking the monitor, Zhao Man saw five middle-aged neighbors standing beyond the gate. From their conversation before knocking, he gathered they were here to buy water bamboo.
Not in the mood to entertain anyone, Zhao Man simply ignored them. After five minutes, the group gave up and walked away.
While waiting for water to boil, Zhao Man pulled out the potatoes from his pack. He kept a handful of fresh water bamboo slices, seasoned them with salt, umami seasoning, and chili flavoring, and tossed in two pieces of fried pork crackling, which did wonders to soothe his rattled nerves.
Finishing dinner in a few bites, Zhao Man stepped into the courtyard to gather the drying greens. After two days in the sun, the water dropwort was nearly desiccated; the two original armfuls had shriveled down to barely half a bundle. Adding the dried bamboo shoots, rhizomes, and miscellaneous greens from the grove behind his house, he packed all the dehydrated provisions into convenience bags and tucked them into the bamboo storage tubes beneath his bed.
The water bamboo had dried for a full day and was almost done, while the fish had hung for two days, with only the bellies retaining a touch of moisture.
The wound on his shoulder had closed, though it still gave a dull throb. After bathing, he misted it with the leftover trauma spray, tossed his dirty clothes into the bathwater to soak, and crawled into bed to sleep.
Waking up the next morning, he instinctively reached for his terminal. The chronometer read six o’clock. Noticing an unread notification, he tapped in to find a message from Zhao Qingjin, instructing him to assemble at West Gate 3 at five o’clock tomorrow morning to head out to West Outpost 5 for potato harvesting.
Climbing out of bed, he downed a vial of nutrient solution, watered the water dropwort in the bamboo tube, and scrubbed and hung the clothes that had soaked in the tub overnight. He didn’t plan on venturing out to scavenge today. Slashing someone for the first time across two lifetimes had left his nerves badly frayed; he needed a day to decompress.
Picking up his mini-saw, Zhao Man set to work cutting sections of bamboo.
From the stalks cut down previously, Tang Heng had bucked twelve large logs for him. Taking the three thickest segments, Zhao Man sawed lengthwise through the top third of the cylinder and knocked out the interior diaphragms, completing a sturdy planting trough.
He fashioned the remaining two thick logs into matching troughs using the same method, then bucked the rest into upright cylinders and lined them neatly against the wall.
Reflecting on how every meal was either boiled potatoes or boiled sand yams, Zhao Man cut another section of bamboo and split it with his machete into strips about the thickness of chopsticks. Recalling the movements of the elderly basket weaver in his village from his previous life, he trimmed the bamboo slats to uniform lengths and shaved them down slightly thinner.
Laying the vertical slats out flat across the floor, he picked up a horizontal strip and began weaving over and under.
Once the bamboo steamer rack was woven, Zhao Man lowered it into his cooking pot to test the fit. It was a fraction too large, so he drew his saw and carefully trimmed down the outer rim.
Looking down at his makeshift cross-woven steamer insert, Zhao Man let out a quiet laugh. In his previous life, the steamer racks at home were crafted from woven bamboo splints—round, neat, and tightly bound—not crooked and uneven like this one.
Having woven the insert on a sudden whim and noticing he still had nearly half a basin of berries sitting on the counter, he set to work by the stove once more.
He filled the pot with water, submerged a glass jar to boil and sanitize, and rinsed and halved the berries. Once the water reached a rolling boil, he poured it along with the jar into a basin to drain. Adding barely half a bowl of fresh water back into the pot, he dumped in the berries.
Over a low flame, he stirred and mashed the fruit. Gradually, the mixture thickened into a glossy jam. He dabbed a tiny speck with a chopstick to taste, only to shudder from the piercing sourness. He immediately poured in half the tube of sweetener, stirred it thoroughly until dissolved, and ladled the preserve into the jar to seal it tight.
The batch yielded about half a jar of jam, which he set directly on the kitchen counter to sweeten his drinking water every day.
Having finished the jam and finding himself with nothing to do, Zhao Man stood by the rear door gazing at the bamboo grove. He remembered that during his very first trip back there, he had spotted wild fruit growing along the jagged boulders.
Turning back into the courtyard, he grabbed his dagger, climbed onto the crags, and picked his way toward the front-left ridge.
The fruit on the boulders was dull brown and thumb-sized. Zhao Man smeared a drop of juice across the sensor on his terminal: Beep-beep. Highly irradiated flora. Contains heavy toxins. Inedible.
Though he hadn’t held high hopes to begin with, he hadn’t expected it to be downright poisonous. Tossing the fruit away, Zhao Man turned back toward the bamboo grove.
The center of the grove featured a massive excavation crater three meters deep, with a gentle slope leading up toward his house. Right in the middle of the pit stood a solitary bamboo stalk, its exposed runners and roots flailing outward like tangled claws.
Crouching atop the boulder, Zhao Man peered into the pit, desperately trying to spot a trace of green amid the yellow loam. Right as he was staring intently, his terminal began to buzz. Glancing at the screen, he found a perimeter alarm notification alongside a message from Tang Heng.
Silencing the alert, Zhao Man made his way back to open the front door. Tang Heng stood outside flanked by Li Guang and Zhang Zhe, a stack of panels and rods resting beside them.
“You really are home? Captain Tang was about to send us back and camp out here by himself,” Zhang Zhe remarked.
“Captain Zhao messaged me about harvesting potatoes tomorrow, so I took the day off from scavenging. Aren’t you guys supposed to be on patrol?” Seeing Tang Heng nod, Zhao Man stepped aside to let them in and hoisted several panels himself. He followed by gathering an armful of pipes; though the composite material was unfamiliar, they carried substantial weight.
“We have to finish clearing the perimeter before your harvesting crews can deploy. We wrapped up early today, so we brought your materials over first. We’re assigned to escort your crew during tomorrow’s harvest to prevent accidents. Where do you want these?” Tang Heng asked, pausing in the recreation room.
Zhao Man led them into the courtyard. The yard had no interior partitions, offering a clear view from wall to wall. Spotting the seven sacks of earth piled against the perimeter, Tang Heng said, “Is that the arable soil you dug from the bamboo grove out back? The snake nest?”
Zhao Man shot him a glance, wholly unbaffled by how easily the man had deduced it. The five sacks of sand yam soil were visible right past the front door; as for those other seven bags of dark dirt, it was hard to imagine them coming from anywhere other than the bamboo grove behind the house.
“If you need some, Captain Tang, I can lend you a hoe. There’s still a bit left, though the arable ground back there seems to be shrinking,” Zhao Man noted.
Li Guang and Zhang Zhe ferried the supplies from the vehicle to the entryway room, while Zhao Man and Tang Heng hauled them from the entryway into the courtyard.
“That’s normal. Once the snow season passes, you’ll find even less of it. Then again, suitable soil might pop up somewhere else,” Tang Heng replied.
“Why is that?” Zhao Man asked, genuinely puzzled.
“Who knows? It’s been that way for as long as anyone can remember,” Tang Heng said with a shrug.
Having unloaded the vehicle, Li Guang and Zhang Zhe took their leave. Tang Heng and Zhao Man stacked all the materials neatly together, instantly turning the spacious courtyard noticeably cramped.
“You still have some daylight left today. If you’re short on anything, you’d better buy it now. You won’t have time during the potato harvest, and the snow season hits right after. Prices skyrocket during the winter, and supplies can only be purchased through patrol team procurement. Without a specialized snowsuit, I wouldn’t recommend stepping outside,” Tang Heng advised, surveying the empty corners of the yard.
Taking the advice to heart, Zhao Man immediately slung on his pack and locked up to leave with him. Tang Heng headed back to the garrison, while Zhao Man made a beeline for the market.
