MEOW!!
Feng Mountain was roused from a deep sleep by an itchy sensation on his face. Sunlight streamed through the curtains, illuminating the bedroom.
Opening his eyes, he saw Coca-Cola lying on his chest, licking his face with its barbed tongue.
"Get off! No wonder my chest felt tight and I couldn't breathe." Feng Mountain grabbed Coca-Cola by the scruff of its neck and tossed it onto the floor. "Your breath stinks of fish. How many times have I told you? No licking my face."
Feng Mountain sat up comfortably in bed and stretched luxuriously.
He recalled the strange dream from last night. It had felt as real as if it were actually happening.
Shaking his head with a smile, he reached for his clothes, but his hand froze in mid-air. His right hand's sixth finger was bare.
The ring was gone!
He had clearly been wearing it on his finger before falling asleep last night. How could it be gone?
'It couldn't have just run off, could it?'
Holding his right hand up to the window, Feng Mountain's eyes widened. He was stunned to see the ring that had vanished gradually materialize on his sixth finger.
'Did the ring burrow into my finger?'
As the thought arose, Feng Mountain shivered for no apparent reason.
He suddenly remembered the dream from last night—the words his ancestor, Feng Meng, had spoken on his deathbed.
["The path of the Witch, the Witchcraft Artifact, the Witch Fire—I, Meng, have passed them all to you. Remember, the seeds of the future are buried in the soil of the past."]
Witch!!
Witchcraft Artifact!!
Could last night's dream have been real?!
Feng Mountain sat on the bed in a daze, his mind racing as he replayed every detail of the dream.
Seeing its owner unresponsive for so long, Coca-Cola leaped lightly onto the bed, only to be startled by his sudden shout, its fur standing on end.
Feng Mountain threw back the blanket, leaped out of bed in his thin pajamas, ran to the living room to grab a journal and pencil, and then hurried back to the bed.
Heng'e is Chang'e, Yi must be Hou Yi, and Feng Meng is my ancestor.
The pencil scratched across the paper as he wrote and drew, sometimes frowning, sometimes rolling his eyes, and sometimes grinning as he tried hard to recall everything he had seen in the dream.
How could he possibly remember every single aspect of a dream that contained a hundred years of his ancestor Feng Meng's memories?
As the pencil grew shorter, page after page of the blank journal was filled with dense text.
Finally, Feng Mountain put down his pencil, let out a heavy breath, and flexed his stiff, sore hand. Looking at the journal, an indescribable sense of exhilaration welled up inside him.
'A Witch!'
'To command the clouds and rain with a flick of the wrist, to move mountains and drain seas with a single breath, to communicate with heaven, earth, gods, and ghosts.'
And his ancestor, Feng Meng, was a Great Witch from the lineage of Houtu.
Lady Houtu governed Yin-Yang Reincarnation, nurtured all living things, and held dominion over the earth, mountains, and rivers. The techniques of her Witch lineage were mostly focused on rest and recuperation.
Knot Divination, Breathing Technique, Mountain Shifting Skill, Sea Leveling Technique, Beast Taming Technique, Earth Dragon Technique, Healing Skill, Alcoholism Skill, Alchemy Skill...
MEOW!!
Coca-Cola was hungry. Seeing its owner still on the bed, it immediately let out a protesting meow.
"Are you a pig?" Feng Mountain set his notes aside, got dressed, and stood up. The floor was still a bit cold against his bare feet.
The stove had burned out in the middle of the night, causing the temperature inside the bus to drop considerably.
He refilled it with firewood and sprinkled some gasoline on top.
When a match fell onto the gasoline-soaked wood, it erupted in flames with a WHOOSH.
As the stove got going, the blazing fire gave off intense light and heat. Waves of warmth spread out, and the inside of the bus grew cozy again.
The next moment, however, Feng Mountain wrinkled his nose. The smell wasn't right. The fresh scent of burning wood had been replaced by a stinky, fishy-fecal odor. He grabbed the iron poker, poked around inside the firebox, and then turned to look at the evasive Coca-Cola.
"Did you poop in the stove?"
MROW!!
Coca-Cola zipped under the deerskin blanket, letting out a muffled cry.
"It stinks to high heaven. If you poop in the stove again, I swear I'll plug you up with a cork," Feng Mountain grumbled irritably, pulling open the bus door to air the place out.
The instant the door slid open, a beautiful landscape rushed toward him like a tidal wave, and warm rays of sunlight spilled in.
Yesterday, the ground had been covered in a layer of snow. Now, the snow was gone, and the tundra was like an endless oil painting of red and yellow leaves and white flowers, stretching from the lake's edge to the horizon as if it had no end.
Looking up, the sky was a soul-stirring, crystal-clear azure, like a giant sapphire. It mirrored Gem Lake so perfectly that it was hard to tell which was the sky and which was the lake.
The air was a bit cold, but it was fresh and carried a hint of sweetness. With a single breath, he felt as if his entire being had been infused with a magical vitality.
MEOW!
Coca-Cola dashed out of the bus and began to frolic and play with abandon in the open space.
...
The bus campsite.
Feng Mountain sat under the wooden awning, holding a cup of steaming hot tea. A tired Coca-Cola lay in his lap. He leisurely sipped his tea, read the journal his grand-uncle had left behind, and admired the picturesque scenery before him.
The frantic pace of his former life seemed to have slowed to a crawl.
Here, there was none of the alienation and indifference of the city, no scorn or ridicule. Time itself seemed to stretch on indefinitely.
'What should I do next?'
'Maybe I'll clean up the bus and go through my grand-uncle's things.'
Feng Mountain couldn't be bothered to think too hard about it. He had plenty of time now to contemplate the past and the future.
He decided to start with the kitchen.
The kitchen was small, but it was fully equipped with pots, pans, bowls, and utensils. There was even Lao Gan Ma, soy sauce, vinegar, and thirteen-spice powder. It was clear his grand-uncle had cooked for himself often.
Just as he finished tidying the kitchen, he realized something extremely important.
The campsite had no running water.
Since arriving yesterday, he had only drunk the bottled water he'd brought, so he hadn't noticed the problem.
There was a water storage tank in the kitchen, but the water hadn't been changed in a long time. A layer of slimy, flocculent matter floated inside. Thankfully, he wasn't in the habit of drinking water in the middle of the night. If he had groggily taken a sip, he'd probably have ascended to heaven on the spot.
He emptied the who-knows-how-old water from the tank and carried a bucket to the lakeshore.
The lake water was clear and icy, shimmering with golden light under the sun. The stones on the shore were covered in a thin layer of moss, exuding a damp, fresh scent.
Feng Mountain found a spot by the shore and slowly submerged the bucket, watching as the lake water gradually filled it.
MEOW!!
Coca-Cola was crouched on a nearby moss-covered rock, pawing at a fish that was foraging near the reef.
"Be careful," Feng Mountain had just warned when he heard a SPLASH. Coca-Cola had slipped into the water and was struggling violently, meowing frantically.
Feng Mountain immediately dropped the bucket and, without bothering to take off his clothes, jumped into the water. Fortunately, it wasn't deep—only up to his waist.
He snatched Coca-Cola up in one motion.
Whether from shock or the freezing water, Coca-Cola huddled in Feng Mountain's arms, shivering uncontrollably. In the distance, the fish seemed to be mocking them, happily splashing its tail.
"You little troublemaker. I told you to be careful." Cradling the sopping-wet Coca-Cola, Feng Mountain was both angry and amused.
Even though the sun was shining brightly, the lake was still frigid, at least around zero degrees. The icy water pricked his skin like needles. If he didn't get warm soon, he could catch a cold.
The nearest town was over 300 kilometers from Crown Territory. Out here, even a common cold could be fatal.
After retrieving the bucket from the water, Feng Mountain carried Coca-Cola back to the bus campsite. He stripped off his wet clothes, wrapped himself in the deerskin blanket, and crouched shivering by the stove to get warm.
After a while, as warmth seeped into his body, his shivering gradually subsided.
His soaked down jacket, pants, and shoes lay on the floor. Feng Mountain picked them up, spread them over the back of a chair, and placed the grass stalks he had gathered by the stove to dry. Only then did he have a moment to grab Coca-Cola by the scruff of its neck.
"Look what you've done. I only brought one down jacket. What am I supposed to do now?"
MEOW!!
Coca-Cola widened its innocent eyes and meowed placatingly.
"Besides acting cute and begging for affection, what else are you good for?" Feng Mountain grumbled, placing Coca-Cola by the stove. He stood up, still wrapped in the deerskin blanket, and walked into the bedroom.
He rummaged around the bedroom and actually managed to find some wearable clothes in a trunk.
There was a fur coat made from some unknown animal pelt and a pair of suede thigh-high boots.
The fur coat was loose-fitting, so it easily fit Feng Mountain's 1.8-meter frame. It had a large fur hood to block the wind and snow, and its outer layer of long, smooth brown fur, though primitive in style, was even warmer than his down jacket.
The suede boots were a perfect fit. The moment he put them on, his feet were enveloped in warmth and comfort.
Seeing this, Coca-Cola immediately started meowing, pawing at the hem of the fur coat and wriggling its way toward the collar, trying to burrow inside.
"Your mother was so well-behaved and sensible. How did she give birth to a little monster like you?" Feng Mountain poked Coca-Cola's head in annoyance and stuffed it inside his coat.
With the clothing problem solved, Feng Mountain continued organizing the bus. He used the water he had fetched to clean the kitchen inside and out, discovering a good amount of supplies, including rice, noodles, and soybean oil.
It seemed that even after so many years abroad, his grand-uncle hadn't forgotten the tastes of home.
'Bread is only good for filling your stomach,' he thought.
He refilled the water storage tank.
Next, he moved on to the living room.
There wasn't much to clean, really. The living room was so small it was a hassle just to turn around.
The bookshelf was lined with books that hadn't been cleaned in a long time and were covered in a thick layer of dust. Feng Mountain randomly pulled one out and opened it.
The pages were filled with text written in fountain pen, exclusively in traditional Chinese characters. Each character was arranged neatly, the handwriting so perfect it looked as if it had been printed.
It was clear his grand-uncle had been highly educated; otherwise, he could never have written so neatly.
'He was so cultured and capable... why would he live all alone in a harsh environment like the Far North Tundra?'
He continued cleaning the bookshelf.
As he wiped a certain spot on the bookshelf with a rag, he pressed something. With a CLICK, the shelf made a sound.
Immediately after, a drawer popped open from a hidden panel at the bottom of the bookshelf.
'A hidden compartment?'
Curious, Feng Mountain crouched down and slowly pulled the drawer open, his pupils gradually widening.
Inside the drawer lay a long rifle.
Its dark red stock gave off a cold and mysterious aura, its metallic texture glinting in the light. The butt of the stock showed clear signs of wear. Beside the rifle were several kraft paper boxes.
...