Chapter 481: Survival on a Deserted Island (Part 5)

Since the coming of spring, each passing day had seemed steeped in sorrow;
Cherishing the blossoms, I instead became ashamed before the flowers.

Softly murmuring, a pair of swallows flitted past in tandem,
As though reproaching me—why does the curtain hang down, its hook undone?

Watching Zhu Ping’an avert his gaze after she had shot him a glare—his expression faintly flustered as he turned his head aside and muttered something about the path being slippery and to tread carefully—Li Shu could not help but purse her rosy lips. In her heart she scolded him fiercely: Blockhead! A young lady’s lips had been stolen in broad daylight, and he could not even offer a proper word in return?

It was true—the bottom of the valley was even more treacherous than the slopes above.

Though the stream was shallow and clear, the stones scattered across its bed were thick with slick moss. One careless step and a person would slide without warning. The water flowed gently over gravel and rock, sunlight filtering through the canopy above and shattering into wavering fragments upon the surface.

“Be careful,” Zhu Ping’an said after stepping across a stone. Turning back, he offered the warning to Li Shu, who followed close behind.

Careful your head, Li Shu retorted silently, casting him a sideways glance filled with indignation.

The stream wound along the valley floor, thin rivulets hugging the gravel at the edges. The water there was too shallow to scoop up properly; if one wished to drink, one had to go a little farther ahead. There, a larger rock jutted up from the water—no more than ten centimeters above the surface. Standing upon it, one could bend down and gather a handful of the cool stream in both palms.

In ancient times, before pollution had sullied rivers and lakes, the water ran clear to the bottom. Zhu Ping’an harbored no hesitation. Stepping onto the rock, he bent low and cupped his hands together, lifting a brimming handful of water to his lips. He drank deeply. The stream was sweet and fresh, cool against his tongue, leaving his mouth tingling with a lingering clarity. It tasted far better than many bottled mineral waters of the modern world he dimly remembered.

Li Shu, however, was far more particular. She first washed her slender, jade-like hands carefully in the water, rubbing away every trace of dust. Then she rinsed the handkerchief she carried on her person and delicately dabbed at her oval face—soft and pale as a goose egg, now slightly flushed from exertion. Every movement was composed, elegant, refined to the bone.

After quenching his thirst, Zhu Ping’an glanced at her—and paused.

Here lay the difference between them.

Both were survivors of calamity, drinking from the same stream after escaping death. Yet he stood there in rumpled, torn clothing, drinking in great gulps like an ox at a trough, crude and unkempt. Li Shu, in contrast, seemed dignified and noble even in disarray—exquisite and poised, pure and tender as a lotus rising from the water, untouched by dust.

The ancients spoke often of marriages between families of equal standing; perhaps they were not entirely wrong. Those born into different households carried habits shaped by their upbringing—differences as vast as a chasm. Without a love carved deep into the bones and heart, how could such a life ever taste sweet as honey?

But in ancient times, love was seldom freely chosen. How could that kind of love—one that etched itself indelibly upon the soul—even come to be?

“Zhu Ping’an, do I have flowers on my face?”

Her voice, clear and melodious as an oriole’s call, pulled him from his wandering thoughts.

“Er…” Zhu Ping’an faltered, momentarily at a loss for words.

“‘Er’ what?” Li Shu shot him another glare, lips pouting as she scolded, “You shameless rogue!” Her expression was one of unabashed disdain, written plainly across her features.

“Heehee—Young Master must be dazzled by Miss’s beauty,” the bun-faced little maid giggled behind her sleeve, eyes curving into crescent moons.

“You little wretch, what nonsense are you spouting? You grow more improper by the day. Just wait and see how I deal with you later!” Li Shu retorted with feigned severity, though a rosy blush bloomed across her delicate cheeks. She reached out with slender fingers and began to tickle the maid mercilessly.

Soon, bright peals of feminine laughter rang out through the once-quiet valley, echoing against the stone walls and mingling with the murmur of the stream.

Watching the two young women tumble into playful chaos, Zhu Ping’an could not help but curl his lips upward. There was something unexpectedly delightful about the sound of girls laughing without restraint.

After replenishing themselves with water, the three survivors felt much restored.

Their situation was far better now than before. At the very least, they no longer lacked fresh water, and there were plenty of fish darting through the stream. It was late spring, verging on early summer. The dense woods likely concealed wild fruits and edible greens. With luck, perhaps even rabbits or other small game might be found. If they searched diligently, food should not be too difficult to procure.

For the moment, at least, survival seemed possible.

Of course, shelter was another matter. Who knew how long they might be stranded here? Who knew when a passing ship might appear along the coast?

They would need to choose a place to stay not too far from the sea. Somewhere they could observe the shoreline clearly—so that if a vessel approached, they could signal it in time and not miss their chance for rescue. Naturally, they would also need to distinguish between merchant ships and pirates, and remain wary.

Zhu Ping’an glanced up at the hazy sun filtering through the sky. It was nearly overhead—around noon.

Best to solve the matter of lunch first, then consider lodging.

Before he could even speak, the bun-faced maid had already rolled up her sleeves and thrown herself belly-down across a flat rock, reaching eagerly toward the fish flicking their tails in the stream.

The girl must have been famished.

Most of the fish were small—slender little things about the thickness of a thumb and not very long. Their backs were dark, nearly black, and they darted through the water with astonishing speed.

The stream was barely seven or eight centimeters deep. One could reach down and touch the riverbed without difficulty. The maid lay sprawled across the stone, excitement shining in her eyes as she lunged at the fish, as though she could already envision a pot of fragrant fish soup bubbling over a fire.

Seeing her enthusiasm, Li Shu soon joined in.

The two of them chattered animatedly as they splashed and grabbed, the atmosphere lively and full of laughter.

“There’s one! So big!”

“Ah! It got away—such a big one!”

“Look, look! That one’s colorful! It must taste wonderful in soup!”

“There’s another!”

Excited cries rang out one after another.

But ideals were plump; reality was painfully lean.

Though the fish were plentiful, they were astonishingly quick. By the time a hand entered the water, the fish had already swum half a meter away. After a long while of splashing and shrieking, neither girl had managed to catch a single one.

Zhu Ping’an recognized this species well. There had been many in the river before Xiahe Village, and plenty in the mountain streams too. Long and narrow—villagers called them “wheat-spikes.” Fried crisp or simmered into soup, they tasted excellent.

Watching the two girls fuss and flounder without success, he smiled and stepped forward.

“Catching fish requires technique. Place one hand in front of the fish’s head and the other behind its body. Then close in quickly—like this.”

As he spoke, he swiftly trapped a palm-sized fish between his hands and lifted it from the water, offering a demonstration.

“Master is amazing!” the bun-faced maid cried out in delight.

Zhu Ping’an placed the fish into a small natural pool behind him—a hollow formed by rocks. Blocking a gap with a stone, he fashioned it into a crude basin to keep their catch alive.

“Ah! Miss is even more amazing!”

He had barely set down the fish when the maid squealed again. Turning, he saw Li Shu approaching triumphantly, both hands gripping a wriggling fish whose tail thrashed stubbornly. Her eyes sparkled with pride.

“It’s bigger than yours,” she declared haughtily after dropping it into the pool and comparing the two.

About fifteen minutes later, they had caught more than a dozen fish, all roughly palm-length. Zhu Ping’an had caught the most, Li Shu followed close behind, and the bun-faced maid had managed to secure only one—but even that single fish filled her with unrestrained pride.

They had fish.

Which brought them to a new problem.

There was no fire.

Surely… they couldn’t eat the fish raw, could they?