Chapter 483: Survival on a Deserted Island (Part 7)

The method of starting a fire by drilling wood originated in ancient China. It makes use of a very simple principle—the heat generated by friction.

When using this method, a small hole is drilled into a piece of wood, and around that hole one places easily flammable materials such as dry grass and wood shavings. As the wood is rubbed and spun rapidly, friction produces heat. When enough heat accumulates, faint wisps of smoke will begin to rise. At that moment, if one gently blows toward the smoking spot, supplying it with fresh oxygen to feed the combustion, the dry grass and wood shavings can ignite and gradually form a flame.

All of these principles were things Zhu Ping’an understood perfectly well in theory. However, when it came time to actually put the method into practice, he quickly discovered that drilling wood to make fire was far more difficult than it sounded.

Zhu Ping’an gripped the wooden stick between his palms and rubbed it vigorously back and forth, pouring quite a bit of effort into it. His sleeves were rolled slightly, and the muscles in his arms tensed as he worked. Yet the bun-faced little maid, watching from the side, had already stared so long that her eyes were beginning to ache. Despite all that effort, Zhu Ping’an still hadn’t managed to coax even the smallest spark from the wood. Instead, his palms were becoming sore and raw from the constant friction.

Still, it wasn’t completely without effect. At the very least, the wood beneath his hands was beginning to feel warm.

Seeing how simple the action appeared, the bun-faced maid grew curious and came over to join the fun. Unfortunately, the result was… utterly useless. Compared to Zhu Ping’an, she fared even worse. Before long she was already breathing in soft, rapid gasps, her small hands rubbing the stick at a much slower pace. Naturally, there was no chance of producing fire that way.

Li Shu also gave it a try.

Her attempt ended in failure as well.

“Sir… what should we do?”

The bun-faced maid raised her head, biting her lip as she looked at Zhu Ping’an with pitiful eyes, her expression full of helplessness.

Zhu Ping’an fell silent for a moment, pondering the situation carefully. It didn’t take him long to realize the crux of the problem. The reason the three of them had failed to start a fire was simple: the speed of the spinning stick was far too slow. Without sufficient speed, the friction couldn’t produce enough heat to reach the ignition point of the dry grass and wood dust. Without that critical heat, no fire could possibly be born.

Once he identified the root of the problem, Zhu Ping’an began thinking about how to increase the rotation speed of the wooden stick.

Soon, a thought occurred to him.

A bowstring.

If he made a simple bow, wrapped the bowstring around the stick, and then rapidly pulled the bow back and forth, the motion would force the stick to spin at high speed. That would generate far more friction than rubbing it by hand.

“I’ve got it,” Zhu Ping’an murmured, the corner of his lips curling slightly upward as the idea took shape in his mind.

Seeing the faint smile forming on his lips, Li Shu’s brows and eyes seemed to soften with a lively charm. Her bright, watery eyes glimmered as though they might spill over with light. In her heart, it seemed that no problem in the world could truly stump him.

The bun-faced maid, however, looked a little doubtful. It wasn’t that she doubted Zhu Ping’an himself—rather, she doubted this so-called drilling wood to make fire. The more she thought about it, the stranger it sounded. Drilling wood… and fire just appears? It really didn’t sound reliable at all.

Under the watchful gazes of the two girls, Zhu Ping’an walked to the edge of the creek and snapped off another flexible branch. Then he tore a long, narrow strip of cloth from his clothing and tied it to both ends of the branch, creating a simple makeshift bowstring.

After that, he picked up a small stone nearby that had a natural groove in its surface and carried it back with him. He wrapped the cloth bowstring around the wooden stick, pressed the grooved stone on top to hold the stick steady, and placed the lower end of the stick into the small hole in the base wood.

Then he began to pull the bow back and forth.

The bowstring moved with the bow, dragging the wooden stick with it and forcing it to spin rapidly—dozens of times faster than Zhu Ping’an could manage with his hands alone.

The sharp, rhythmic sound of friction filled the air.

Back and forth. Back and forth.

The movement was simple, repetitive, and rather dull. But drilling wood to make fire required exactly that—the patience to endure monotony. Often, success was like this. One had to withstand loneliness, repetition, and boredom before finally reaching the moment of triumph.

The bun-faced maid rested her chin on her hands as she watched Zhu Ping’an working away. After a while, her eyelids began drooping, and she started nodding off in sleepy little jerks.

Mmm…

Time passed—who knew how long.

At last, Zhu Ping’an noticed something change. From the tiny hole in the wood, a thin wisp of smoke began to curl upward. It was almost invisible, so faint it could easily be missed—but it was undeniably there.

“Smoke,” Li Shu said softly, her eyes narrowing slightly as she noticed it too.

“Ah—there really is smoke! Smoke!”

The bun-faced maid had been half-asleep, but when she vaguely heard her young mistress mention smoke, she lifted her head groggily. The moment her eyes focused on the wood beneath Zhu Ping’an’s hands and she saw the faint smoke rising, she jolted upright like a startled bird.

With a delighted cry, she jumped to her feet.

Now that smoke had appeared, Zhu Ping’an seized the opportunity and continued pulling the bowstring without pause.

At that moment, Li Shu stepped closer and crouched beside him. Pursing her small lips, she began to blow gently toward the smoking spot.

When she first leaned in to blow, Zhu Ping’an almost tried to stop her. He was worried that this noble young lady—someone who had likely never done a single kitchen chore in her life—might accidentally blow out the hard-earned ember he had just managed to create.

After all, blowing on a fire was a skill in itself.

Blow too hard, and the spark would die.
Blow too softly, and it would accomplish nothing.
The breath had to be just right.

Zhu Ping’an himself had only mastered it after spending a long time helping his mother, Madam Chen, in the kitchen.

Yet before he could say anything, Li Shu had already begun blowing.

And to his surprise—

She did it remarkably well.

If Zhu Ping’an hadn’t known that Li Shu was the daughter of a powerful aristocratic family, he might have thought she was an experienced young cook who had spent years tending kitchen fires.

Her breaths were perfectly controlled—steady, gentle, and precise.

In fact, Zhu Ping’an doubted he could achieve the same effect himself.

This girl was truly extraordinary.

As he continued drilling the wood, Zhu Ping’an couldn’t help but sigh inwardly. For someone to display such natural talent the very first time… she was clearly blessed with rare intuition.

With Li Shu’s assistance, the fire-making process went much more smoothly. The thin smoke gradually thickened, curling upward in swirling tendrils like mist rising from some hidden immortal’s cave.

Before long, a small cluster of flames flickered to life.

Zhu Ping’an carefully withdrew the wooden stick, while Li Shu continued to blow gently. The tiny flames responded eagerly, growing brighter and stronger.

They quickly transferred the flame beneath a small stove they had built from stacked stones. Dry grass was placed underneath to feed the fire, and soon the flames began to grow. Slightly damp grass followed, then the firewood they had gathered earlier.

The flames proved surprisingly lively.

Before long, a robust fire was crackling beneath the stone stove.

Perhaps it was curiosity—or perhaps simply the playful mood of the moment—but Li Shu snapped off a slender branch to use as a pair of long chopsticks. After rinsing it clean in the clear creek water, she began to cook fish soup.

She even looked quite convincing while doing it.

Zhu Ping’an watched her for a moment before chuckling lightly to himself.

Ah, forget it. Let her have her fun.

No matter how bad the fish soup turned out, it would still be fish soup. After being hungry for so long, he certainly wasn’t in a position to be picky. Better to indulge the young lady’s playful attempt at cooking.

If it turned out truly awful later, he could simply eat enough to fill his stomach and drink a little less of the soup.

With that decision made, Zhu Ping’an headed toward the nearby creek to see if he could find anything else edible—perhaps some wild fruits. A place with such fresh water usually had fairly abundant resources.

Fortunately, his search didn’t disappoint him.

After wandering for a short while, he spotted a cluster of bright red wild strawberries growing in a patch of shrubs. They were smaller than modern cultivated strawberries—about the size of quail eggs—but they looked ripe and vibrant.

Zhu Ping’an had gathered these before when hiking in the mountains with his father and older brother. He knew they tasted exceptionally good.

Oh—right.

This fruit was actually the famous “fù pén zi” (Raspberry) mentioned in the writings of Lu Xun. However, the villagers of Xiahe Village had their own name for it—they called it “Mengzi.” In truth, that name was a shortened form of “shumeng” (tree berries). The character Meng meant “to grow,” so the name simply referred to fruit that grew upon shrubs or small trees.

Zhu Ping’an carefully picked only the ripe berries from the cluster, leaving the unripe ones behind to continue growing. By the time he finished, he had gathered around thirty of them.

He washed them thoroughly in the creek water, wrapped them up in the hem of his clothes, and headed back to the spot by the stream.

When he returned, Li Shu had already finished cooking the fresh fish soup.

Before he even reached the fire, a rich, tempting aroma of fish broth drifted through the air and reached his nose.

…It smelled incredibly fragrant.

Zhu Ping’an blinked in surprise.

Could it really smell this good?

Then he shook his head and laughed softly at himself.

He must simply be too hungry.

After all, how could a noble young lady who had never cooked a day in her life possibly make fish soup that smelled this delicious on her very first try?