Chapter 643: The Gift of Nature (Part 2)

Whether it was Atlantean blood that made Arthur exceptionally strong, or if he was just naturally powerful, either way, surviving in the primal forest posed no challenge to him—cutting and hauling wood was merely the beginning.

Arthur's task was simple: lay the cut logs horizontally on the ground, place the entire refrigerator on top of them as a base, then stack other supplies atop the fridge.

When pushing the fridge, the logs became wheels, making movement easier and faster.

Though for Harl and Schiller, simply carrying it directly might have been quicker, since they'd agreed not to cheat, using methods accessible to ordinary people was better.

This was a square, double-door refrigerator, custom-made to fit the unique space of an airplane cabin; after cutting the power, it no longer cooled, but at least it could serve as a storage container, and its insulation layer would slow food melting until they returned to the cooler cave.

Since the rolling logs themselves had weight, some herbaceous plants were crushed beneath them and didn't obstruct progress; when the fridge rolled over the foremost log, they'd move the rear logs to the front—this became a rotating task among the three.

Harl and Schiller's special abilities meant they rarely felt fatigue, yet surprisingly, Arthur kept pace without falling behind.

The distance from here to their previous cave was considerable, yet by the end, Arthur showed no signs of exhaustion; when carrying the fridge into the cave, he even had breath to chat: "Honestly, this reminds me of when I sailed with the fleet."

"You probably don't know how exhausting deep-sea fishing is—I was seventeen when I went out with my uncle to catch tuna, going four full days without sleep…"

Schiller, carrying the front half of the fridge, turned and asked: "Were you in charge of monitoring the fish finder?"

"No, of course not—I couldn't handle that kind of work. I was just an ordinary sailor, responsible for hauling in the catch," Arthur shook his head. "We didn't find any tuna back then, but it didn't matter—tuna are rare fish; bluefin and yellowfin are hard to come by."

"But we happened upon a school of bonito—they're also valuable, and since they travel in schools, we caught huge quantities. For those days, we just kept lowering nets, hauling them in, lowering nets, hauling them in; when hungry, we ate burgers; when exhausted, we drank energy drinks or lit a cigarette…"

"But hard work pays off—we happened to catch the market at a time of bonito shortage, and we sold our haul for a fortune. That improved my uncle's business; after he grew older, he quit deep-sea fishing and became a dealer for all kinds of fishing vessels."

"Oh," Schiller suddenly remembered. "The uncle who lent you the fishing boat? He did look like a captain."

"He was the best captain," Arthur said proudly, then sighed with regret: "Actually, my father was also a legendary captain in his youth—his name, Captain Kurai, echoed along the entire East Coast…"

"He once brought back a blue marlin that broke the East Coast's fishing record. I can't even describe how huge that fish was, but everyone was stunned—he was the most celebrated lucky captain of his time."

"But for some reason, he stopped sailing afterward, stayed in Broodhaven, and became a lighthouse keeper. Many sailors felt sorry for him; my uncle even urged him, but no matter what, he refused to sail again."

Arthur gazed ahead, through gaps in the dense rainforest, still seeing the blue sea. "Some old sailors who served under him claimed he encountered a sea monster, endured a series of dangerous adventures, and barely made it back to shore."

"They say he angered the sea monster and was cursed—ever since, he could never touch seawater. I don't know if it's true, but I know he often stared at the ocean, his eyes filled with longing…"

They set the fridge down and rested. During the break, Harl asked curiously: "I don't mean to pry, but your mother…"

"My father said she died in a shipwreck, when I was very young—I don't remember her at all," Arthur shook his head, seemingly unwilling to elaborate; Schiller, who knew the truth, had no intention of reminding him—it was his private matter.

Of course, though we don't know how Atlantis views humans in this universe, one thing must be acknowledged: as long as Gotham remains a coastal city, Atlantis can't cause much trouble.

While ordinary industrial pollution rarely threatens deep-sea Atlantis, Gotham's pollution certainly can. Even if, hypothetically, a fish accidentally bit the Joker and returned to the ocean, soon enough, Atlantis would become nature's gift.

As the three carried the fridge and other supplies back to the cave, Oliver stared in shock. "... Where are the passengers?"

Arthur placed the fridge on the ground. "It wasn't a passenger plane—it was my transportation to California. This pilot, Harl, tried flying here to find me, but unfortunately crashed."

"Forget that—let's see what nature has gifted us," Schiller walked to the fridge, opened the door, and found most frozen items had melted, though the chilled section remained relatively intact.

The Cycle of Paradise

Most frozen foods were meats and seafood; under this temperature, they couldn't last long. Schiller knew this, so he pulled out all the thawing meats to process them at once.

Many know salt extends meat preservation, but the salt found in the plane's storage was only a small jar, in a common Western-style seasoning bottle—fine for sprinkling on grilled meat, but far too little to preserve meat properly.

Fortunately, the island had both seawater and freshwater—meaning the basic conditions for salt production were met; using seawater salt-making methods, they could obtain salt to preserve the meat.

For now, the meats could still be stored in the relatively cool cave for a short while—enough time to produce some salt for processing.

Schiller knew the theory of solar seawater salt production, but had never practiced it. When he mentioned it, all three exchanged glances—since modern society, salt had become ubiquitous; even Arthur and Oliver, who lived in coastal cities, had never personally made salt from seawater.

Schiller planned to cook a meal with these still-fresh foods, then assign tasks to begin their true island survival journey.

Of the four, only Schiller and Harl could cook; Arthur and Oliver's food was merely edible, with no flavor to speak of, so Schiller and Harl each took on part of the cooking duties.

Conditions inside the cave were extremely limited: no stove, only one stone pot and the stone slab they'd made earlier, and no grill or support frame for the pot.

Arthur sawed the log he'd brought back into sticks, shaped them into simple supports, and placed them above the fire to suspend the stone pot for boiling.

Then Arthur tried making charcoal, but due to the palm wood's peculiar properties, it burned poorly and lost heat quickly, so he built another identical frame to hold the stone slab.

Though stream water could be used, it hadn't settled and contained impurities; all four were hungry and didn't want to wait, so Harl climbed a coconut tree, picked several coconuts, and used their water for cooking.

These weren't edible coconut trees—the leaves were small, the milk tasteless—but sufficient for cooking.

Schiller first used the metal saw to crack open the coconuts, poured the milk into the pot, dug out some dried mushrooms from the chilled vegetables, and added them when the milk heated to about 50–60 degrees, then covered the pot with a stone slab.

After boiling for about a minute, he removed the pot, drained the water, tossed in the stone-chopped chicken pieces, cracked open more coconuts, poured the milk in to blanch the meat, drained again, then added fresh coconut milk to cover the ingredients and began stewing.

Harl handled the other meats, but didn't immediately fry them on the stone slab; instead, he took out thawed oysters and shrimp from the fridge.

He peeled the oyster meat, peeled the shrimp, fried them to extract juice, chopped both together with peeled tomatoes, and fried them into a paste.

Then he took the shrimp heads, placed them on the hot stone slab to render shrimp oil, mixed the oil with the earlier paste, and created an orange-red seafood sauce.

"In Haibincheng, every restaurant uses this seafood sauce—but usually we use smaller clams and tiny shrimp too small to sell; though smaller than these, they taste even more delicious."

Arthur and Oliver were nearly driven mad by the scent—the mushroom-stewed chicken was already a golden combination; the aroma and meaty fragrance permeated the entire cave even through the stone lid.

Harl's seafood sauce smelled even stronger; since the stone slab was uncovered, the cooking odors made every starving person's mouth water.

"I can't wait anymore—hurry up, I want to eat now, my stomach is already protesting…" Arthur crouched beside the slab, ready to devour the first dish as soon as it came off.

Oliver said nothing, but only because of his nobleman's last shred of restraint—he didn't want to appear unsophisticated, yet after so many days of hunger, he was clearly the most eager to eat.

But Schiller and Harl had never cooked under these conditions; the scarcity only ignited their creativity.

Schiller took several slices of bread, placed them on the stone pot's lid; the fire from the branches burned fiercely, engulfing the entire pot and making the stone slab scorching hot. He toasted the bread slightly, then broke it into crumbs.

He mixed the crumbs with a little coconut milk into a paste, spread it into thin pancakes, fried the beef to medium-rare, chopped onions and peppers, spread them over the beef, then rolled it all up with cheese into the thin pancake.

Since the pancakes were small, they resembled dumplings more than tacos; yet because the bread crust couldn't be pinched shut, they looked more like folded mini pizzas.

Harl saw this and knew he had to show off—he took a pork tenderloin and a pork belly, fried the belly to extract oil, minced the tenderloin, lightly fried it with the seafood sauce.

He took a large coconut, cracked it open, cut off the top, kept the milk inside, placed dried spaghetti inside, and placed it over the fire beneath the stone slab.

The spaghetti softened quickly; before the coconut shell burned, the noodles were nearly done. He tossed the cooked pasta with the seafood-meat sauce, took the four used coconut shells, warmed them slightly over the fire, placed a small pat of butter at the bottom, divided the pasta into four portions, sprinkled cheese on top—and seafood-meat-cheese-coconut spaghetti was ready.

Schiller saw this and knew he had to bring out his true skill; as he rolled up his sleeves, the half-starved Arthur rushed over to stop him: "Professor, that's enough—this isn't a Michelin competition. Let's just eat…"

Schiller glanced at the smug Harl. "No, you must respect my cuisine. Move aside—I remember there's a whole duck in the fridge, now thawed. I'll build a mud oven and show you what real roast duck looks like…"

Oliver, lying on the ground, nearly passed out; Arthur also collapsed, too exhausted and hungry to do anything but sigh helplessly.

Half an hour later, Bruce, having followed the smoke to the cave, stood at the entrance, staring in confusion at the two men nearly fainting from hunger—and the feast laid before them.