Chapter 65: Uncle Dazhi

The cold wind swirled the snow powder, blew over Dead Ditch, emitting a whirring sound like the low moan of a beast in retreat.

The strong scent of blood, mingled with the distinctive pungent odor of the black bear and the sharp sting of lingering gunpowder, stubbornly lingered in the cold air.

It irritated everyone's nostrils and also stimulated their still‑rising nerves.

Lu Qingshan took a deep breath, and the turbulence churning in his chest gradually subsided.

His gaze swept over each face still immersed in a blend of ecstatic joy and lingering fear.

The light in the villagers' eyes shifted from initial terror to the present awe and fervor.

"Stop standing there motionless."

Lu Qingshan's voice was not loud, but like a stone dropped into a calm lake, it instantly drowned out the lingering cheers and noisy chatter.

The crowd's spirits lifted, and they all looked toward him.

He turned to production team leader Zhao Dazhi, his tone steady.

"Uncle Dazhi, let's take inventory,"

Then Lu Qingshan instructed Zhao Tiezhu, Liu Fugui and the others: "Tiezhu, Fugui, you two, be quick with your hands and feet; first get the Sled Plow, the hooks, and the rope ready, because later we'll need strength to get this big fellow out."

His orders were clear and orderly, as if the life‑or‑death struggle just now were merely a routine wrap‑up of a hunt.

Zhao Dazhi jolted awake, as if shaken from a dream, regaining his senses from the overwhelming shock and exhilaration.

He wiped the cold sweat from his forehead, trying to calm the heart still pounding "thump‑thump" in his chest.

"Right, right, Qing Shan is right,"

Zhao Dazhi steadied himself, cleared his throat, and began to restore the authority of a production team leader, directing the somewhat bewildered villagers.

"Everyone move, everyone move! Quickly check your gear; if anyone is injured, tend the wounds simply, don't be careless!"

He paused, looked at the black bear, and added, "If anyone feels their legs go weak and can't stand, just say so, don't force it!"

When he said that, the faces of a few men who had been terrified earlier flushed, yet they also breathed a sigh of relief.

The villagers only then woke as if from a dream, with post‑disaster gratitude, and reverently glanced again at the black bear that lay in the snow like a small hill.

When they turned back to the steady‑commanding Lu Qingshan, their eyes held, besides the original admiration, an added genuine conviction.

The earlier frenzy that had nearly burst through rationality gradually faded, replaced by a more solid, weightier joy and anticipation.

The crowd ceased their clamor, obeying Lu Qingshan's orders, and began to work methodically.

In the valley, only the light clink of tools striking each other remained, along with deliberately hushed conversations and heavy breathing.

A few younger lads could no longer hold back, gathered by the black bear, cautiously reaching out to feel its coarse hair, then pulling back, their faces full of excitement and disbelief.

Zhao Dazhi led a few people and began to meticulously tally the total haul from this mountain expedition.

His hands trembled, not merely from cold but chiefly from excitement.

Excluding this massive, priceless black bear, the game already captured earlier in Dead Ditch alone amounted to a figure that could drive the entire Shanwan Village into frenzy.

"My heavens..."

Zhao Dazhi looked at the crooked entries in the ledger that signified great wealth, his voice trembling.

"Wild Boar, eleven in total! Each one plump, even the smallest probably weighs over a hundred and several dozen jin!"

A gasp rose from the crowd, and someone couldn't help shouting, "Eleven! Goodness, how much meat is that!"

"Roe Deer, nine; the meat is so tender."

"Big elk, three, and five are Spotted Deer; good, their hides, once stripped, are truly valuable."

An old hunter smacked his lips, "If the Spotted Deer's antler velvet is of good quality, it's even more valuable!"

"Rabbits, two; pheasants, four; and three hazel chickens..."

Each time he listed one, the surrounding villagers who gathered to listen let out an uncontrollable exclamation, their eyes flashing with yearning for a prosperous life.

A man began counting on his fingers, "How much money and meat does this make? It could probably fetch enough to marry several wives!"

Someone beside him punched him, "What beautiful thoughts! First get new cloth for the wives and children at home, that's the proper thing!"

Finally, Zhao Dazhi's gaze fell on an inconspicuous entry: "Yellow Weasel, one."

He furrowed his brow slightly, looked up at Lu Qingshan, saw his expression unchanged, and then lowered his voice to the clever half‑grown boy beside him, his nephew Zhao Qiang, saying,

"Qiangzi, bringing that yellow weasel back is unlucky; when we descend later, pass by Old Mountain House, find a secluded spot and quietly bury it, dig deep so nothing surfaces, and never bring it back to the village, understand?"

Zhao Qiang nodded repeatedly, a hint of mysterious solemnity on his face, and whispered, "Uncle, I understand; the Yellow Immortal, we must respect it."

These days, the elders in the mountains still take these ancestral sayings seriously, preferring to believe they exist rather than assume they don't.

Lu Qingshan naturally heard Zhao Dazhi's whisper, but he said nothing further.

Some customs need not be deliberately challenged.

He walked to the edge of Dead Ditch, looking at the game already hauled out and ready to be transported in batches.

Crimson blood spattered the snow, speckled, forming a shocking contrast against the surrounding pristine white.

"Tiezhu, Fugui."

Lu Qingshan called out.

Zhao Tiezhu and Liu Fugui immediately came over, still wearing fresh excitement.

"Brother Qing Shan!"

"The traps and clamps we set earlier, many are still usable and just as effective. While this side is still busy, you take a few people and redeploy the usable ones, keeping the methods concealed."

Lu Qingshan's deep gaze swept over the blood‑splattered ravine.

"This Dead Ditch, with such heavy stench of blood, might attract other beasts tonight. Let's set the formation; tomorrow there may be an extra surprise."

Zhao Tiezhu nodded earnestly, his voice thick as a jar, replying, "Alright, Brother Qing Shan, we'll do as you say. I'll go right now!"

Liu Fugui also responded shrewdly, "Brother Qing Shan, rest assured, we'll make it perfect!"

The fear of battling the black bear earlier had long been washed away by the huge haul; now he felt an inexhaustible vigor throughout his body.

He chuckled, "This scent of blood is the best bait!"

Several people sprang into action, cleverly re-hiding the blood-smeared animal traps and heavy snares in the snow and low bushes.

The sky gradually darkened, the temperature in the mountains plummeted sharply, and the breath they exhaled quickly condensed into white mist.

There was simply too much game; even if all the able-bodied villagers were mobilized, they could not haul it all away in one trip.

Lu Qingshan and Zhao Dazhi put their heads together for a moment, then decided to first take this huge black bear worth a fortune, along with other game—about twenty percent of the total haul—back to the village on the two sled plows they had brought.

This was mainly to boost morale and let the villagers rest easy sooner.

The rest were carefully buried under thick snow in the Dead Ditch, marked for later, so that more people could be organized tomorrow to haul them away.

"Bury it well, weigh it down with extra stones, so no other beasts dig it up," Lu Qingshan cautioned.

Twenty-some sturdy men took turns pulling and hauling, and the two sled plows began to move with difficulty across the uneven snow, squeaking and groaning.

In the deeper snow, it almost reached over their knees, and each step felt extraordinarily heavy.

The massive black bear was tightly bound with dozens of thick hemp ropes to the larger sled plow; even though it had been dead for a while, it still exuded a formidable, heart-pounding aura, as if it might awaken at any moment.

The men pulling the sled plows all gritted their teeth, veins bulging on their foreheads, their heavy breathing rising and falling in the cold night.

The party trudged silently through the snow, each face marked with unhidden fatigue, yet their eyes shone unusually bright.

If someone slipped accidentally, a neighbor would instantly reach out to help, and nobody complained.

They each carried a fire in their hearts.

Finally, before the night had fully fallen, they saw the familiar outline of Shanwan Village.

And beneath the old poplar tree at the village entrance, a few flickering, dim yet warm lights glowed.

Like the brightest star in the dark night.

"Look! It's the village!"

Someone shouted, unable to contain their excitement.

The party's pace seemed to quicken a bit.