Chapter 16: Distress in the forest

On the side of Tonggou Village, Gongshan, which Mucho Yan frequently visited, used to be accessed via the main road for safety when he went alone.

This time, thinking he had Cao Wen with him, he led them up the mountain via a narrow trail.

The main road was wide and easy to walk on, but it was heavily trafficked, so even the winding side paths were as trampled as highways.

The mud was tightly packed and weedless year-round.

There were hardly any wild vegetables or herbs on either side—even the few unripe red raspberries had already been picked clean.

The narrow path, though overgrown and crawling with bugs and snakes during summer, made it easier to gather mountain goods.

Cao Wen walked in front, carrying a basket on his back and swinging a sickle to clear the path.

The trail was rough—clearing brush was one thing, but the worst part was accidentally walking into invisible spider webs that stuck to your face and were difficult to wipe off.

As they entered denser brush, it got damper, and clouds of tiny flying insects hovered by their heads.

The tall man led the way, destroying the webs, while Mucho Yan followed with a stick, sweeping the bushes on either side.

This way, he could both spot hidden goods and scare off lurking pests.

Their ascent was slower than their previous climb in Caojia’ao.

By the time they reached halfway up, the vegetation had thickened, and the trail became even harder to clear.

But the deeper into the lush mountain they went, the fewer signs of human activity they saw—and gradually, they started spotting wild produce.

Mucho Yan pulled aside last year’s withered bracken to find fresh fiddlehead ferns poking up, thriving in the sun.

The taller ones were already 3–4 inches; the shorter ones had just broken through the soil.

These ferns were a true mountain delicacy.

When tender, they grow as straight stalks with curled tops, which are usually removed because of the tiny hairs.

Once processed, fiddleheads are used to stew with cured meat or served as cold dishes—crisp and flavorful.

As a wild, uncultivated mountain good, even after processing, they still retain a faint bitterness, which is precisely what proves their wild origin and appeals to some.

In the summer, people would sell them at markets, and wealthy families in town loved them.

Specialty mountain cuisine restaurants also collected them.

“I heard the purple-stemmed ones taste better than the green ones, but I don’t know if that’s true.”

Cao Wen looked at the ferns.

They grew in the same patch, but their colors varied.

Mucho Yan crouched down and plucked every fern he could see into his arms.

He didn’t care about color—he only knew they were worth money.

It seemed no one had found this patch before.

Not a single cut stalk was left behind.

The two managed to clear the area and quickly filled half a basket.

Cao Wen also discovered a few Litsea cubeba trees nearby.

Their branches bore clusters of tiny green fruits—tempting, but still unripe.

The timing wasn’t right.

If it were earlier, they could’ve picked the flower buds to make a fragrant salad condiment.

Or if they waited until the fruit ripened, it could be pressed into oil.

“Remember this spot. We’ll come back in July or August when it’s ready.”

Cao Wen nodded.

“We’ll need to time it right—lots of wild goods ripen around then, and some people specifically come to harvest them. It’d be a pity if someone else got here first.”

This place might seem remote, but it wasn’t a sheer cliff—earlier, they’d even left goji berries behind, confident no one would dare come before them.

Mucho Yan agreed: “I’ll come check when I visit my mother.”

Cao Wen, pleased by the reply, leapt down from the slope.

After picking the ferns, they returned to the path.

To keep others from finding this spot, Mucho Yan used the brush they’d cut to cover their tracks—a camouflaged trail that could also serve as a future marker.

Now their baskets weren’t empty anymore.

Though heavier, they didn’t mind; the early harvest gave them energy.

Along the way, Mucho Yan also picked various wild greens—dandelion, wild amaranth, wild garlic, shepherd’s purse, and so on.

By the time they reached the dense forest canopy, the ferns at the bottom of their basket were buried beneath the vegetables.

The two shared an unspoken understanding and continued deeper into the mountains.

They’d set out after lunch, and had already lost much time climbing.

By the time they entered the forest, it was getting late.

Mucho Yan led Cao Wen toward a hidden valley that he’d heard herbalists mention—rich in resources, but few dared enter.

Time was short; if there were herbs, they’d harvest them.

If not, they wouldn’t bother searching elsewhere.

The forest wind rustled the leaves.

The scattered light that filtered through gaps in the canopy helped them gauge the weather outside.

Neither spoke—they focused intently on the surroundings, climbing up and down until they exited the forest into a sunlit valley.

“There’s good stuff here!”

Cao Wen immediately spotted two plants with bluish-purple flowers swaying in the wind, trampled by birds.

He put down his basket and stepped forward, scaring the birds away.

He used his sickle to loosen the soil and pulled the plant up by the root.

The thick, red root was about as thick as a thumb—Danshen (Salvia miltiorrhiza), known for promoting blood circulation and relieving pain.

Its medicinal value was high.

Mucho Yan ran over, squatted beside him, and smiled upon seeing the herb.

Without delay, the two put down their baskets, covered them with large banana leaves, made a mark, and continued their search.

The valley, low-lying and sunny, wasn’t shaded like the forest.

It was hotter, and Mucho Yan’s previously dried sweat started to reappear.

But he didn’t have time to worry—he was already drawn to a tangled vine.

Its yellow-white flowers were small but stood out against the green.

This was honeysuckle (Lonicera japonica), now in season.

The early blooms had turned from white to yellow—two colors on one flower, hence the name “gold and silver flower.”

Though now it was more commonly called rengdong , or “winter-enduring.”

Mucho Yan wove a basket from fern stalks and picked all the flowers—bloomed or not.

A few honeysuckle vines as thick as a pinky finger wound together—clearly many years old.

The whole patch had bloomed.

He was thrilled.

With so much honeysuckle here, not only could he sell it to a pharmacy, but he could also bring some home to his mother.

Her body couldn’t handle summer heat, and honeysuckle tea helped her feel better.

They couldn’t afford to buy it from the pharmacy, so each year he went to the mountains to gather herbs to beat the heat.

Unfortunately, honeysuckle was always rare and hard to find.

Mucho Yan was lost in thought, planning how to handle all this honeysuckle, completely unaware of the pair of dark, beady eyes peeking out slyly from behind the thick foliage.

It wasn’t until he heard two heavy, clear snorts that he snapped back to reality.

Peering through the gaps in the leaves, he looked a few yards ahead—and his heart skipped a beat.

At some point, a wild beast had hidden itself there, its front half much larger than its hindquarters!

Thick, dark hair grew from its head down its back, and two long, white, curved tusks jutted from its snout—everything about it screamed untamed power.

Wild boars don’t eat people, but they love to cause trouble.

When they see something alive, they often charge head-on to knock it over.

And a male boar like this could easily shatter someone’s bones if it rammed into them.

Mucho Yan gulped silently, took a deep breath, and slowly pulled back his hand that had been picking honeysuckle.

His eyes stayed fixed on the boar while he used his peripheral vision to search for Cao Wen.

But no matter how many times he glanced around, all he saw was empty forest.

The deep green woods felt like a bottomless abyss that could swallow someone whole.

There was no sign of that kid.

Sweat started to break out.

This was his first time encountering a wild animal at such close range in the mountains.

The moment he realized he couldn’t spot Cao Wen, a cold sweat soaked his back.

As he began to inch his foot back—feeling as though it were welded to the ground—mentally shouting at himself to stay calm, a hand suddenly reached from behind and gently covered his mouth and nose.

“Don’t be afraid. Breathe slowly.”

The familiar voice instantly relaxed the stiffness in his shoulders, which had been tense with fear.

With his back against the person behind him, he followed their careful steps backward, their bodies practically pressed together.

As their thin clothes brushed against each other with each movement, Mucho Yan could clearly feel the hard muscles of Cao Wen’s waist and abdomen flex subtly with each breath.

He wanted to shift slightly to breathe through the hand still half-covering his face.

When he tilted his head a bit, Cao Wen—still watching the boar and moving backward—turned red at the tips of his ears.

The soft curve of Mucho Yan’s face under his palm had slid down to rest against his fingers, drawing his gaze downward.

There, just half a head shorter than him, Mucho Yan had both hands lightly resting on Cao Wen’s wrist.

The two of them were clearly starting to get a bit distracted.

Just as Mucho Yan was silently grateful that he could finally breathe, he suddenly felt a strong pull at his waist.

“Ah-Yan, dodge!”

The wild boar snorted heavily, then with sudden ferocity, shot out of the bushes like an arrow, charging straight toward them.

With one swift motion, Cao Wen pulled Mucho Yan behind him, shielding him with his body.

He stepped aside, dodging the boar while drawing his sickle.

Now completely enraged and aware of both men, the strong and agile boar stood in the middle of the two, eyes darting back and forth as if deciding which one to attack first.

Cao Wen gave it no chance to choose—he swung his sickle to draw its attention, then turned and ran, not bothering to engage.

The boar, infuriated, gave chase immediately.

Mucho Yan came out from behind a fir tree and took a couple of steps forward.

He watched as the boar closed in fast on Cao Wen—man and beast were both lightning-quick, and in an instant, they disappeared from sight.

His heart leapt to his throat.

The name “Cao Wen” nearly burst from his lips.

But years of habit made him swallow the words at the last second, leaving a lump in his throat that felt impossible to dislodge.

Clutching his chest, he ran in the direction Cao Wen had gone.