Skinning and Roasting

Chapter 16: Skinning and Roasting

The dying sunlight painted the courtyard's stone walls a warm orange, also falling upon the still-warm, rabbit-like prey at Chen An's feet. The thrill of a successful capture gradually faded, replaced by a far more practical and daunting task—turning this intact creature into storable food and usable materials. For someone who had never personally butchered a large animal in his modern life, this was undoubtedly a dual test of psychology and skill.

The prey lay limp on the ground, its gray-white fur stained with dirt and a few blades of grass. Those once-alert eyes were now hollowly open, retaining the terror of its final moments. A faint, bloody scent mixed with grass and rust hung in the air. Chen An took a deep breath, forcing down the slight discomfort in his stomach and the instinctive revulsion toward killing that came from a civilized society.

"This is survival, not cruelty," he muttered to himself, like reciting a vital mantra. He knew clearly that any hesitation or waste might cost him dearly on some future hungry night.

First, he needed a suitable "workbench." He dragged over a relatively flat, smooth stone slab, washed it clean with water, and propped it against the courtyard wall to serve as a cutting board. Then, he gathered all the tools he might need: the sharpened stone axe (for bones and joints), a flint shard with a relatively sharp edge (as the main knife), and several sharpened hardwood skewers (for securing and assisting).

Preparations complete, he crouched down before the prey and began his first-ever full carcass processing.

Though the prey was dead, to better preserve the meat and reduce the gamey flavor, he needed to drain as much residual blood as possible. Recalling some vague common knowledge, he tied the prey's hind legs with vines and hung it upside down from a sturdy branch left over from felling a wooden post. Then, using the flint shard, he carefully cut the main blood vessel in the prey's neck. Dark red blood flowed slowly, dripping into a small pit he had dug beforehand. This process required patience; he endured the discomfort until the blood had mostly drained.

Next, he thoroughly rinsed the prey's body with well water, washing away dirt and bloodstains from the fur.

This was the most complex and skill-demanding step. The pelt was a valuable resource and had to be removed intact. He had no experience, relying solely on imagination and extreme caution.

Starting from the joint of the prey's hind leg, he carefully made a circular cut with the flint shard, slicing only through the fur without damaging the muscle. Then, like taking off a sock, he tried to peel the fur downward from the leg. But he quickly found it wouldn't work—the fur was tightly bound to the muscle.

He changed tactics, adopting a more traditional method: turning the prey belly-up, he began from the midline of the chest, using the flint shard's tip to cautiously slice through the fur. Controlling the knife's pressure was extremely difficult—too light and it wouldn't cut, too heavy and it would pierce the peritoneum and organs beneath. Sweat beaded on his forehead; he was completely focused, his fingers trembling slightly from tension. The flint shard wasn't sharp enough, and the cutting produced an irritating "ripping" sound, progress painfully slow.

This was an incredibly tedious process requiring delicate touch. He had to insert his fingers into the gap between fur and flesh, slowly separating the connective tissue while ensuring the pelt remained intact. Occasionally, small blood vessels and fat came along, releasing a stronger stench. He gritted his teeth, enduring it, advancing bit by bit.

After nearly an hour, sweat soaking through his clothes, he finally succeeded in peeling the entire pelt from the torso, including the head and limbs intact, obtaining a roughly complete fur, though stained with blood and fat. He spread the heavy pelt on another clean stone slab, leaving it aside for now.

Next came the abdominal cavity. Following the midline cut made during skinning, he carefully sliced through the peritoneum. A warm, visceral odor hit him. Holding his breath, he used his hands to gently scoop out the internal organs—heart, liver, lungs, stomach, intestines—placing them on a large leaf.

He identified the organs: the heart and liver looked relatively clean. He remembered these were edible and highly nutritious, so he carefully separated them, rinsed them with water, and set them aside. The digestive organs, with their strong smell, he buried in a deep pit to avoid attracting insects.

Now before him lay a bare, pale pink carcass. He needed to break it down into pieces suitable for storage and cooking. He picked up the stone axe again, this time to deal with bones and joints.

Aiming at the joints, he swung the stone axe with force. Compared to cutting, chopping was more efficient for the crude axe. A "crack" sounded, and the leg bone snapped cleanly. He removed all four legs in turn, then split the torso along the spine into two racks of ribs, finally cutting the remainder into several large chunks of meat.

When the last piece of meat was cut and placed on a clean leaf, darkness had fully fallen. Stars began to twinkle across the sky, and the nocturnal symphony of the Primordial World faintly resumed outside the courtyard. Chen An looked at the neatly sorted results on the stone slab—a pile of fresh meat pieces of varying sizes, a heart, a liver, and a pelt awaiting treatment—and a feeling mixing extreme exhaustion with immense accomplishment washed over him.

His weary body urgently needed energy, and hunger had already surged like a tide. He couldn't wait to taste this hard-won reward.

He lit a fire in the kitchen hearth, selecting a few dry, slow-burning hardwood logs to keep the flames vigorous and steady. Then he took several clean, sharpened wooden skewers of suitable thickness, threaded smaller pieces of meat onto them, and set them on the hearthstones, suspended above the flames to roast.

The orange tongues of flame licked the pink meat, producing a pleasant "sizzling" sound. Fat was forced out by the high heat, dripping into the fire and sparking small bursts of flame, while releasing an indescribably rich aroma blending meat fragrance and smoky wood.

This scent, for Chen An, who had subsisted for days on only wild fruit and cold water, was irresistibly tempting. He greedily breathed in the enticing smell, saliva rapidly secreting, his stomach growling. He kept turning the skewers to ensure even heating and prevent burning.

The meat's color gradually shifted from pink to light gray, then to an enticing golden-brown. The flesh tightened, fat oozed out, and the aroma grew stronger. When a skewer could easily pierce the meat and the juices ran clear, he knew it was done.

He eagerly took down a skewer, not caring about the heat, carefully blew on it, and bit down.

His teeth easily tore through the crispy, charred exterior, reaching the tender, juicy meat inside. A pure, intense meat flavor exploded in his mouth! The flesh was firm yet springy, and as he chewed, the sweet meat juices mixed with a faint smoky taste and an... indescribable, exquisite flavor, as if containing some essence of life, far surpassing any meat he remembered. The creatures of the Primordial World held energy and taste in their flesh beyond ordinary beasts.

He wolfed down the first piece and immediately grabbed a second skewer. The roasted heart had a unique, firmer, chewier texture; the roasted liver was fine and powdery, with a rich, mellow aroma. He alternated bites of meat with sips of boiled, warm well water, eating heartily, sweat beading on his forehead.

This was the first truly proper meal since crossing over—one he had obtained, processed, and cooked himself, hot, energizing, and satisfying. It wasn't just about filling his stomach; it was spiritual comfort, affirmation of his own abilities, a rekindled sense of life in desperate circumstances.

The firelight illuminated his satisfied, slightly weary face. Outside the courtyard lay the deep, dangerous Primordial night, but inside, the scent of food and a warm sense of safety filled the air. At this moment, he seemed to temporarily forget all fear and hardship, immersed in this most primal and genuine satisfaction.

After finishing the roast meat, he carefully wrapped the remaining pieces in large leaves and hung them in the kitchen's ventilated area, planning to smoke or air-dry them tomorrow. The pelt also needed subsequent tanning.

Lying on the straw bed in the main house, the warmth in his belly dispelling the night's chill, Chen An fell into a deep sleep amid the familiar backdrop of beastly roars. In his dreams, perhaps there were no more escapes and fears, only curling cooking smoke and a bountiful garden.

(End of Chapter 16)