The afterglow of sunset dyed the stone walls of the Small Courtyard a warm orange-red, and also illuminated the rabbit-like prey at Chen An's feet, which still retained a trace of warmth. The excitement of a successful capture gradually subsided, replaced by a more practical and considerably more arduous task—turning this intact creature into storable food and usable materials. For a modern man who had never personally butchered a large animal, this was undoubtedly a dual test of both his mind and his skills.
The prey lay limp on the ground, its grayish-white fur stained with dirt and a few blades of grass. Its once-alert eyes now stared blankly, retaining the terror of its final moments. A faint scent of blood, tinged with the smells of grass and rust, spread through the air. Chen An took a deep breath, struggling to suppress the slight discomfort in his stomach and the instinctive aversion to killing instilled by civilized society.
"This is survival, not cruelty." He murmured it to himself as though reciting a vital incantation. He knew all too well that any hesitation or waste could make him pay the price on some hungry night in the future.
First, he needed a suitable "worktable." He moved over a relatively flat, smooth-surfaced stone slab, rinsed it clean with water, and stood it against the courtyard wall to serve as a butcher's block. Then he brought over every tool he might need: the polished stone axe, for dealing with bones and joints; a relatively sharp flint shard, to serve as his main knife; and several sharpened hardwood stakes, for securing the carcass and providing assistance.
Once the preparations were complete, he crouched down before the prey and began processing an entire kill for the first time in his life.
Although the prey was already dead, draining as much residual blood as possible would help preserve the meat and reduce its gamey odor. Recalling some vague common knowledge, he tied the prey's hind legs together with vines and hung it upside down from a sturdy branch left behind after he had felled a tree. Then, using the flint shard, he carefully cut the major blood vessels in its neck. Dark-red blood slowly flowed out, dripping into a small pit he had dug beneath it beforehand. The process required patience. He endured his discomfort until the blood had nearly run dry.
Afterward, he carefully rinsed the entire carcass with well water, washing away the dirt and bloodstains on its fur.
This was the most complicated and skill-intensive step. The hide was a valuable resource and had to be removed intact. He had no experience whatsoever and could only rely on his imagination and extreme caution.
He first used the flint shard to carefully cut a circle around the joint of one hind leg, slicing only through the fur and skin without injuring the muscle. Then, like removing a sock, he tried pulling the hide downward from the leg. He soon discovered that it would not work—the hide was tightly connected to the muscle.
He changed tactics and adopted a more traditional method. He turned the prey onto its back and began at the center line of its chest, carefully slicing through the fur with the pointed edge of the flint shard. Controlling the pressure was incredibly difficult. If he pressed too lightly, he could not cut through; if he pressed too hard, he would slice through the abdominal membrane and organs beneath. Fine beads of sweat appeared on his forehead as he concentrated completely, his fingers trembling slightly from tension. The flint shard was not sharp enough, and it made an ear-grating rasp as he cut. Progress was painfully slow.
This was an extremely tedious process that required a delicate touch. He had to insert his fingers into the gap between the hide and flesh and slowly separate the connective tissue while keeping the hide intact. From time to time, he tore tiny blood vessels and fat along with it, releasing an even stronger gamey odor. He clenched his teeth and endured it, advancing little by little.
After nearly an hour, his sweat had almost soaked through the back of his clothes. At last, he successfully peeled the entire hide from the torso, removing the hide from the head and limbs intact as well. He obtained a mostly complete pelt, though it was covered in blood and fat. He spread the heavy pelt over another clean stone slab, temporarily setting it aside without processing it.
Next came the abdominal cavity. Following the line he had cut while removing the hide, he carefully sliced open the abdominal membrane. A wave of warm, visceral odor struck him in the face. Holding his breath, he carefully pulled out the internal organs—heart, liver, lungs, stomach, intestines, and more—and placed them on a large leaf.
He identified the organs. The heart and liver looked relatively clean, and he remembered that they were edible and highly nutritious, so he carefully separated them, rinsed them clean with water, and set them aside. As for the digestive organs, such as the intestines and stomach, their smell was overpowering. He dug a deep pit and buried them to avoid attracting insects and flies.
Now what lay before him was a naked carcass of a pale pink color. 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 the bones and joints.
Aiming at the joints, he brought the stone axe down hard. Compared with cutting, chopping was more efficient with the crude stone axe. A crack rang out, and the leg bone broke. He removed all four legs in turn, then split the torso along the spine into two rib sections, and finally cut the remaining portions into several large chunks of meat.
When the last piece of meat had been cut off and placed on the washed leaves, darkness had completely fallen. The stars began to glitter across the heavens, and the night song of the Primordial Wilderness outside the courtyard started up faintly once more. Chen An looked at the results arranged in separate groups across the stone slab: a pile of fresh meat in various sizes, one heart, one liver, and a pelt awaiting treatment. A feeling mixed with utter exhaustion and immense accomplishment welled up inside him.
His exhausted body desperately needed energy, and hunger had long since surged over him like a tide. He could not wait to taste the hard-won fruits of his labor.
He lit a bonfire in the kitchen hearth and selected several dry hardwood branches that would burn long and well, making the flames burn hot and steady. Then he took several clean wooden skewers of suitable thickness, sharpened at one end, threaded several smaller chunks of meat onto them, and set them across the stones of the hearth to roast above the flames.
Orange-red tongues of fire licked at the pink chunks of meat, producing a pleasant sizzle. The high heat forced out the fat, which dripped into the fire and stirred up little bursts of flame while releasing an indescribably rich aroma—a mixture of meat and woodsmoke.
For Chen An, who had survived several days on nothing but wild fruits and cold water, this aroma possessed an irresistible allure. He greedily breathed in the tempting scent, saliva flooding his mouth as his stomach began to rumble. He kept turning the skewers, ensuring every side heated evenly and preventing them from burning.
The meat gradually changed from pink to pale gray, then to an enticing golden brown. The flesh tightened, fat seeped out, and the aroma grew richer. When a wooden skewer could pierce the meat easily and the juices flowing out were clear, he knew it was done.
He impatiently took down a skewer of roasted meat. Ignoring the heat, he carefully blew on it before opening his mouth and biting down.
His teeth tore easily through the fragrant, crisp outer layer and reached the tender, juicy meat within. A pure, rich meaty aroma exploded across his palate! The meat was firm yet springy, and as he chewed, its sweet juices mingled with a faint smoky flavor and a... hard-to-describe freshness that seemed to contain some kind of essence of life. It far surpassed every kind of meat he remembered. The flesh of the creatures of the Primordial World contained energy and flavor that ordinary beasts could never compare with.
He devoured the first piece, then immediately picked up a second skewer. Roasted heart had a distinctive flavor, firmer and chewier; roasted liver was delicate and powdery, carrying a unique, mellow aroma. He alternated bites of meat with sips of boiled, warm well water, eating with hearty satisfaction as sweat appeared on his forehead.
This was the first proper meal since his transmigration that he had obtained, processed, and cooked himself—a steaming, energy-filled meal in the truest sense. It was not merely sustenance, but also spiritual comfort, an affirmation of his own abilities, and a spark of life rekindled in the midst of desperation.
The bonfire's glow illuminated his satisfied, slightly weary face. Outside the courtyard stretched the deep and dangerous darkness of the Primordial Wilderness, while inside, the fragrance of food and a warm sense of safety filled the air. At that moment, he seemed to temporarily forget all his fear and hardship, immersed in the most primitive yet genuine satisfaction.
After eating the roasted meat, he carefully wrapped the remaining chunks in large leaves and hung them in the kitchen's ventilated area, intending to smoke or air-dry them the next day. The pelt would also need to be tanned later.
Lying on the dried-grass bedding in the main room, Chen An felt the warmth in his stomach drive away the chill of night. Amid the familiar background sounds of beasts roaring, he sank into a deep sleep. In his dreams, perhaps there was no longer any flight or terror, but instead curling cooking smoke and gardens heavy with harvest.
(Chapter Sixteen Complete)
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