The First Wisp of Cooking Smoke

Chapter Eight: The First Wisp of Cooking Smoke

At noon, the sunlight poured straight down, warming every inch of the Small Courtyard. Chen An straightened his aching back and planted the hoe into the ground, wiping away the beads of sweat rolling down his forehead with his arm. Clearing the garden was far more difficult than he had imagined. Although the soil of the Primordial World was fertile, the grass roots were tangled together and exceptionally tough. Every swing of the hoe was accompanied by churning earth and the muffled snap of severed roots.

Sweat soaked through his shabby clothes, plastering them tightly to his skin and leaving him sticky and uncomfortable. His throat was dry as if it were on fire, and his lips had begun to peel slightly from dehydration. He walked to the well, used the bottom of the broken clay jar as a makeshift ladle, and scooped up half a jar of well water before tilting his head back and gulping it down.

The icy well water slid down his throat, instantly extinguishing the burning sensation. A sweet taste spread through him, along with that faint warmth once more, slightly easing the ache in his muscles. He let out a long breath and sighed in satisfaction. This well water truly was one of the most precious gifts Heaven—or rather, the system—had bestowed upon him.

However, drinking water alone could not completely dispel his fatigue, nor could it satisfy the deeper desires of his body. After several consecutive days of surviving on roasted beast meat and cold water, his stomach had begun longing for the comfort of hot food, especially the simplest hot water, the kind that could warm a person from the inside out.

He looked at the crude but intact stone stove in the kitchen, and an irresistible thought surfaced in his mind: start a fire and boil some water.

At this moment, that simple wish symbolized a transition—from an animalistic state of struggling merely to survive back toward a conscious, orderly human life. Fire meant warmth. It meant cooked food. It meant the earliest dawn of civilization.

Once he had made up his mind, he acted immediately.

First, he needed fuel. He went to the storage shed and selected several thin branches and split slivers of wood from the carefully chosen pile of relatively dry, easily flammable firewood to use as kindling. He also picked out several moderately thick, slow-burning logs as the main fuel.

Next came a container. He picked up the only clay jar, the one with a broken section. Using it to boil water was obviously impractical; it would leak. But his gaze fell upon the empty mineral water bottle. A bold thought emerged: could he use the plastic bottle to boil water?

He immediately rejected the idea. Plastic would melt when heated and might even release toxic substances. The risk was too great. It seemed he had to find or make a heat-resistant container. For now, he decided to use the most primitive method—find a suitable stone.

He searched through the rubble piled in a corner of the courtyard and finally found a flat piece of sandstone with a natural depression in the middle, somewhat like a large stone bowl. He laboriously carried it to the kitchen and rinsed it clean repeatedly. It was rough, but it should serve as a cooking vessel for the time being.

Everything was ready. All that remained was to light the fire.

He took a deep breath and pulled the plastic lighter from his pocket. The tiny lighter felt as heavy as a thousand pounds in his hand. It was proof that he had come from another world, and his only means of wielding the power of "fire" at this moment. He rubbed his thumb over the cold plastic casing, and an almost sacred solemnity unexpectedly rose within him.

He crouched before the stove and carefully stuffed the dry grass and thin twigs into the firebox, arranging them into a loose bird's nest to ensure proper airflow. Then he placed several main logs around them, leaving enough space between them.

Everything was prepared. He checked the vent once more and confirmed that it was unobstructed. Then he held his breath and pressed down hard on the lighter's switch with his thumb.

Click!

A small orange-yellow flame sprang forth, swaying gently in the air. That faint glow seemed dazzling and utterly out of place in this ancient courtyard of the Primordial Wilderness, yet it was also filled with hope.

Chen An carefully brought the flame to the edge of the nest of dry grass. The dry blades ignited instantly, making faint crackling sounds as a wisp of green smoke rose into the air. The fire quickly spread to the thin twigs. Orange-red flames began dancing merrily, greedily licking at the surrounding wood.

It worked!

Chen An's heart surged with excitement. He hurriedly added several slightly larger logs to strengthen the flames. Inside the firebox, the fire burned fiercely, radiating a warm and reassuring glow that drove away the chill and dampness in the kitchen.

He picked up the stone bowl, drew clean water from the well, and carefully poured it into the depression. Then, with considerable effort, he set the heavy stone bowl atop the stones of the stove, allowing the flames to scorch its bottom.

The wait for the water to boil became long and filled with anticipation. He sat on a stone beside the stove, quietly watching the dancing flames and the marks of soot gradually blackening the bottom of the stone bowl. Firelight reflected on his face, bringing long-lost warmth and illuminating a faint but genuine spark in his eyes.

Little by little, the water in the stone bowl began to make faint hissing sounds, and tiny bubbles appeared around the edges. Gradually, the bubbles grew more numerous and larger until the surface began to churn violently, sending white steam billowing upward.

The water had boiled.

Chen An did not rush to touch it. He simply sat there quietly, watching the scalding steam spread through the kitchen, carrying a fresh—there were no tea leaves or other additives—yet utterly pure scent. He breathed deeply, letting the warm vapor moisten his nostrils and lungs.

He found two thick pieces of bark to use as pot holders and carefully carried the scalding stone bowl down from the stove, setting it on the ground to cool. He was not in a hurry to drink. Instead, he savored the satisfaction brought by this "heat" he had created with his own hands.

After a while, the water cooled to a drinkable temperature. He used a broken piece of pottery to scoop up a little, blew on it, and carefully took a sip.

The scalding hot water flowed down his esophagus, instantly warming his limbs and bones. An indescribable comfort and peace enveloped him. This was more than merely replenishing his fluids; it felt like a ritual, a complete soothing of both body and mind. The fear, exhaustion, and loneliness of the past several days seemed to be smoothed out, little by little, by that single mouthful of hot water.

He drank slowly, his gaze unconsciously turning toward the kitchen doorway. A faint wisp of cooking smoke, almost invisible, drifted upward from the vent, blending into the pure and warm air above the Small Courtyard, filtered by the Absolute Safe Zone.

This wisp of cooking smoke was so weak that, in the vast and perilous Primordial Wilderness, it was so insignificant that it could be ignored.

But to Chen An, it was the first flame of civilization he had kindled in this land of death, and the first signal of a home he had sent into the air. It represented the beginning of one person's life within this safe little patch of land. Although the road ahead remained uncertain and survival was still difficult, at least in this moment, as he watched that wisp of cooking smoke slowly rise, Chen An felt a trace of long-lost peace for the first time.

However, Chen An did not know that on this land governed by ancient laws, any trace of an unnatural presence could draw the attention of unseen forces. Just as that negligible wisp of cooking smoke merged into the sky, at an extremely distant place, atop a mist-shrouded immortal mountain brimming with immortal aura, an ancient existence who was meditating with his eyes closed, Dao Resonance circling his body, slightly moved his brows—brows that seemed unchanged for ten thousand years.

(Chapter Eight Complete)