Chapter 131: Chapter 130: Venison Cuisine and an Uninvited Guest

The Yukon River showed no signs of freezing over just yet. During the day, when the sun was out, the temperature felt like it was around forty degrees, even if it was snowing.

It’s actually not coldest when it’s snowing—that’s a basic principle of physics you learn in elementary school. It’s the melting snow that makes it colder.

But he didn’t need to worry about that for now. The Alaskan winter lasts for half a year, even longer the closer you get to the Arctic. The snow wouldn’t start melting until at least April or May.

That being said, Lin Chen knew that if it kept snowing like this every day and the temperature dropped further, it was going to get cold no matter what. There was no escaping it.

The schools of King Salmon in the Yukon River were noticeably larger than yesterday. They were probably trying to finish spawning before the temperature dropped even more.

The thought of salmon roe made him realize he hadn’t actually seen any yet.

’This is the spawning run; they’re here specifically to lay eggs. Do they only start developing roe right before they reach their final destination?’

He glanced at his Happiness Points, hesitated for a moment, but decided against exchanging them for an encyclopedia of fish.

Even if he knew, it wouldn’t be very useful. It wouldn’t help him with his hunting.

’My Happiness Points are at 14, I’m just one point short. I feel like Trap Mastery is still essential. Those axes, daggers, and whatnot aren’t things I’ll be using much for now.’

The engineer shovel had an axe function, but it wasn’t shaped like a proper axe, making it a bit difficult to use.

He didn’t have a dagger either, just a folding utility knife. It was fine for chopping vegetables, but it would probably be a struggle in a life-or-death fight.

Rather than taking risks, it was better to use traps and a bow. That was the standard combo for a Hunter or Archer class in video games.

Especially in winter, when food was harder to come by, animals would be out and about more often. He could use the knowledge from his animal encyclopedia to find their common haunts and set traps.

’Thinking about it, the knowledge and skills I’ve exchanged seem to form a perfect, self-contained loop. It’s been pure luck.’

’But there’s a problem. My Happiness Points haven’t gone up at all in the last few days. Have I become emotionally numb?’

He frowned, reviewing the past couple of days. It seemed there really hadn’t been any significant emotional fluctuations.

He’d made several mutton dishes, but didn’t feel any happiness from them?

’Could it be that I usually eat a lot of mutton, so even though I’m eating it in the wild, it’s not as good as what I’m used to, and that’s why it’s not generating any Happiness Points?’

After mulling it over, that seemed to be the only plausible explanation.

He had loved lamb skewers and hot pot since he was a kid. Later, he became a huge fan of instant-boiled mutton and lamb soup. He’d even made a special trip to the grasslands for it. It was safe to say he was a true mutton aficionado.

Mutton wasn’t common in Toronto either. To satisfy his cravings, he would go to a barbecue joint or hot pot restaurant every week to get his fix.

Compared to the professionals, the mutton dishes he, an amateur, had made weren’t particularly amazing. At best, their only advantage was freshness.

There was another point: the sheep you encountered in daily life were specifically bred for meat and had a better texture. Wild sheep were too active, so their meat wasn’t as tender, their fat content was lower, and they were a different breed. There was simply no comparison.

Having identified the core of the problem, he didn’t feel discouraged. He quickly adjusted his mindset.

’Looks like if I want to get more Happiness Points in the future, I’ll have to focus on hunting. That, and trying new things, whether it’s food or crafting tools. Just cooking alone is probably going to be difficult.’

Staring at the dark shapes struggling upstream in the river, he hesitated for a moment but gave up on the idea of getting in the water to fish.

’I’ll have to bring the gillnet next time. I can just leave it in the storeroom when I’m not using it, save myself the trouble of carrying it back and forth.’

While the weather was still relatively bearable and the schools of migrating fish were growing, he had to stock up on rations as soon as possible.

Even if he didn’t eat it all, trading it with the production crew would be a great deal.

’That guy Connor brought venison. Deer meat has a slightly gamey taste and needs to be bled quickly, but overall, it’s much better than bear meat. It’s within the range of what a normal person can accept.’

Venison is very common in North America. From pan-fried venison steaks to stews, you could find it almost everywhere, from high-end restaurants to fast-casual salad bars.

He used to make venison stew often back when he worked in a restaurant. The recipe called for carrots, celery, cremini mushrooms, potatoes, and jalapeños, all stewed for two or three hours with strong spices and a chicken stock base. It was supposedly a South American recipe, and it had been extremely popular with customers ever since it was added to the menu.

’He’s definitely going to ask me to cook the venison. I have potatoes. Chili powder and cumin powder can substitute for some of the spices, and I have garlic too. But I feel like a stew made with just that would be missing something.’

’That’s it. It’s missing the soul of the dish—the stock. And the dedicated stock ingredients like carrots, celery, and onions.’

Venison itself is rather gamey. Making a stock from deer bones would likely be counterproductive. He had to use other, non-gamey ingredients for the stock base.

’Maybe I can use fish bones and that spruce grouse to make a stock?’

On the way back to the shelter, he scanned his surroundings for any animal tracks while pondering how to handle Connor’s request.

When he got back near the shelter and was about to duck through the small entrance in the rock face, he had a strange feeling, as if a pair of eyes were watching him.

His outstretched hand froze, and he slowly turned his head.

There was nothing unusual in the pristine white snow, not a single creature in sight. It was as if the feeling had just been his imagination.

’No, my intuition isn’t wrong. There’s definitely something hiding in the snow.’

’Snow... white. Could it be a white creature?’

He quickly identified his blind spot and re-examined his surroundings.

This time, he really did find a surprise.

Just a dozen or so meters outside the shelter—or more precisely, about thirty meters away in the direction of the upward slope—a triangular tuft of white fur was sticking out of a snowdrift.

’That direction... could it be the snow fox from yesterday?’

’Well, I’ll be. It’s really latched onto me, hasn’t it?’

As if sensing it had been spotted, the snow fox twitched its fluffy little ears, sat up, and looked over at him curiously with its big, round eyes, just like a puppy.

"Acting cute won’t work!"

Lin Chen rolled his eyes in exasperation and walked toward the fox, pointing. "You’re a grown-up fox, don’t you have any shame? It’s wrong to steal other people’s food. You have to hunt for yourself, understand?"

Seeing this strange, tall creature rapidly approaching with a hostile tone, the snow fox zipped seven or eight meters away with a WHOOSH, then turned its head, still looking at him with the same innocent gaze.

"I dare you to say something!"

As a dog owner himself, Lin Chen found that look hard to resist. His tone softened slightly.

"If you say something, I’ll give you a piece of meat."

"..."

"You’re the one not talking. Can’t blame me."

With that, he deliberately went into the yard through the back entrance. He carefully checked the gaps at the bottom of the fence to make sure there were no openings before he felt safe enough to go inside the cabin.

Connor was still sound asleep, his snoring thunderous, like a rumbling storm.

After just half a minute, Lin Chen couldn’t stand the torture any longer and had to go back out into the yard.

SCRATCH, SCRATCH.

The sound of claws scraping at branches came continuously from the direction he had just entered.

He bent down, grabbed a handful of snow, packed it tightly into a ball, and hurled it fiercely at the white figure outside the fence gap.

SPLAT—

The snowball burst on impact, sending countless fragments flying through the gap. The little creature outside was startled and took off, disappearing into the vast, snowy landscape in the blink of an eye.

’This isn’t a long-term solution. If that thing comes snooping around every day, it’s bound to sneak in sooner or later.’

The frustrating part was he couldn’t bring himself to hurt it; he could only scold it.

The storeroom was reinforced, so it was impossible to get in by burrowing anymore, but that didn’t mean the snow fox couldn’t dig a tunnel under the fence.

With a fox’s intelligence, it would only need to observe a few times to figure out how to slip into the cabin through the main door, and then use the same method to get into the storeroom.

’I have to lock it. I absolutely have to lock it!’

Connor wasn’t going to wake up anytime soon anyway. He immediately decided to defend his home and his food with his own two hands.

’It can come into the yard if it wants; I can’t stop that. But there’s no way it’s sneaking into the cabin!’

He went back inside, grabbed his utility knife, and carved a pair of small holes in the wooden door and a matching pair in the doorframe. He then stripped off some bark, rolled it tightly, and threaded it through the holes on the frame to create a loop, like a staple. He repeated the process on the door. To lock it, he just had to slide a thin branch horizontally through both loops, barring the door.

He tested it. The lock was strong enough to withstand about ninety to a hundred and ten pounds of force. Any more than that, and the bark latch could easily be ripped out or deformed by brute force.

’Huh? Oh, right, where’s that Coyote?’

Only after installing the lock did he realize the little Coyote that had been with Connor was gone.

For some reason, he was always particularly concerned about that creature. Maybe it was because he saw some dog-like traits in it.

’I wonder how my little old lady is doing back home. I hope she’s still eating and drinking well every day.’

He murmured to the camera, "My dog is fourteen years old this year. I think of her as my little sister, but in human years, that would make her around ninety."

"She’s been attached to me since she was a puppy. Whenever she did something wrong, she’d hide by my side. She’s a very quiet, well-behaved little poodle. At mealtime, I have to break her meat into small pieces and feed it to her. She always sniffs it a few times before eating, like she’s afraid it’s poisoned."

"Thankfully, she has a good life at home. She still has all her teeth, she’s never had any major illnesses, and she can still run and jump. Every day, when it’s time, she still wants to go out and play. I just hope she can stay with my mom for a few more years."

As he spoke, his mood grew visibly somber.

"When this show is over, I’m definitely going home to see her."

"A year or two might not be a long time for me, but for her, it could be a lifetime."

The cabin fell silent.

Just then, Connor groggily opened his eyes and pushed himself up.

"Lin? When did you get back? I didn’t hear a thing."

"You were sleeping like a log. It’d be a miracle if you heard anything. If I had my phone, I would’ve recorded it to use as your ringtone, just so you could hear how piercing your snoring is."

"I’ve heard it," Connor said, nodding with a straight face. "My wife used to record it all the time. It always happens when I’m exhausted during the busy harvest season. My snoring gets really loud then. Sorry about that."

After his nap, Connor was clearly much more refreshed. Most of the bloodshot veins in his eyes were gone.

Just as he sat up, his stomach started to RUMBLE loudly.