It was late October, and November would officially begin in another week.

Northern Alaska is part of the Arctic Circle, and the temperature difference between it and the south is immense.

His current location was in the north-central region, which meant the snow would arrive earlier than one might expect.

The snow in North America was a completely different beast from the snow in southern Great Xia. It was even more extreme than the snow in northern Great Xia, by several orders of magnitude.

Even back where he lived in Ontario Province, Canada, the snow could get deep enough to bury his knees in the winter. And that was nothing compared to Alaska, which bordered the Arctic.

’No, I don’t have much time left. I need to take advantage of the salmon run before it’s completely over and smoke as much dried fish as I can.’

It might seem like he was living a decent life for now, but having done his research beforehand, he knew it was all an illusion.

Any day now, he could wake up to find the entire world outside covered in white.

With snow that deep, forget hunting—just leaving the shelter would be a struggle. His shelter itself might even be in jeopardy.

The more he thought about it, the more restless he became. He shot up, wiped away the map he had drawn on the ground earlier, and with a few quick strokes, sketched out his shelter’s current structure.

He drew two straight lines on the left to represent the cliff face. In the middle, he used slanted, shaded lines to create a sense of depth. On the right, he drew a right-angle triangle for the shelter, and around it, two semi-circles for the fence and the trench.

’A flat roof is out of the question with heavy snow. The weight of the accumulation would definitely cause it to collapse. That means I have to build a sloped roof.’

He walked into the yard, his gaze tracing the lines of his existing shelter upward.

’I almost forgot that this section of the rock face is sloped too. If that’s the case, all I need to do is move the current tarp section up at a parallel angle to serve as the roof. I could even expand the space underneath into a second-story loft.’

The crevice at the base of the rock formation curved inward, so he planned to use the cliff’s natural shape to build the shelter into a trapezoid that extended outward. The very top, the roof, would be made from branches of arborvitae and spruce, with the tarp lining the inside for waterproofing.

That way, whether it rained or snowed, the impact on the roof would be minimal.

’But there’s one more problem. I used up all my paracord when I built the fence. The steel-wire fishing line is tough enough, but it’s too thin to be used in construction.’

He searched his memory and quickly came up with two alternatives.

He could either weave grass rope or find some sturdy vines.

’I’ll just make grass rope. This isn’t a tropical rainforest; it’s mostly coniferous. Finding vines won’t be easy.’

Lin Chen went out for a bit and quickly returned with a large bundle of calf-high dried grass.

’You’re supposed to soak the dry grass before weaving it into rope anyway, to make it more pliable. This rain has basically done that step for me. Finally, some good news.’

He sat in the yard, spread the hay out flat, and began gently beating it with a wooden stick.

The purpose of this step was to break down the hay’s internal fiber structure, allowing it to be woven more freely into any shape and also making it softer.

He grabbed a handful of the beaten grass, about half a finger’s width in thickness. He folded it at the two-fifths mark, then began twisting both sides simultaneously with his fingers. Using the grass’s own torque, the two strands naturally wound together, forming a rope.

’So that’s how you make grass rope...’

As he twisted the rope, Lin Chen himself was surprised. He’d originally thought it would be a complex process, like braiding, using several strands crisscrossed. He never expected this method would work.

The crisscross method also existed in his memory, but it was rated lower overall—it was more trouble, and the final product wasn’t as good.

A rope formed naturally like this, using the contraction and torsion from twisting the grass itself, wouldn’t have gaps or come loose.

"You all might be wondering why I didn’t fold it at the halfway point, but chose the two-fifths mark instead. The answer to that mystery is coming right up."

Even as he spoke, his fingers never stopped moving, continuously twisting the two strands of hay.

Soon, the shorter side was about to run out, with only about half a finger’s length remaining.

He picked up another bundle of hay of similar thickness from the ground and twisted it into the remaining bit of the shorter strand. He then continued twisting, allowing the splice to merge seamlessly into the braid.

"A hand-twisted rope like this doesn’t have a super-strong splice, so it can’t bear a huge amount of weight. But for tying things together, it’s more than enough."

After deciding that his next major goal was to hunt a moose, Lin Chen was actually in less of a hurry to hunt. Upgrading his shelter had become the most pressing task.

Moose don’t hibernate. With their massive size, they would be incredibly conspicuous against the winter snow.

Besides, they wouldn’t be able to run fast in deep snow, which would actually create the perfect opportunity for him to hunt one.

For the next two days, he went nowhere. He stayed around the shelter, constantly gathering hay to weave into rope, and also chopped and brought back some suitably-sized logs.

When he got hungry, he went to the Yukon River to catch fish. When he was thirsty, he scooped water from the parachute reservoir, boiled it, and drank.

Time flew by as he kept himself completely occupied.

"This is day eighteen of my survival journey."

Lin Chen gave a simple stretch in front of the camera, and his joints let out a series of loud POPS and CRACKS.

On a woodpile stacked high with branches, a thick, neat stack of yellow grass rope sat. A visual estimate put it at a dozen bundles at least.

"Each of these bundles of rope is about two to three meters long. Since they’re for tying logs, they don’t need to be too long. If they were, I’d just have to cut them, and a cut end is more likely to unravel."

He lifted the tarp and glanced at the world outside. The faint light of dawn was filtering through the clouds.

’The rain seems to have stopped, but judging by the clouds, it’s still overcast. It could start raining again at any moment.’

Before the sky was fully light, he quickly got dressed and, fully equipped, headed for the banks of the Yukon River.

After more than a week of rain, the forest floor was carpeted in vibrant green moss. A quick glance revealed that freshly sprouted wild mushrooms seemed to be everywhere.

But unless you deliberately looked at the base of the trees, you wouldn’t see a single one.

Lin Chen was more or less used to this by now.

Ever since he had acquired the Wild Mushroom Encyclopedia, his eyes would unconsciously dart toward places where wild mushrooms were likely to grow whenever he walked through the forest.

This included subconsciously checking dense patches of grass for any edible plants as he passed.

Just as he was about to reach the riverbank, his foot suddenly found no purchase, and he nearly took a tumble.

’Huh? Is this... a footprint?’