Landlord in the Arctic-Chapter 63: Wooden Door

WOOF WOOF!!

Having received his master’s praise, Prince proudly lifted his head, his eyes squinting in a look of pure enjoyment.

Feng Mountain picked up the free rabbit, tossed it into the wicker basket, and dusted off his hands. He’d eaten and drunk his fill; it was time to head back to camp.

The Melting Ice River Valley was still some distance from the camp.

He called Nash over, and they flew the Carnation back to camp. After landing, the two of them recovered the plane with its waterproof tarp.

Returning to the camp, Feng Mountain felt an inexplicable sense of peace.

A reindeer hide was nailed to a wooden frame, leaning against the workshop to air-dry. The drafty spots in the body of the bus had also been sealed up with wooden planks.

It seemed Nash hadn’t been idle these past two days.

Feng Mountain remembered he hadn’t checked in with the old-timers of the Far North Region, so he stepped into the bus and switched on the radio. The moment the channel connected, a torrent of voices poured out.

’These Lao Dengs really have too much time on their hands!!’

He picked up the handset.

"Hello, hello, hello. This is Crown Territory. Come back to me if you copy."

As Feng Mountain’s voice faded, the radio fell silent. A moment later, a tidal wave of voices erupted.

"God, Feng, how’s Susan?"

"Why can’t we get in touch with Kevik Camp?"

"What’s the situation, man?"

"Is Susan still alive?"

"When’s the funeral?"

Hearing these questions, Feng Mountain shook his head helplessly. It just went to show how remote the Far North Region was; news of Susan’s rescue had spread across the entire country, yet they still hadn’t heard.

"Folks, I took Susan to Fairbanks yesterday. She’s getting treatment."

"God bless Susan."

"Attaboy, Feng!"

"Here’s to Feng."

Hearing that Susan was okay, a collective sigh of relief came over the radio, followed by a chorus of thanks for Feng Mountain.

Although they didn’t know how dangerous the situation had been, his willingness to rescue someone without a second thought had earned him the respect of the Far North Tundra People. Who wouldn’t want a friend who’d risk their life to save you?

At first, they’d all thought Feng Mountain was some rich kid from the big city, just visiting the Far North Region to "experience life." These Lao Dengs had even made private bets on how many days he would last.

Who knew that not only would he stick it out, but he would end up living more comfortably than any of them.

After a bit of small talk, the Lao Dengs were finally at ease. Since Susan was fine, the title of "Worst Shot in the Far North Region" still belonged to her.

Before signing off, however, the group gave Feng Mountain a warning.

With winter approaching, predators would become more common, especially around the camp. The stored food would attract them, so he should set some traps in advance.

Feng Mountain actually hoped they would show up. It would give him a legitimate reason to hunt and collect Soul Power.

Stepping out of the bus, Feng Mountain saw Nash using a Wanta Card to scrape the remaining fat off the reindeer hide. He suddenly remembered that the brown bear hide was almost done air-drying; it was time for the second stage of the tanning process.

Feng Mountain was quite envious of the bearskin coat Nash wore.

He took the wooden frame with the bearskin from the workshop. After half a month of drying in the shade, the hide was now very stiff, but the fur remained soft and smooth. When he gently ran his hand over it, the brown fur slipped through his fingers.

He mixed the brains from a recently hunted animal with the pre-prepared bear-brain softening solution, put it back on the stove, added some water, and brought it to a boil. Then he stirred it rapidly with a wooden stick until the mixture resembled milk.

Using a short-bristled brush made of reindeer hair, he evenly coated the bearskin with the brain-softening solution. This process had to be done meticulously; the solution had to cover every single inch of the hide.

Animal brains contain a special type of oil, and this substance is the key to softening leather.

As he worked the solution in, the once-stiff bearskin gradually began to soften.

Next, he would return the bearskin to the workshop to continue air-drying. Once the solution dried, he would use a Wanta Card to scrape off the residue, apply another coat of the solution, and let it dry again. He would repeat this process over and over until the hide was completely soft.

The final step was to smoke it over a poplar fire. Only then would the hand-tanned hide be considered complete.

After he finished applying the softening solution to the bearskin, he moved it back into the workshop.

Sitting down by the stove to rest, Feng Mountain’s gaze fell upon the supplies piled up in the clearing.

Piles of supplies were neatly stacked and covered with tarps, standing out starkly against the snow.

The supplies had been sitting there for several days, but he had been too busy to deal with them.

’Maybe I should move them into the cave. That place is spacious, cool, and well-ventilated—a perfect natural refrigerator.’

Before he could move anything, though, he needed to build a door for the cave.

With this in mind, Feng Mountain found a tape measure in the workshop and went to the cave alone.

The cave entrance was triangular, narrow at the top and wide at the bottom. It was three meters high and a little over two meters at its widest point.

The edges of the opening were also irregular. The rough rock surface was riddled with the marks of time—some parts jutted out, others were indented, making the task of building a door much more difficult.

He had no idea how his grand-uncle had managed to seal the cave back in the day, making it completely invisible from the outside.

Feng Mountain could handle simple carpentry, but a project of this scope was completely beyond his abilities. He had no choice but to summon the camp’s resident handyman.

"Nash, think you can put a door on this cave?"

The unassuming Nash walked to the cave entrance, took the tape measure from Feng Mountain, and began taking various measurements, occasionally using a piece of stone to scrawl calculations on the rock wall.

Feng Mountain watched, then covered his face and slunk away. ’I didn’t realize the education for Alaska’s Indigenous People was so advanced,’ he thought.

「A short while later.」

Nash tossed the stone aside, turned to Feng Mountain, and nodded. "All set. I need wood."

Wood.

The Moonlight Forest was full of it. The only worry was not having enough.

"This is your area of expertise. You tell me what to do, and I’ll do it." Feng Mountain knew his own limits. If he didn’t know something, he admitted it; there was no shame in that.

The two of them dragged a sledge to the Moonlight Forest. To build the cave door, they needed hemlock.

Its wood is hard and strong, and Indian Tribes often used it to make cabinets, solid wood doors, chests, and furniture.

Wandering through the forest, trying to find a dead hemlock that met their specifications, felt like finding a needle in a haystack.

Left with no other choice, Nash eventually selected three living hemlocks, each about 20 centimeters in diameter and an estimated 15 to 18 meters tall.

Feng Mountain took off his hide coat, leaving him in just a short-sleeved T-shirt. He raised his axe and swung it hard into the base of the tree trunk.

One swing, two swings, three swings...

Fragrant wood chips flew with every rise and fall of the axe.

Soon, a large notch appeared at the base, and the entire hemlock teetered, ready to fall.

Nash rigged a brake system using two large trees, tying a rope in a figure-eight between them. He carefully paid out the line, allowing the hemlock to fall slowly and ensuring the trunk remained intact.

Once the three suitable hemlocks were felled and stripped of their excess branches and leaves, Nash marked the trunks according to the door’s dimensions.

Feng Mountain took on the manual labor, using a handsaw to cut the trunks to size before stacking them on the sledge.

Then came the time-consuming, laborious task of hauling them. With no heavy machinery, they had to rely on pure manpower to drag everything back to camp.

The camp was nearly a kilometer away from the Moonlight Forest in a straight line. If not for the snow facilitating the sledge, hauling these three hemlocks would have taken Feng Mountain an entire day.

Feng Mountain dragged the sledge, now loaded with hemlock trunks, toward the cave.

As his body rapidly burned energy in the frigid air, steam visibly rose from him, even though he was only wearing a short-sleeved T-shirt.

The heat rose from his pores, quickly shrouding his head and body.

The cold air instantly condensed this vapor, making Feng Mountain look as if he were enveloped in a hazy white halo.

Like a freshly steamed bun.

...