"Chunzhu, buddy, give it a taste." Donkey lifted the lid, ladled out a big brimming bowl, and shoved it into my hands.
The fish meat was snow white, the broth milky and rich, steam rolling off it. I blew on it and took a big bite. The fish was firm and springy, tender, not a trace of muddy taint. So fresh it about made you want to swallow your own tongue.
"This—" I couldn't get a word out for a long moment. "This is the freshest fish I've eaten in my whole life."
"Hah, you bet." Iron Egg was so pleased his eyes narrowed to slits. "Our Ussuri River cold water fish, finest under heaven. Toughed out in water this cold, how could the meat not be firm? How could it not be fresh?"
Outside the shelter the cold wind howled, flinging snow crystals against the plastic sheet with a whipping whoosh. Inside, the stove fire burned strong, warming every cold, flushed red face to a cozy glow.
The guys crowded around the pot, drinking against the river wind. Dummy pulled a flat flask from inside his coat and poured around for everyone. "Come on, come on. Warm yourselves up."
A mouthful of that fiery liquor went down, burning all the way from the throat to the belly, driving the chill right out of you.
Everyone chewed the fat about village goings-on. Whose son took a wife, whose family had a new baby, whether the mine would take on hands come spring, that boar up the mountain wrecking the crops that folks ought to organize a hunt for. Donkey started in about last winter, how he'd kept watch alone by the river all night and pulled up one even bigger than today's, and Iron Egg immediately hollered bull, which set the whole bunch roaring.
Cupping the hot broth, listening to all this small, living chatter, watching each grinning face in the orange firelight, I suddenly felt both settled and warm inside.
When I left the capital, I'd still been fretting over how tight country life would be, scared I wouldn't eat my fill or dress warm enough. Who'd have guessed. Just a few days in and I'd awakened a golden finger, and run into a bunch of honest, standup folks like these on top of it. This wasn't going down to the countryside to suffer. This was falling straight into a nest of good fortune.
We ate that pot of fish clean, even the broth to the bottom with steamed buns. Hot food in our bellies, liquor warm in our bodies, everyone was worn out, and we took turns dozing against the straw pile in the shelter, one man watching the rods over the ice holes, trading off the night watch.
By the time it was my turn to keep watch, it was already the small hours. Everyone else was slumped in the straw, sound asleep, snores rising and falling. I pulled my army coat tight, fed a stick into the stove, and sat alone at the shelter's mouth.
The night sky was crystal clear, stars packed thick as a fistful of scattered salt, the river's surface giving off a faint white shimmer under the starlight. A few points of ice fishing firelight in the distance not yet gone out, like stars fallen onto the snowfield. All was still, nothing but the soft crackle of the stove fire, and now and then, from far off, a long howl or two from some nameless beast.
This was a stillness I'd never known in my past life in the capital, and a vastness I'd never seen.
I quietly took the constant temperature teapot out from inside my coat and, with a stir of thought, poured out a cup of steaming Keemun black tea, cupping it in my hands, the warmth seeping from my palms all the way into my heart.
Sipping the tea, I slowly started running the figures in my head. The hunting space was only unlocked to level four, with the livestock farming zone still ahead. Come spring, I could throw up a big greenhouse and grow out-of-season vegetables. Fresh greens were precious in winter, sure to trade for plenty. And I could keep chewing on how to help the village bag more game and stock up more grain. The more I thought about it, the more the days ahead looked full of promise.
Right in the middle of my thoughts, the rod in the ice hole suddenly dipped hard, the line snapping taut with a splash.
Here we go. I shot up with a start and grabbed the wooden shaft. Heavy force came surging up my arm. Another big one.
"Brothers, up! Fish on!"
My holler jolted the guys awake in the straw and they scrambled up bleary-eyed, cursing and laughing as they lunged over to grab the net. Laughter, shouts, they carried far, far across the empty, silent river.
Two more fish came in through the small hours, and only as the sky was going faintly gray did the bunch of us haul our chilled bodies and heavy catch back home.
At the edge of the village, Donkey and the others yawned and split up, each shouldering his share of fish home to catch up on sleep. I carried my own share too, trudging through the deep snow, step by uneven step, back to the house.
I pushed open the door and a wave of warmth washed over my face. Xiuhua, of all things, still hadn't slept. She was keeping watch by the fireplace, a goose egg sizzling and giving up its oil on the iron plate, two potatoes buried in the firewood pile, the room drifting with a toasted fragrance.
Seeing me come in, she hurriedly got up. "Chunzhu, little brother, you're finally back. Chilled through, aren't you? Come warm up by the fire quick."
"Sis Xiuhua, how come you're still not asleep?" I set the fish down in the corner and stepped over to the fire to rub my hands.
"Figured you'd want something hot when you got back." She peeled the roasted goose egg and pressed it into my hand, then raked out a potato and blew on it. "Catch some big fish?"
"Sure did. Several big ones." I bit into the scalding potato and said thickly, "Got a big share. Enough to eat for a while."
A whole night without sleep, and yet I wasn't the least bit drowsy. One thing kept turning over and over in my head.
I swallowed the potato and turned serious. "Sis Xiuhua, I've been mulling something these past couple of days. I want to throw up a big greenhouse. Grow out-of-season vegetables."
Xiuhua blinked. "A greenhouse? Dead of winter, you can grow vegetables?"
"You can." My eyes lit up. "Think about it. All this ice and snow. Come winter, every household in the village has nothing but potatoes, radishes, cabbage. Then pickled cabbage and salt-cured stuff. Can't lay eyes on a single fresh green leaf. If I can grow cucumbers, tomatoes, baby bok choy in a greenhouse, forget eating it myself, hand it over to the commune supply co-op and folks will be scrambling for it. Precious as anything."
This idea had first cropped up while I kept the night watch that ice fishing night. The seeds in the hunting space were inexhaustible. Top-grade seed for every kind of vegetable, as much as I wanted. And drawing on that constant temperature living water in the space, I'd have no worries raising seedlings or watering. That was a private ace nobody else could even dream of.
Xiuhua listened wide-eyed. "But that would take a fair bit of work, wouldn't it? Building the shelter, getting glass, keeping a fire going for warmth. Every bit of it takes money and materials."
"The money and materials I'll figure out." I waved a hand with a smile. "First, I'll go ask Donkey's grandpa these next couple of days. He's an old hand in the village, knows everything. The tricks of putting up a greenhouse, which way to face it, how high to build the walls. I'll go by what he says."
Xiuhua pressed her lips into a smile, her eyes full of warmth. "You. Your head just works. All right, you go on and get it all arranged. And if you're short on hands, I'll help you."