Chapter Twelve: Ginseng

“*Huff, huff.*” Zhang Tiejun’s heart raced as he gasped for breath. That shot just now had involved a fair amount of risk. In such pitch darkness without the aid of night vision goggles, firing a gun was a gamble between life and death.

“Kid, your shooting’s not bad,” the white-bearded old man said half-jokingly. Clearly, the earlier ordeal hadn’t been fatal for him. “What’s your name? Which village are you from?”

“Zhang Tiejun, from Qiao’s Hamlet,” Zhang said as he helped the old man to his feet. “Are you alright?”

The old man glanced at his thigh. “I’m fine. These wolves are old; their strength isn’t much. Lucky you came early, or I’d have become wolf food. Kid, my home’s across this mountain pass, at Zhao’s Hamlet. Can you take me there?”

Seeing Zhang’s hesitation, the old man introduced himself. “My name’s Zhao Youde. Folks call me Old Zhao. I’m the elder hunter from Zhao’s Hamlet. You don’t trust me?”

“There’s nothing about trust or distrust. Let’s go,” Zhang replied, hoisting the old man as they headed down the mountain.

Although the bite wasn’t powerful, it left two bloody holes. Descending was harder than ascending, and by the time they neared the foot of the mountain, it was already two or three in the morning.

“This path is shorter, but it’s steep. I think we should wait for daylight before moving on,” Zhao Youde suggested, signaling Zhang to help him sit beside a large rock.

With the campfire crackling to life, the two began talking, survivors sharing a breath after a narrow escape.

“You’re sharp, kid. That shot was steady, precise, and deadly—pretty skilled. Who taught you?” Zhao Youde praised.

Zhang shook his head, offering no answer.

“You’re young and temperamental, but I like that. I can tell your shooting’s accurate. It’s a shame your gun limits your skill. That old firearm’s fine in spring and autumn, but in summer or early winter, when it’s either too damp or too dry, the powder can easily fail,” the experienced hunter commented.

“And you? A hunter going into the mountains without a gun? Judging by what just happened, you had no campfire nearby—it seems the attack caught you off guard,” Zhang said, casting a suspicious glance at Zhao Youde.

Zhao was momentarily stunned, then burst into hearty laughter. “Ha! Kid, you’ve got spirit. Young but sharp-eyed.”

Zhang took the compliment without offense; since Zhao declined to explain, he didn’t press.

They sat together until dawn. Exhausted, Zhang drifted into a light sleep, only to be roused suddenly, raising his gun to scan the surroundings, met instead by laughter.

“Not bad, kid. You’re alert, but in the Guandong Mountains, alertness alone isn’t enough,” Zhao said, sitting cross-legged on the rock with eyes closed.

Upon closer look, Zhang noticed the makeshift tourniquet had been replaced with a professional one—so skillfully done even he felt impressed.

“Let’s go,” Zhao said, struggling to rise. Blood loss and cold had already turned the corners of his mouth purple.

Only then did Zhang realize the old man was enduring pain that would break many a strong man.

The journey was grueling. Although Zhao’s Hamlet lay on the opposite side of Qiao’s Hamlet Mountain, it was still nearly fifty to sixty miles through the mountains.

Administratively, the two production brigades were managed by different communes. According to Zhao Youde, he was the forest ranger of Zhao’s Hamlet.

By midday, the old man and the young man finally arrived near Zhao’s Hamlet. Unexpectedly, Zhao Youde’s home wasn’t within the village but perched seven or eight miles away on a hillside.

It was a solitary cabin in the woods, a chimney barely reaching half a person’s height stretching into the sky.

“Ningning!” Zhao called weakly.

Soon, hurried footsteps came from inside.

“Grandpa!” A tall, graceful young woman emerged, worry etched on her face. “You’re back! You scared me to death.”

“Had a little trouble on the way; he saved me,” Zhao Youde introduced simply. “Zhao Ningning, my granddaughter. Zhang Tiejun.”

Compared to Zhao Youde’s rugged appearance, Ningning was remarkably composed.

Seated on an old wooden stool by the stove, Zhang gazed absentmindedly at the crackling fire. Several wild vegetable cakes, perhaps too close to the heat, were slightly burnt and hardened.

“Thank you for everything today,” Ningning said as she entered from the kitchen. “Here’s some freshly boiled water.”

“Thanks.” Zhang took a steady sip of the warm water, feeling it soothe his throat.

Ningning said nothing, only observing him quietly. The red glow from the stove cast a gentle warmth across their faces.

“How’s your grandfather?” Zhang asked, noticing the bloodstains on her hands.

“The bleeding’s stopped, but he needs to rest now,” Ningning replied.

“You’re quite skilled at bandaging,” Zhang complimented.

Ningning paused, a rosy flush appearing on her pale cheeks. “Grandpa often goes up the mountain and sometimes gets hurt, so I learned first aid at the commune health clinic.”

Her gaze swept over the humble yet tidy cabin, resting on an old family photo on the kang bed. The black-and-white image was faded with age but still faintly showed the faces of several family members.

“What’s this?” Zhang asked, hoping to lighten the somber mood.

Unexpectedly, Ningning grew even more silent.

Just then, Zhao Youde’s voice called out, tinged with excitement.

“Ningning, Zhang kid, come here.”

When they entered Zhao Youde’s room, they found a small table near the kang with a cloth bundle wrapped tightly in red fabric.

“Kid, you asked why I don’t carry a gun. Now I can tell you,” Zhao said, slowly untying the red thread and peeling back the layers.

Inside lay a ginseng root, about two inches long, its branches sprawling.

“Grandpa, why did you bring this back?” Ningning exclaimed.

She clearly understood the value of the ginseng.

In the Guandong Mountains, there were three treasures: ginseng, sable fur, and Ula grass. Ginseng alone was priceless; even an ounce was precious, and this root weighed nearly three to four ounces.

Zhao Youde’s reason for venturing unarmed now made perfect sense.