Chapter Forty-One: Entering the Mountains, Part Two

Han Li walked beneath the white birch tree and found that the chaga fungus had absorbed nearly all its nutrients. Even if he helped remove the chaga, the tree would likely not survive. The fungus grew at a height of six or seven meters above the ground—a spot that would force most people to climb if they wished to harvest it. But this distance fell perfectly within Han Li’s range for decomposition, so he had no need to climb at all. With a single thought, the chaga, as large as a washbasin, vanished into thin air, reappearing inside his decomposition space in neat pieces.

This birch grove had brought Han Li a stroke of luck. Guided by the sparrow, he found a sprawling patch of raspberries nearby. The bright red berries clustered like little lanterns, filling Han Li’s heart with delight. Raspberries—also known as "tray fruit" or "wild bramble"—were sweet and tart, with a fragrance that lingered on the hands long after eating, earning them the nickname "the lingering scent of the wild fruit world." Not only were they delicious, their main effects included nourishing the kidneys, consolidating essence, preventing involuntary urination, and improving liver and vision. They were recommended for symptoms like nocturnal emissions, spermatorrhea, frequent or urgent urination, and even impotence or premature ejaculation. In short, raspberries were renowned for their kidney-tonifying effects.

There was a local saying that raspberries got their name from their efficacy. Elderly men who often rose at night to urinate would, after eating raspberries for some time, sleep soundly until morning—their chamber pot could be tipped over unused. Another saying was that men in their prime, after eating raspberries for a while, could urinate with such force as to knock over the chamber pot. No matter which tale you believed, raspberries were considered a treasure among men, with nobody begrudging themselves a little extra strength.

For most people, picking raspberries was troublesome—the fruits were small and delicate, easily crushed by careless hands. But for Han Li, this posed no problem. He decomposed the berries along with their soft stems, quickly harvesting all the ripe fruit and casting a wistful glance at those still unripe as he left.

Later, he found a clump of black fungus growing on a dead tree. Since it hadn’t rained for some time, the fungus had already dried out—perfect for tossing into his basket as spoils. Still, Han Li felt a pang of regret; the lack of rain meant there were few mushrooms to be found on the mountain.

Checking his watch, Han Li realized it was time to descend. The treacherous mountain paths and long distances meant he wasted most of his time simply getting from place to place.

On his way back, Han Li followed the sparrow down a different route, hoping for better luck. Though he’d gathered some medicinal herbs, the quantity and variety left him unsatisfied. Along the way, he stumbled upon a patch of young Aralia shoots, but sadly, they had grown too old to eat. He made a mental note to return next spring. Known as the "king of wild vegetables," Aralia’s tender shoots were prized for their taste and nutritional value.

During his descent, Han Li also noticed clusters of wild chrysanthemums. These were neither tasty nor drinkable, so others ignored them. But wild chrysanthemum, with its cooling properties, detoxified heat and calmed the liver—perfect for a young man with robust vitality like himself. He filled his basket to the brim. As he finished, the sparrow fluttered over to inform him that two wild pheasants were nearby. Han Li couldn’t help but feel a pang of self-mockery. He’d embarrassed himself among transmigrators—others would enter the mountains and have wild pheasants and rabbits flock to them like locusts, yet despite the help of two sparrows, he had only just discovered a pair of pheasants after an entire day.

Such comparisons were maddening. Han Li clenched the small stones he’d picked up along the way in each hand. Lacking any other tools, he would have to rely on his own strength and the power of his "handsome stone scatter" technique.

With the sparrow’s guidance, Han Li moved cautiously forward. Wild animals were notoriously wary, and he hadn’t even reached the spot before he heard the clucking cries of pheasants and saw two take off in a flurry. A handsome cock and a drab hen—a proper pair—had clearly been up to no good in the underbrush. Oddly enough, they flew straight toward Han Li, as if their instincts had failed them.

Han Li wasted no time, hurling all the stones in his hands with great force and accuracy. The pheasants, flying right at him, were both struck down. Before Han Li could celebrate, the gray hen, dazed but not dead, quickly took off again and vanished. He had no time to gloat. He rushed to the place where the pheasant had fallen and found the cock, its plumage iridescent, lying motionless on the ground. A stone had shattered its skull—no wonder it hadn’t gotten up again.

Han Li drew his small knife and bled the bird on the spot, knowing it would taste worse if the blood congealed inside. When he finished, he wrapped it tightly in leaves, tossed it into his basket, and hurried away, aware that the scent of blood in the mountains could attract dangerous animals. He ran without pausing, all the while pondering what sort of weapon he ought to prepare for future foraging trips.

Guns were out of the question. Though firearms were widespread—even the village chief kept two at home—any trouble would bring suspicion first to the armed, and bullets were hard to come by. It didn’t suit his desire to keep a low profile. That left only bows or crossbows. How to acquire one, though, he hadn’t yet decided—perhaps a trip to the black market in the county or city was in order, where rumor had it anything could be found. He also needed to resupply his decomposition space.

Lost in thought, Han Li suddenly remembered another goal as he neared the edge of the forest: to bring back a few sturdy logs to fashion training equipment. Though wind-felled trees were rare, they weren’t impossible to find. Soon enough, he located one that would do, but since he had to take it openly, he set to work with his axe, lopping off the branches first. Testing the weight, he judged how much he could carry, then stored the log in his space and broke it down to the desired length. Since the cuts from decomposition were unnaturally smooth, he had to rough them up with his axe to make them appear as if they’d been chopped by hand. At last, he hefted one end of the log onto his shoulder, his body bending under the weight.

“Heh, this really packs a punch,” he muttered.

Now his "Eagle Bear Stance" could be put to use at last—tongue pressed to the roof of his mouth, dantian engaged, neck straight, arms slightly bent, legs flexed, wrists loose, the webbing between thumb and forefinger rounded, summoning strength from every part of his body.