Chapter 12

    Luxurious Porridge and a More Convenient Hunting Plan

    As everyone recited their prayers, giving thanks to the gods and the cook who had prepared this special meal, they couldn’t help but stare at the food before them, swallowing their saliva multiple times.

    Jason never imagined that the fish he had caught could be turned into something so luxurious—far beyond the usual methods of grilling or preserving it with salt for winter rations. The grain porridge was particularly intriguing. It carried the fragrant aroma of toasted rice and nuts, blended with a strange grass that smelled similar to garlic, a key ingredient in the dishes he had only had the chance to taste a few times in the city.

    The pan-fried fish, infused with garlic oil, was cut into perfect bite-sized pieces. The heat and cooking time had been carefully controlled, preventing the flesh from becoming too soft or mushy. But the most important element of the dish was the golden, crispy fish skin, a part that most people never considered eating. It was so delicious that Jason wanted to ask for at least ten more pieces.

    Most people in this world saw fish skin as filthy and low-class, something only wild animals would eat. But today, Jason’s perception of it had changed entirely.

    Within the soft, thick porridge, there was a pleasantly chewy ingredient that Jason couldn’t quite identify. However, he felt it must be the secret component that gave the dish a flavor reminiscent of fertile spring soil. He wanted to ask about it, but his mouth was far too busy shoveling in spoonful of food to utter a single word.

    His mind wandered as he observed the two nuns and dozens of children hungrily devouring their meals. He had never imagined that low-grade grains, usually discarded by the villagers, could be transformed into something so incredibly delicious.

    Before he knew it, his wooden spoon hit the bottom of the bowl with a clunk, marking the end of the meal.

    The children were completely satisfied with the delicious meal, their faces glowing with joy. The cold weather paired with hot porridge created an unexpectedly perfect combination. Jason’s body felt warm and strangely energized. As everyone began clearing the dishes, Jason stood up, following them to wash the large wooden bowl he had used. During this, he overheard a conversation between Sister Anne and Kit.

    “Sister, I’ve already preserved the remaining two fish with salt and wild garlic oil. I think they should last for two to three months.”

    “Thank you so much, Kit. You should rest with the others now. We’ll take care of the kitchen cleanup…” Sister Anne was busy washing the jars and tools. “Don’t forget to have James add more firewood to the hearth—it’s getting cold…”

    Hearing that the fish he had caught was being put to such good use in the orphanage filled Jason with genuine happiness. After thoroughly cleaning his wooden bowl, he set it aside to dry. Then, he grabbed a large bucket and walked to the outdoor well to fetch fresh water, replacing the dirty, food-stained water used for washing.

    The darkening sky signaled the arrival of dusk. The dim torchlight was no match for the two moons and the stars that filled the sky. A strong, chilly wind made Jason shiver, and he suddenly realized how different the orphanage’s indoor temperature was compared to the last winter when he had visited. Even the exterior walls had changed. Thick bundles of dried straw had been stacked against the walls, creating a thicker barrier.

    What an ingenious idea in the midst of such scarcity. Jason couldn’t help but wonder: Was this another one of the Little Scholar’s ideas?

    Once the washing room’s water barrels had been refreshed, Jason returned to the main building and made his way toward the living area. What he saw warmed his heart. The children were gathered together, sitting closely. And at the center of it all was that same remarkable little boy. Jason felt a surge of pride at the sight before him. He could hardly believe that the frail, near-death child he had once seen had now become a pillar of strength for everyone around him.

    Even a child on the brink of death had managed to turn his life around, so why should he remain trapped in the shadow of his father’s corruption and past actions? A man in his twenties should already be married, raising a family, and watching his children play around the house. There was no need to cling to the false power of being the village chief’s son any longer.

    Once winter passed, he would move out and build a new home.

    And then, he could finally start his own life and family.

    After spending more time playing with the children while contemplating his future, Jason realized he had stayed at the church for far too long. Feeling it was time to return home, he began to take his leave. But before departing from this warm and loving family, Kit approached him to ask a few more questions.

    “Brother Jason, I have an idea that might help us get fresh meat more often. Can you stop by tomorrow?”

    “Of course, genius. I’ll swing by in the late morning before I head out to hunt.” With that, he ruffled the little boy’s hair before making his way home. Unbeknownst to him, a faint glow emanated from his body in the darkness. The nuns, who had stepped outside to bid farewell to their benefactor, let out a silent sigh of relief. The true effects of Kit’s cooking remained a well-kept secret.

    Tonight was yet another day filled with warmth and happiness at the White Wings Church. The scruffy children wiped themselves clean with warm damp cloths before curling up together, falling asleep in each other’s comforting warmth.

    .....

    The next morning, the burly young man arrived at the church just as he had promised. He was dressed warmly, wrapped in a large, fluffy rabbit-fur cloak that made him look like a gentle giant bear. His primary weapon he brought today was a bow, its wooden frame bent taut with a thick, sturdy string. A quiver filled with arrows, their colorful feathers peeking out, hung at his waist.

    Jason’s weapon was undoubtedly this bow. He had already explained yesterday that bows were the most commonly used weapons among those who made their living as hunters. After sharing a delicious breakfast that Kit had set aside for him, the young boy began to explain three different types of rabbit traps—each designed for a specific purpose.

    The first trap was a simple snare loop, used to catch small animals as they wandered along their usual foraging paths. Kit tried to demonstrate how to set it up, and Jason quickly picked up on the technique. It was easy to make but had a low success rate, so setting multiple traps at once was the best way to increase the chances of a catch.

    The second trap was a pitfall lined with sharpened stakes. It needed to be deep enough to be effective and required warning signs to prevent accidents, as it could harm both animals and people. Baiting the trap with nuts or low-grade grains was usually enough to lure in prey.

    The final trap had a complex mechanism and required sturdy wood or metal to construct. Kit explained the concept in theory, but they quickly hit a roadblock—they lacked the necessary materials. Jason tried to memorize the trap’s design and promised that if he found strong wood or vines, he would bring them back for Kit to experiment with. This was the only trap capable of capturing live animals.

    The idea of domesticating animals for food made Jason excited.

    Kit had opened a new perspective on hunting—one that could benefit everyone. He wasn’t a naïve idealist who shared knowledge freely. No, he had weighed the risks carefully and concluded that Jason would most certainly share his game with the church. With that assurance, Kit had no hesitation in revealing everything.

    In just a few days, there would likely be good news. The food supply at the church orphanage would greatly improve.

    Later that noon, James returned, carrying a large bundle of firewood—a task he had done daily until it became second nature. The open yard near the orphanage was piled high with fuel for both warmth and cooking, crucial for the harsh winter ahead. Yet, despite his efforts, it was still not enough.

    Time was running out. In less than two weeks, the first snowfall would arrive. Knowing this, the strong-willed young man worked even harder. Fortunately, Kit’s daily cooking had strengthened his body and stamina. Each time he ventured into the forest, he would return with a handful of sweet potatoes as well. Now, the storage room was so full that there was no more space left to keep them.

    Kit scanned his surroundings for the best way to proceed…

    Seeing the massive piles of dried leaves scattered around, he suggested making Japanese-style roasted sweet potatoes, an idea he had once seen on the internet. He wasn’t sure if it would work, but it seemed worth a try. With the help of over a dozen younger children, they gathered a large pile of dried leaves and buried James’ freshly collected sweet potatoes underneath.

    Once the fire was lit, the children huddled around it, soaking in the warmth. Dried leaves were a good fuel which burned hot and fast, creating strong flames that quickly heated the buried sweet potatoes. Within minutes, a delicious aroma began to rise from the ashes. In less than fifteen minutes, the fire had burned out, leaving only white ash behind. Kit prodded the sweet potatoes to check their condition, then instructed the children to gather another batch of dried leaves.

    He wanted to make sure they were fully cooked, so he decided to roast them again.

    James looked at his carefully collected sweet potatoes with a helpless expression. He wanted to weep, convinced that his little brother was burning their food into nothing but ash. Still, being the kind-hearted older brother that he was, he kept quiet, watching as the children excitedly scurried around.

    (I…I just wanted to eat boiled sweet potatoes with salt. Sigh…)

    After the second round of roasting, a unique, intoxicating aroma filled the air. By now, everyone was convinced that Kit must have been blessed by a god who loved cooking. Even something that looked charred beyond recognition still smelled this amazing.

    The third eldest sibling of the orphanage grinned with excitement. His small hands reached out, picking up a warm, roasted sweet potato. Its outer skin was perfectly charred, wisps of white steam escaping through the cracks. When Kit split it in half, the vibrant golden flesh was revealed. It was not burned to a crisp as they had feared.

    With the steaming hot flesh exposed, Kit took the first bite to prove that it was safe to eat.

    “It’s so sweet!” His cheeks puffed up as he chewed enthusiastically, barely able to contain the overflowing mouthful. As he swallowed, Kit flashed a bright smile, his teeth speckled with bits of sweet potato—a sight that filled everyone with confidence. After that, the charcoal-black sweet potatoes were distributed among the children.

    “Eat slowly, Kit… Your face is a mess.” Anna gently wiped her little brother’s mouth with a clean cloth. Then, she accepted the other half of his sweet potato after Kit insisted she was too skinny.

    James and the other children tore into their sweet potatoes, devouring them greedily while exclaiming that it was the sweetest sweet potato they had ever tasted. Kit didn’t forget to bring the largest, ugliest-looking roasted sweet potato to the nuns. The two elderly women stifled their laughter upon seeing it, but when they took a bite, their eyes widened in astonishment.

    They never expected that in the future… this simple activity would become a beloved village tradition. Every year, before the first snowfall, every household in Redwood Village would gather to roast sweet potatoes together.