Famine 52: Twice-cooked Pork

Si Zhiyan stepped into the forest once more.

This time, the farm was entirely free of clouds and fog; the jungle teemed with life, unfurling before his eyes.

The farm’s forest was vast—walking its length from end to end took about an hour. The canopy blotted out the sky, with sunlight filtering through gaps in the leaves to scatter across… mushrooms, everywhere.

Hm? Mushrooms?

Si Zhiyan crouched down and poked at one. The farm system’s prompt soon appeared, identifying each as a different species.
Button mushrooms, king oysters, lion’s mane, tea tree mushrooms, chicken of the woods, bamboo pith… all kinds of mushrooms surfaced from the soil, topped with a dewy sheen.

[Non-toxic Fungal Growth Area]
Current yield: 200 mushrooms/day

It should be one of the benefits of the forest. Si Zhiyan summoned a spectral avatar, harvesting the mushrooms one by one until he’d filled a whole basket.

The variety was dazzling. In the wild, some of these mushrooms grew worlds apart and matured in different seasons. Yet, here in the farm’s forest, species from distant lands sprang up together and flourished as one.

He held a shiitake mushroom in his hand, marveling at this botanical wonder, when distant sounds reached him.

Deep in the thicket, rustling… a head poked out.
It was a wild boar. Enormous, robust, almost the height of a grown man. After watching Si Zhiyan for a moment, its sleek pelt quivered, and it charged straight at him!

Si Zhiyan: “……”

Ten minutes later, Si Zhiyan found himself perplexed as he looked at the wild boar’s corpse on the ground.

Butchering pork was no easy task—especially when alone.

Si Zhiyan went to the settlement to ask for help. Before he finished speaking, a bearded man named Hu lit up at the mention of wild boar. He raised his hand with abandon, insisting on coming with Si Zhiyan.

Hu Yongchang had once run a small livestock operation in his village, serving as butcher and butcher shop owner as well. He often rallied a group of friends to slaughter home-raised pigs and cattle, taking their meat to market. After the Hunger Game began, Hu Yongchang, strong and decisive, walked the physical enhancement path, earning from the Main God a massive broadsword—self-styled the Flamecloud Saber—to slay uncanny foes.

Now, behind the kitchen of the dining hall, Hu Yongchang commandeered a big table, face aglow with excitement as he wielded his blade, breaking down the wild boar into portions.

Li Xuan, at his side, watched the mighty Flamecloud Saber slice through pork with the surety of an extension of Hu’s arm. The scene struck him as inescapably absurd. He couldn’t help but ask, “Is this knife really meant for butchering pigs?”

“What’s wrong?” Hu Yongchang grinned. “Do you think slaughtering pigs is simple? A knife fit for killing people isn’t always fit for pigs! Butchering takes real skill. If not for the owner’s marksmanship—one blow, straight to the throat, and a clean bleed—well, back in the day, it would’ve taken half a dozen lads just to pin a beast like this down.”

“Impressive,” Li Xuan praised.

Hu finished, tossing the knife aside and rubbing his hands together as he drew close: “Heh, all done. I’m nothing special—you’re the real master. Come on, Chef, how much are we eating today? What’ll you make?”

Li Xuan rolled up his sleeves, gave an OK sign. “Just wait.”

He picked green garlic shoots at the forest edge and selected the freshest pork shoulder. First, a hot skillet to sear the pork rind golden; then, simmered with scallion, ginger, and wine until tender, sliced thin, and tumbled into sizzling hot oil. A sharp sizzle—the thin slices curled and danced, rendering out their fat. As each piece crisped and curled, he added black beans and chili paste and sautéed them until utterly fragrant. Once beans and pork fat fused, in went the garlic shoots, tossed quickly over high heat—a steaming, aromatic wok of twice-cooked pork was ready.

These days, Li Xuan had earned plenty of points, boosting his stamina as well, so such a large feast was no trouble at all.

It wasn’t yet mealtime; he hadn’t even loaded the dishes into the vendor’s machine, but Hu Yongchang, who’d waited so long, pounced with a bowl of steaming rice, spooning sauce over it hungrily.

Wild boar was low in fat and high in lean, but far more flavorful and resilient than ordinary pork. The twice-cooked meat crackled crisp, each bite bursting with savory juices, the aroma filled with layers of flavor, and any greasiness offset by just-blanched green garlic.

A hearty mouthful of meat, a big mouthful of rice—the sense of satisfaction was enough to send your soul soaring.

“You’re a master, brother! An absolute master!” Hu Yongchang shoveled in rice, his mouth glistening with grease, savoring every bite. “From now on, I’m sticking with you! If Farm Master ever needs meat handled, it’s all mine; and save me a spot in the kitchen, won’t you? When meals are served I’m always a step behind those fleet-footed agility types!”

…

“Easy enough,” Li Xuan replied. “Whatever’s good, I’ll save you a serving.”

“Yeah, great, brother.”

“Be merciful, though. Leave some room—there’s more dishes coming.”

As he spoke, he couldn’t help but feel nostalgia.
In the days of the Skeletal Ferry, strong fit players like Hu Yongchang and he had been separated by thick, invisible walls. The support players struggled to get by, always trying to curry favor, never daring to look up. The fit players weren’t necessarily malicious, but there was an ease, a gap in how they all interacted.

But here on the farm, Hu Yongchang clapped his shoulder, bounding with boisterous good cheer, a little sly in asking for saved leftovers, calling each other brother—no barriers between them. That awkwardness had quietly melted away.

Although wild boar had a distinctive smell, it was precious and rare, so not even the offal and organs were wasted. Li Xuan experimented and found, to his delight, that the farm’s cooking wine far surpassed ordinary spirits in removing odors. Nothing, meat or offal, retained its rankness. So everything was saved.

There weren’t leafy greens in this season, but players soon discovered that the farm sold pickled greens that, when brined, tasted much like northern-style sauerkraut. Many volunteers shamelessly asked Si Zhiyan to let them pickle whole vats. Si Zhiyan spent some points to buy a barrel of farm sauerkraut, handed it to Li Xuan, who made a great cauldron of Hunger Game-style slaughterhouse stew.

While the pork stew was bubbling, Li Xuan grabbed clean pork ribs, asked Hu Yongchang to hack them into pieces, and marinated them with scallion, ginger, cooking wine, oyster sauce—removing any trace of gaminess—before preparing a pot of sweet and sour ribs.

Lastly, he washed fresh mushrooms for a mixed mushroom soup.

There were no buns or beef noodles today; instead, lunch was made entirely from jungle produce.

The news that there would be pork for lunch had everyone ecstatic—the collective of support players buzzed with excitement, lining up early outside the dining hall.

“Delicious! Just so, so good!”
“Sob, sob, sob, the aroma is killing me—I can’t stand it anymore… Thank you, Master Farmer!”
“Ah! Pork stew with sauerkraut and rice, and blood sausage too—I can die happy!”

A northern player, soup bowl in hand, wept with joy: “This mushroom soup is the best I’ve ever tasted… better than Hai*lao’s mushroom broth! So fresh it’s going to melt my tongue.”
“Don’t you have any taste?” across the table a Yunnanese player objected, launching into a lecture on how fresh mushroom soup must outshine hotpot stock, no arguments.
They bickered for ages, until both took another sip of farm mushroom soup and nodded at last: “Well, you’re not wrong. The farm’s soup is truly the best—freshest, tastiest mushrooms ever.”

The previous speaker blustered back, “Enough already! Do you ever stop arguing?”

Laughter filled the room.

………

Such sounds rose and fell without end.

In that atmosphere of cheer, Si Zhiyan spooned twice-cooked pork and its glossy sauce over his rice. Sweet and sour ribs whetted his appetite; a mouthful of meat, a mouthful of rice—as points accumulated and the chorus of praise rose, he ate with trembling satisfaction.

Afterward, a sip of broth—the freshly picked mushrooms perfumed every drop, flavors blending harmoniously, the steaming heat warming him from within.

Outside, rolling fog and blackthorn forests still reigned.

But amidst this apocalyptic world, the farm was thriving on all fronts: good food, happy people—everything was going well.

Only…

Si Zhiyan found a spare moment, lowered his head, scanned the system, and sighed inwardly.

No matter how many points he earned, the farm’s Satiety remained stuck at 51%, which left him uneasy.

He couldn’t bear to be trapped at a single inflection point, immobilized for as long as he was last time.

[Day Thirty-Five / 12:30 p.m. / Farmer’s Cabin / Current Satiety: 51%]

After lunch, Si Zhiyan headed to the farm’s basement.

The cellar had utterly changed. The lime-plastered walls still glimmered white, but now pulsed with a living rhythm, giving off a deep, steady thump.

Black flesh bulged, larger than before, suffused now with a faint golden glow.

Sensing Si Zhiyan’s arrival, the farm’s core trembled with delight. Its tendrils lashed wildly in the air, winding around Si Zhiyan’s neck and dragging him close. Countless limbs bound him from every direction, lifting him clean off the floor.

“……”
A tendril coiled round his waist; his shoulder twitched involuntarily.
Si Zhiyan gripped his fist, considering resistance, but quickly judged there was no room to struggle—the grip left him only with submission.

Though the posture ought to have been uncomfortable, the limbs’ texture was elastic and soft, cradling him with such force that, far from unpleasant… it was almost pleasant.

The world went dark as a tentacle veiled his eyes, forcing his head to tilt back.

A delicate aroma of fruit tea floated by; Si Zhiyan’s thoughts slowed, and he drifted into sleep.

…………
……

Cozy warmth.

The first sensation Si Zhiyan had was that of blessed heat, a gentle, fiery temperature.

Roseate warmth filled his vision as he opened his eyes to find himself back in the farm owner’s cabin.

He looked up—straight into a blaze of gold.

A blond youth sat at his bedside, leaning forward with a gentle smile.
“Hi.”

The young man’s features were soft, his eyes beautifully shaped, golden irises flickering with hearthlight.

“……”

Si Zhiyan had never seen him, yet in that instant, an abiding sense of familiarity and kinship gripped his heart.

They were close enough for Si Zhiyan to see each trembling eyelash, golden hair falling half an inch from his face, the tips shivering.
Though he tried to hide it, Si Zhiyan could tell—the stranger was a bit nervous.

On impulse, Si Zhiyan reached out, wishing to touch that shimmering hair. Instead, his hand passed through—merely an image, not someone alive.

“Hmm… where should I begin?”
The youth straightened, a lilt to his voice and a hint of laughter.
“Good morning, Master Farmer.”

“Let me introduce myself. My name is Bian Xu.”

Bian Xu.
He’d heard that name many times. Si Zhiyan gazed at him quietly.

“I am a videotape, you may think of me as an FAQ. I exist to serve you—hmm, you could put it this way—”
Bian Xu snapped his fingers, winked.
“I’m the game’s newbie guide!”

Bian Xu grinned, stretched lazily by the fireplace, glanced left and right, then plopped down on Si Zhiyan’s coffee table.
For all his talk of guidance and service, his manner was easy and bright, heedless of standing or sitting properly.

Opening his hands with flourish, he performed a theatrical bow.

“First, congratulations—if you’re seeing this message, the farm’s Satiety should have passed halfway. It must not have been easy getting here. Please accept my sincerest respect.”

“I know what you’re here for. After Satiety hit 51%, progress stalled—most vexing, wasn’t it?”
“Don’t worry. I’m here to solve that for you.”

“At this stage, perhaps Satiety isn’t the best measure anymore…”

“Let’s call it: [Farm Completion].”