Starting from Robinson Crusoe-Chapter 109 - 41: New Year’s Eve

Walking west along the coast, I unconsciously strayed far from the island landing point.

The sun gradually descended, the sea still a deep blue, the birds foraging had returned to their nests, and Chen Zhou stopped walking.

The winding coastal beach stretched far into the distance, cut off by a Broken Cliff, and farther away, there was a dense forest-covered mountain that blocked the view.

Perhaps it was bad luck, the sea foray yielded no results.

Along the way, he encountered many fish, crabs, and shellfish, but they were all unfamiliar species, which he dared not eat. 𝒇𝙧𝙚𝓮𝙬𝙚𝓫𝒏𝓸𝓿𝓮𝒍.𝓬𝙤𝓶

After walking all the way, enjoying the evening breeze for a while, Chen Zhou returned to the camp with his spoils and went to the cave dwelling.

Passing through the forest, walking on the hillside, the top of the sun just disappeared at the western peak.

The smoke-blackened mark on the rock wall was like a flying flag welcoming the returning master.

Lai Fu ran barking, its soft ears danced up and down with its jumps.

Shaking its head and tail, it rushed to the platform and pinned down Xiao Huihui, who was out for a stroll.

Meow~

The increasingly plump Xiao Huihui grew bolder by the day, kicking Lai Fu's chin and swinging its front paws to hit Lai Fu's face, seizing the chance to escape the big fellow's pin.

The empty cave hallway lacked the warmth of lamplight, cold in tone.

Only the faint red glow flickered from the burnt wooden charcoal under the large iron pot on the platform.

"I'm back!"

Chen Zhou loudly announced, carrying a bucket of seaweed and a couple of birds.

Only Lai Fu responded to him.

Woof~

"It's New Year."

On the open space in front of the cave dwelling, a dozen stone-built low walls came into view.

Passing by, Chen Zhou casually patted the stones atop the low walls.

During the New Year at his hometown, when meeting four or six-year-old nephews and nieces, he always touched their tender cheeks, teased them a bit, and then laughed heartily at their shy appearance.

The old house had a nostalgic smell, the tall cabinets in the storeroom often revealed past artifacts, bringing bursts of surprise.

Bronze incense burners, glass balls, tin axes, small wooden cars, porcelain dolls...

In January, the base of the couplets on the brick walls held glue, red remnants of firecracker paper scattered after the bangs, yellow-brown firecracker tubes from the two-bang fireworks, black gunpowder marks printed on the courtyard walls...

Relatives exchanged pleasantries, the elderly donned new clothes, beaming, passed fruit and drinks to children.

Those settled and established toasted sunflower seeds as they watched TV, chatted, played poker, with steaming tea on the table.

That was the flavor of the New Year in Chen Zhou's memory, an atmosphere missing here.

Entering the kitchen, he hung the iron kettle, boiled water, scalded skins, plucked feathers, opened cavities, deboned, chopped fillings.

Cleaned seaweed, cut into large pieces, set aside for cooking.

Lit the oil lamp, took down pen ink utensils from the small square table, laid thick wood boards, scattered flour, kneaded dough, made fillings, pinched dough balls, rolled skins.

In warm yellow lamplight, only Chen Zhou and his shadow busied themselves.

One by one, the dumplings were wrapped neatly, waiting in the silver tray to be cooked.

Chopped seaweed, sprinkled salt, tossed and mixed.

Braised the bird meat, added some seaweed slices...

The water in the kettle gurgled, the cave dwelling quieter than usual.

Chen Zhou sat by the bed, clutching a piece of pineapple wood, carved the mark representing the last day of December, caressing the dense dents on the wedge-shaped wood block, as if reliving the passage of time.

The dry firewood blazed, the iron kettle's braised seaweed bird meat ready, filling the air with aroma.

Served the dish, refilled water, waiting to boil for dumplings.

Two pairs of bird wings were scored, salted, threaded on wooden skewers, grilled over the campfire.

Cooled milk tea, sweet preserves, cold marinated seaweed threads, seaweed stewed bird meat, roasted wings.

Chen Zhou ultimately gathered his four dishes and one soup.

The third kettle boiled, the kitchen filled with warmth, dumplings went in the pot.

Slightly dark dumplings floated in boiling water, stuffed with meat, their skins gradually tautened, Chen Zhou waited nearby, scooping out the cooked dumplings with long chopsticks, steam veiling his forehead, moistening his hair tips.

Tidied the table, set out cold dishes, hot dishes, vinegar plate with dumplings, Chen Zhou did not hurry to eat, first fetched a bottle of Yali wine, opened it, filled the glass, setting it next to the bowls and chopsticks.

Then he brought the chinchilla box, placed it on the low stool beside the table.

Brought Xiao Huihui over, extravagantly offered a dozen fish snacks.

Finally, he affectionately petted and praised Lai Fu, took out a wooden plate, scooped bird meat for Lai Fu, drew out the wooden skewers from the bird wings, shaved off all the flesh, placed it together on the plate for Lai Fu to eat.

Ha~ Ha~

Lai Fu sat upright, tongue protruding, eyes fixed on the plate of delicacies, drooling, accustomed to flatbread, was somewhat uncertain.

Xiao Huihui was not hungry, fiddled with fish snacks, rolled, gnawed, pretending to hunt.

The chinchilla curled into the broken grass, occasionally scratched its ear with its front paw, appeared relaxed.

It long adapted to its leisurely and comfortable life, recently grown quite plump.

Watching this group of animals in their varied postures, though knowing they couldn't comprehend the meaning of New Year, or celebration, Chen Zhou raised his wine glass.

"Cheers!"

He intended to say some auspicious words like "happy family, all wishes fulfilled"—at home, this task usually fell to his father.

But as he spoke, Chen Zhou choked up.

He tightly gripped the wine glass, raised it, and drank it all.

In his daze, traditional festive music from the Spring Festival Gala seemed to play in his ears, faintly smelled the smoke scent on his father, saw his mother's apron-tied figure cooking, with more and more silver strands amidst her black hair.

When running out of auspicious four-word phrases, his dad always added "wish everyone eat well, drink well, drink well, eat well."