Chapter 42: This Time, It’s a Massive Windfall!

Lin Yang pondered these matters as he lugged the lynx toward the foot of the mountain. He found a secluded spot and buried the lynx deep within the thick snow. Before leaving, he made sure to return to the trap to retrieve the old hen he had used as bait.

At this hour, no one was venturing up the mountain. The black bears were busy fattening up for the winter and were exceptionally ferocious; hunters preferred not to take risks in the mountains at this time of year. Besides, he was only at the base of the mountain, just a ten-minute journey from home.

Lin Yang ran back home, breathless, only to find his mother gone and his father, Lin Dahai, weaving a wicker basket in the courtyard.

"What’s happened to you? You look like you’ve been chased by a pack of wolves," Lin Dahai remarked, pausing his work to look at his son’s disheveled appearance with a questioning, concerned gaze. It was clear his son had been through something harrowing.

"Only caught three squirrels. After setting the traps, I raided two squirrel nests and wasted a bullet," Lin Yang replied. He dropped his basket on the ground and hurried into the utility room. He rummaged around for a moment before finding a large burlap sack. It was big enough to hold two hundred catties of corn, making it perfect for obscuring what lay inside.

Lin Dahai curiously rummaged through the basket, finding only the gutted old hen, two squirrel pelts, and one unskinned squirrel. His tense expression softened into a satisfied smile. It seemed his son had been obedient and hadn't ventured deep into the mountains, or he wouldn't have made it back in time.

"Squirrel meat with a hint of pine scent—I haven't had that in a long time!" Lin Dahai said, picking up the squirrel and the hen. He swallowed hard, then added with mock irritation, "You rascal, you didn't even pluck the chicken. Go on, boil some hot water!" His tone carried the scolding of an elder, yet it was filled with affection.

"You go ahead, Dad, I have to step out for a bit!" Lin Yang said. Without looking back, he hurried off, his pace suggesting something of the utmost urgency.

"What are you taking that sack for?" Lin Dahai called out, but Lin Yang was already gone, leaving the question unanswered. However, seeing that his son hadn't even taken his gun, Lin Dahai didn't press the matter. He figured that as long as he wasn't heading into the mountains, nothing could go wrong within the village, so he went back to his basket weaving.

Lin Yang rushed back to the courtyard, brought out his new bicycle, and stuffed the burlap sack into the bike’s basket. Those who saw him on the road assumed he was heading to the river to set traps for fish.

Soon, Lin Yang arrived at the foot of the mountain. He parked his bike and hurried to the spot where he had hidden the lynx. The prize was still there, untouched. Only his own footprints remained in the snow, and the surroundings were deathly quiet.

Lin Yang let out a soft sigh of relief but scanned the area vigilantly. Once he was certain he was alone, he began digging the lynx out of the snow.

"This is a massive haul!" Lin Yang couldn't contain his joy; the smile that spread across his face was like a flower blooming in the warmth of spring. He looked around warily once more, and seeing the coast was clear, he crouched down and began digging rapidly. Before long, the body of the lynx emerged from the snow.

Lin Yang took out the burlap sack and carefully placed the lynx inside. He then added a second sack as an extra layer and tied the opening securely. To be safe, he gathered some damp grass from nearby and stuffed it into the sack. Though the lynx had already bled out, he remained cautious, fearing any trace of blood might leak. He stuffed hay into the lynx's mouth, muttering, "Don't let anything go wrong now." Finally, he tied the sack shut with a sturdy, permanent knot, pulling it tight to ensure it wouldn't come loose.

Everything secured, Lin Yang took a deep breath, hoisted the heavy sack onto his shoulder, and began his descent with determined strides. He had already rehearsed his excuse: if anyone in the village asked, he would point to the grass sticking out of the sack and say with a simple, honest smile, "Just helping someone bring some grass down from the mountain to feed their cow!"

At this time of year, the villagers were all hunkered down for the winter. It was just past two in the afternoon, the sleepiest time of the day. As the old saying goes, "Winter lethargy, autumn fatigue, summer drowsiness." In this long, cold winter, with no farm work to do, everyone preferred to stay tucked away in their warm beds, enjoying the peace and laziness of the season.

Lin Yang arrived at his bicycle. After a brief moment of thought, he decided to strap the sack across the center bar of the bike. He figured that placing it on the back might be unsafe and risk it falling off during the ride. After all, this lynx was a treasure worth over a thousand yuan—something of vital importance to him right now. His mother had always worried he would spend money recklessly, so all his previous earnings had been confiscated. At the moment, he had less than two yuan to his name. He had to seize this opportunity to build his own secret stash to fund his grand plans.

Lin Yang mounted his bike and slowly began to pedal away. The road was so quiet he could only hear the sound of the bicycle chain turning; he didn't encounter a single villager. Immersed in the excitement of his impending goal, he was oblivious to the cold.

However, the biting wind soon cut through him like sharp blades, relentless and piercing, as if trying to seep into his very bones. He couldn't help but shiver, snapping back to reality as he glanced down at his clothes. His cotton-padded jacket had long since been soaked through by the melting snow, clinging to his body like a cold, heavy suit of armor. In his excitement, he hadn't noticed the chill, but now, buffeted by the wind, the cold was bone-deep and intensifying.

He was in the middle of the desolate wilderness, miles from anywhere, so he could only grit his teeth and push forward. "Once I reach the county town, a bowl of hot soup will make it better. Just hold on," he whispered to himself. He poured all his energy into pedaling, his legs moving like a machine, spinning the pedals as if he were trying to strike sparks from the metal.