I didn't even need to look—I knew the difference between cured meat and human bones. The train officers weren’t fools either. Without hesitation, they tackled the Sichuan man to the ground. Panicked, the man started blurting out something in thick Sichuan dialect. Forget about the train officers, who were all tough northeastern guys—they couldn’t understand a word. Even I, a Hebei native, was completely lost. Once the man was cuffed and taken away, the entire carriage exploded in chaos. If no one had known, fine—but now that they did, who wouldn’t be freaked out? Especially the two passengers sitting next to the guy—they were absolutely terrified, demanding the train crew find them new seats. But the train attendants weren’t having it. Move them? And put who in their place? These days, having a seat on a train at all was a luxury—what more did they want? My granduncle’s home was in a village called Jiajiatun. Not everyone there had the surname Jia, though. The name came from the first settlers—a family from Shandong named Jia—who had put down roots and built the village from scratch. Jiajiatun was small, with only around a hundred or so residents. My granduncle’s house was on the eastern edge of the village, with a little over three acres of farmland. His wife, my grandaunt, was in poor health and mostly stayed home. That meant all the farm work, inside and out, fell on my granduncle’s shoulders. Aside from farming, my granduncle was also a well-known yin-yang master in the area. It wasn’t exactly a lucrative career, but it kept food on the table. So, even with me—a freeloading city kid—staying at his place, things weren’t too tight. My grandaunt was a warm-hearted northeastern woman. I had met her before when she came to Beijing for medical treatment. As a child, I remembered her as a beautiful woman. But years of illness had dulled the brightness in her eyes, and medication had made her face puffy and bloated. Still, her enthusiasm remained unchanged. The moment she saw me, she grabbed my hands and beamed. “Let me have a look at our Jinbao! You've grown so much!” Seeing how time had worn her down, my eyes burned a little. But she just chuckled. “Silly boy, are you about to cry? Do I look that old and ugly now?” I shook my head vigorously. “No! You still look just as beautiful as ever!” Before I could react, my granduncle flicked me on the forehead. “You little smooth talker! If she still looked the same, wouldn’t that make her a demon or something?” Rubbing my forehead, I shot back, “You’re the demon!” My grandaunt laughed and pulled me toward the dinner table. I looked at the spread—whoa! A full feast. There was sauerkraut and pork soup, braised pork with glass noodles, and my absolute favorite—sticky bean buns! Without hesitation, I dug in. My granduncle watched me eat with satisfaction, grinning from ear to ear. “Jinbao, eat up! At your granduncle’s house, there’s always plenty of meat!” Mouth full, I mumbled, “Don’t worry, Uncle, I’ll eat as much as I can!” Maybe it was because they never had children of their own, but my granduncle and grandaunt adored me. My grandaunt’s health had never allowed her to carry a baby to term, so they had adopted a boy. But tragically, he passed away at the age of three. Later, my granduncle read his own fortune and came to a realization. One drunken night, he told me, “I was never meant to have children. Even if I fought fate, it’d all be for nothing in the end. So, I’ve accepted it. As long as Lanzi’s health improves, that’s enough for me.” I arrived in the dead of winter, during the coldest stretch of the year. In the northeastern countryside, winters were for hunkering down indoors. My granduncle’s three acres were just enough for subsistence farming. They had a big black pig in the yard, but it wouldn’t be butchered until the New Year. So, if we wanted meat, there was only one solution—hunting. When he was younger, my granduncle used to trap foxes every winter. But now, with wildlife protection laws in place, he had to settle for smaller game—pheasants, rabbits, things like that—to help nourish my grandaunt. Early that morning, he took me into the mountains. I had only brought a pair of fleece-lined pants from home, but my grandaunt insisted I’d freeze to death in them. She made me a brand-new pair of thick cotton trousers, saying, “No one survives a northeastern winter without cotton pants!” So, I set off with my granduncle, bundled up in my new warm trousers, ready for adventure. The moment we stepped into the mountains, I was struck by the sheer beauty of the snowy wilderness. Towering pine trees blanketed in white stretched as far as the eye could see. When I took a step, my entire leg sank into the snow, all the way up to my thigh! Thankfully, my granduncle had crafted a pair of makeshift snowshoes for me, allowing me to walk on the snow’s surface with ease. He explained, “Even with all this snow, as long as it hasn’t snowed recently, you can spot tracks left by animals.” These days, he didn’t use a rifle anymore—only simple traps. If a large animal accidentally got caught, he usually released it. That day, we had three traps to check. My granduncle knew exactly where each one was and checked them daily. Unlike some villagers who set traps all over and then forgot about them, leading to animals getting trapped and starving to death, he was careful and responsible. After about an hour of trekking, my granduncle suddenly motioned for me to get down. My heart pounded—was there a bear? A wild boar? I pressed myself against the snow, waiting anxiously. A moment later, he strolled back toward me, holding a gray rabbit by its ears. “Jinbao, we’re having braised rabbit for dinner!” he announced proudly. I grinned, unconsciously licking my lips in anticipation. He tied the rabbit to his belt and pulled me up with one strong yank. “Come on! Let’s check the next trap.” We trudged through the snow for another half-hour, only to find the second trap empty. My granduncle inspected it carefully—no sign of disturbance. Disappointed, we moved on to the third trap. Would we get lucky again?