When Xi Yi was eating shrimp tails, he bent his body slightly, causing the half-eaten piece of roasted meat he held in his left hand to tilt toward Sha Yi’s mouth. Recalling her earlier curiosity about the saltiness, Sha Yi unceremoniously took a bite of his meat to taste it. Unexpectedly, Xi Yi suddenly turned his head back.
For a moment, their eyes met. Sha Yi, with the stolen meat in her mouth, was at a loss—whether to swallow or spit it out—her delicate face flushing crimson.
Xi Yi, however, burst into loud laughter. He seemed particularly delighted by her little act of stealing food, wrapping his long arm around her once more and pulling her into his embrace.
It was a joy that came from the heart. Pressed against his chest, feeling the vibrations of his laughter, Sha Yi felt an inexplicable sense of fulfillment.
Even in such harsh conditions and dire circumstances, this man from ancient times treated her just as he had when they first met. Despite misunderstandings, he never held grudges. He must have regarded her as a treasure—a pure and untainted affection, free from curiosity or the mere obligation of reproduction.
At that moment, Sha Yi suddenly felt incredibly fortunate. Though she had traveled back to ancient times, she had encountered the most sincere man.
As she thought this, her nose tingled with emotion, and she couldn’t help but sniffle. The moment she did, Xi Yi, who had been happily holding her, immediately stopped laughing. After hesitating for a while, he gently pulled her away from his embrace, lowered his head, and looked at her with a tense expression, as if he wanted to say something but didn’t know how.
Sha Yi could see the concern in his eyes. Unfortunately, when it came to her emotions, he was always at a loss. No matter how reluctant he was, in the end, he could only watch helplessly.
Sha Yi remembered something her mother had once told her in modern times: *Some men can instantly soothe your outbursts, while others can trigger them. Then there are those who care deeply for you but, when you’re emotionally unstable, become tongue-tied, utterly clueless about how to comfort or coax you.*
Clearly, Xi Yi belonged to the latter category. Perhaps it wasn’t that he didn’t want to console her, but rather that a vast chasm lay between them—the language barrier.
Fortunately, she wasn’t upset or unhappy. On the contrary, she was overwhelmed with joy—so much so that she had cried.
Meanwhile, Xi Yi grew increasingly anxious, scratching his head and fidgeting restlessly for a long while. Finally, as if struck by an idea, he quickly handed her the remaining half of his roasted meat.
Seeing his gesture, Sha Yi was momentarily stunned before bursting into laughter.
In Xi Yi’s eyes, she must have cried because he caught her stealing his meat and laughed at her. But then again, it was her own fault for suddenly becoming emotional, leading to his misunderstanding. Since she couldn’t explain, she had no choice but to let him interpret it his way.
Still, she *had* wanted to taste his meat. The stolen bite had led to too many unexpected events, and she had swallowed it hastily without even noticing the flavor. Now that he was offering it to her, she no longer had to scheme about how to sneak another bite!
Without hesitation, Sha Yi took a big bite from the offered meat, chewing it slowly and savoring the taste. This piece also had a faint saltiness. Glancing at the two remaining pieces of roasted meat by the fire, she guessed they must be salty too.
Before she could even look properly, Xi Yi had already anticipated her intention. He grabbed the two pieces and held them right up to her mouth.
To be honest, Sha Yi was quite surprised by Xi Yi’s perceptiveness. But since it was offered, she might as well taste them. She promptly took a bite from each.
They were salty too—both of them. This could only mean that this animal’s flesh naturally contained a high amount of salt.
Sha Yi began to suspect that these large, rat-like creatures lived in saline-alkali soil. Otherwise, under normal circumstances, salt would only be present in the blood and wouldn’t manifest in the meat itself.
Xi Yi still held the roasted meat, waiting for her to take another bite, but her thoughts had already wandered. She really wanted to ask him where he had caught these animals. If they could locate their den or frequent habitats, they might be able to find saline-alkali land, which would solve the problem of food preservation once and for all.
But alas, the question was too complex. Even with gestures and repeated attempts, Xi Yi still didn’t understand. Reluctantly, she gave up and continued eating her meat.
Xi Yi quickly finished his portion. Seeing that she was still eating, he picked up some thick vines they had gathered before dinner and gestured that he was going to prepare their sleeping arrangements.
Sha Yi nodded, but her mind was preoccupied with how to make him understand her question. By the time she absentmindedly finished her meat, a long time had passed.
Xi Yi was sitting under a few massive trees not far away, twisting something together while occasionally glancing her way. When he saw her stand up after finishing, he called her name—still mispronounced but much better than the first time, at least no longer calling her “Sha Ai” or “Xia Ye”—and waved his arm at her.
Walking over leisurely, Sha Yi saw that he was braiding the thick vines. In just this short time, he had already twisted most of them and was now interweaving them with practiced ease.
After watching for a while, she realized it resembled a large fishing net—though the gaps were too wide—or perhaps a modern net hammock. However, Xi Yi’s net wasn’t as refined. A net hammock would have secure knots at every intersection, but he simply crisscrossed the thick vines.
When he finished the ends, she noticed he had left some of the rough, short thorns protruding from the vines, using them to anchor each loop of the net.
Sha Yi guessed that in Xi Yi’s era, they hadn’t yet invented or learned to tie even the simplest knots. Even the animal hide around his waist was secured by winding thin vines around it a few times, tucking them in, and then wrapping a few more times to finish.
This method was time-consuming and laborious, but at least it was relatively sturdy. Since the first time she had seen Xi Yi, his loincloth had never suddenly fallen off—so it was a passable solution.
Once the net was ready, Xi Yi quickly climbed a tree, fastened one end to a thinner tree using a rough, thick branch as a hook, and then stretched the other end toward a massive tree very close to the first one. This time, a problem arose.
The massive tree was too thick, and the length of the vine Xi Yi had left wasn’t enough. If he forced a branch in to secure it, the distance would be too great, and under their combined weight, the branch would surely snap.
There were still two thick vines on the ground, but Xi Yi didn’t know how to tie knots. Stumped, he stood frozen for a long time before giving her an awkward, apologetic smile.
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