Lester Liew may have been a slacker, but he wasn't stupid. Drinking and flattery? Fine.
Gambling? Absolutely not.
And that silhouette last night… was it really Clara?
That thought alone kept Lester up all night.
Especially when he went to retrieve his living allowance from the cart driver the next day—only to come back empty-handed. The unease that had been bubbling inside could no longer be suppressed.
Thankfully, he still had a bit of private savings—enough to get by for another half a month.
County Scholar Fan never called on him again. He'd been fully booted from their circle.
Lester sent letters home, one after another. Not a single reply came.
Each time night fell and the world grew silent, Lester was consumed by the feeling that the entire world had abandoned him.
He couldn't sleep. After just a few days, he looked like a character from a horror novel who'd had his life force sucked out by ghosts. Even Fan and his friends were startled when they saw him.
"We only stopped inviting him out—was this really necessary?"
Another letter from the academy eventually made its way to the old Liew estate.
Martha received it, but she couldn't read a word. So she brought it to Ben, who was playing under the eaves with Ryder and Rosie.
Ben took one glance. "Oh, it's from Dad. For Mom."
Martha nodded. "I'll hold onto it for now. I'll give them all to your mother when she returns."
Ben didn't think much of it and went back to using twigs as swords in an epic ground battle with the twins.
Martha sighed, then went inside to place the new letter with the two earlier ones.
Two days ago, Clara had taken Adam up into the mountains. The letters would have to wait for her return.
Ben, Chad, and Deb were staying at the old house while Clara was away, though Doreen or Logan would escort them home to sleep at night.
They still had to feed the chickens and horse and make sure to lock up—just in case any sneaky hands tried to grab something.
Doreen could never understand Clara's thinking. If she wants to head into the mountains, fine—but why bring a kid?
Adam was just nine. What kind of nine-year-old could hunt?
Every time Ben heard his aunt mumbling about it, he'd chime in to correct her. "Mom's just taking him in for training. Not hunting—just drills."
Of course, if they did manage to hunt something, Mom promised they'd bring it back for an extra meal~
Ben and the twins had full faith in Clara's combat prowess. So this time, her trip into the mountains didn't worry them like last year.
But up in the mountains, Adam's mental state was starting to crack.
When Clara returned from Willowridge, she fed Old Yeller and immediately told him, "Pack up. We're heading into the mountains in two days."
Adam was so excited he grabbed a hatchet and hacked away at the woodshed until the thrill wore off. Then he threw himself into preparation mode.
"Once we're in, it's not easy to get back. Bring firestarters, a cooking pot, bamboo flasks, warm gear—then, and only then, your weapons."
"We've got lots to bring, but limited strength. So trim it all down to essentials."
Clara taught him personally how to prep for mountain travel. The cooking pot was non-negotiable—streams weren't always clean, and boiling water reduced the chance of stomach issues.
Cooking food killed parasites too. Clean and nutritious—crucial for survival.
The temperature swing in the mountains was huge, especially this time of year. It was hot during the day, cold at night, and misty in the mornings. One good cloak that covered the whole body and was easy to take on and off was a must.
Once survival materials were packed, they checked weapons.
Enough arrows and pellets, of course.
A hatchet and a dagger—one for cutting through brush, the other for self-defense.
A sturdy rope was essential—whether for tying up prey or saving your life in a pinch.
Once they were ready, the two of them each slung a bundle over their backs. With Adam's eyes full of anticipation, they headed for the mountains.
The first half-hour of the journey was pure wonder. Adam, carrying his 5+ kg pack, ran most of the way.
The outer paths were dotted with short shrubs, scattered trees, and easy terrain.
Villagers often came this far, so the trail was well-worn. All you had to do was follow it.
A first-time mountain kid like Adam naturally thought the whole journey would be this easy—he hadn't realized what was coming.
So when they suddenly hit a wall of tangled vines, weeds, and branches, Adam's first instinct was to turn back and say:
"Auntie, I think we're off the path. There's no way through here."
Clara just smiled, stepped forward, and with one swing of her hatchet, slashed through the vines and brush that had grown wild over the past year.
She ducked and slipped through the gap. "Follow me. Pull up your face scarf. Don't get bitten by anything poisonous."
After a short crawl, she advanced a few more meters.
Adam stared in disbelief, slowly pulling the scarf from his neck up to cover the lower half of his face. He pushed through the broken branches, following behind.
He had no idea how long they walked like that, but soon the light dimmed and strange sounds echoed around them. Every sudden cry made him jump.
Then his foot slipped. He fell—hands outstretched just in time to catch himself.
Wait… something cold and slick squirmed under his palm.
Adam's scalp went numb. "AUNTIE!!"
Clara spun and slid down the slope in one swift motion, scooped the boy up in one arm, and with the other, whipped out her hatchet in a silver flash.
A two-finger-wide black snake was sliced in two, its twitching body landing across a tree branch above.
The tail end dangled, brushing against Adam's cheek. In Clara's arms, the boy froze, barely breathing.
"Poor thing," Clara said casually. "It was just napping at home, and you smashed its nest."
She was trying to lighten the mood, but it didn't work.
After that, whenever Adam pushed through underbrush, he scanned the ground and his surroundings like a hawk. Gone were the carefree footsteps behind Clara.
That black snake had left a mark.
Even though Clara repeated that it was non-venomous, that snakes were sluggish in this season and rarely came out, it didn't help.
Every time he saw something long and black, even from far away, he'd stop and double-check before daring to move forward.
Clara noticed this and carved him a long walking stick. "This is for scaring snakes. Tap the ground ahead—they'll scatter before you get close."
That stick became Adam's lucky charm.
He held it while eating, while resting—even when he and Clara curled up in their little mountain nook to sleep.
And especially when he had to go to the outhouse.
Clara frowned. This won't do. If one little snake scares him like this, what'll happen when we run into something worse—like a hairless lizard or some giant bug? Forget hunting at that point.
She couldn't remember how she'd overcome her own fear of creepy crawlies in the wild back in her previous life. But she knew one thing: fear usually came from ignorance.
So she decided to halt the trip and camp out in their mountain base for a couple of days.
There, she made Adam help poke every snake den nearby. One by one, they dissected the snakes—studying which had fangs, which hunted frogs and rats.
They even dragged out a python as thick as a grown man's arm, sliced it into eight pieces, and Clara explained how it coiled prey to suffocate them before swallowing whole.
Adam's face grew more and more expressionless, and Clara was secretly pleased.
What she didn't know was—the kid had gone numb from shock.
When Clara suggested heading to even bigger snake dens next, Adam threw away his stick on the third night in the mountains and declared:
"Auntie, I'm not scared anymore. Let's keep moving."
At this point, there was nothing else in him—just pure guts.
(End of Chapter)
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