The first snow fell on the morning of their twenty-eighth hunt.
Marcus and Mei had been positioned at the ravine for three hours, watching the grey dawn light gradually reveal a world transformed. The stream still flowed, not yet frozen, but the banks were crusted with ice. The trees stood skeletal against the heavy sky, their branches dark and bare.
No game came.
They waited another hour, both of them knowing it was futile but unwilling to admit defeat. Finally, as the snow began to fall harder, they packed up and headed back.
Empty-handed. Again.
Their success rate over the past month had plummeted. Twelve hunts in the last two weeks, zero kills. The game had moved—down the mountains to lower elevations, deeper into the forest to find remaining food sources, or simply bedded down to conserve energy as winter approached.
The forest was emptying, and there was nothing Marcus could do about it.
"That's it then," Mei said quietly as they walked back through the falling snow. "Hunting season is over."
Marcus wanted to argue, to insist they just needed to adapt their strategy, find new locations, adjust their timing. But the numbers didn't lie. The game was gone. Even if they found prey, the risk of hunting in snow and ice—the reduced visibility, the treacherous footing, the deadly cold of waiting for hours in the elements—outweighed the minimal chance of success.
"Yes," he admitted. "It's over."
They returned home to find their family already awake and working despite the early hour. Bao was helping their father repair the roof, stuffing gaps with mud and straw to seal against the coming cold. Their mother worked at the hearth, carefully rationing their stored grain.
The hunting had made a difference. Marcus could see it in the way his family moved—Bao had grown taller, his stick-thin limbs filled out slightly. Mei's face had lost its hollow-cheeked gauntness. Even their mother stood a bit straighter, the constant exhaustion eased by having full meals.
Their father's assessment had been characteristically direct two weeks ago: "You've bought us breathing room. Maybe enough to make it through winter without losing anyone."
Maybe. Not certainly. Just maybe.
The smoked meat hung in the storage area, carefully wrapped and protected. Marcus had calculated it obsessively—roughly 180 kilograms total from their successful hunts over five weeks. Divided among five people over approximately four months of winter, that was about 9 kilograms per person per month. Supplemented with their grain stores and preserved vegetables, it would keep them alive.
If nothing went wrong. If no one got sick. If the winter was average rather than harsh.
A lot of ifs.
The new clothes helped too. Their mother had worked miracles with the pig hides, turning them into a warm jacket for Bao, new boots for their father, patches for everyone's worn clothing. The village had taken notice—several families had approached offering to trade grain or copper for similar work, and Lin Shu had quietly accepted a few commissions.
Small advantages. But winter was a grinding opponent that consumed advantages and demanded more.
Marcus sat by the hearth that evening, watching the fire and feeling a familiar restlessness building. Hunting was over. Farm work was over—the fields lay frozen and dormant. There was nothing to do except wait and ration and hope the supplies lasted.
His mind rebelled against passivity.
There had to be something. Some way to contribute, to improve their odds, to not just sit idle while winter slowly depleted their reserves.
But what?
He didn't know how to smith like Zhang Kun. Couldn't weave like the village's cloth-makers. Had no skill in pottery or carpentry beyond the most basic repairs. Chen Liang's memories provided context for these trades but not the practical expertise.
Marcus closed his eyes and let his mind work through the problem systematically, the way he'd analyzed hunting scenarios.
Available resources: his enhanced memory, his analytical capabilities, his knowledge from a previous life. Two lifetimes of information, though much of Marcus's modern knowledge was useless in a world without electricity, running water, or industrial materials.
Constraints: limited materials, limited tools, limited time before deep winter made outdoor work impossible. No money to purchase supplies or equipment. No formal education in trades.
Goal: find a way to generate value for the family. Food, clothing, tools, trade goods, or services that could be exchanged for necessities.
What did he know that others here didn't?
Marcus's mind cycled through his previous life. Accounting—useless in a village where most people couldn't read. Computer skills—laughable in a world without computers. His half-remembered university courses in economics and statistics—interesting but impractical.
What about basic science? Chemistry, physics, biology? He'd taken general courses, retained the broad concepts even if the specific equations had faded. But what could you do with theoretical knowledge and no laboratory, no refined materials, no measurement tools?
The fire crackled, and Marcus watched the flames dance. Combustion. Oxidation. Heat transfer. Basic concepts he understood but had never needed to apply practically.
His uncle had taught him hunting, but what else? Wilderness survival skills, some of which he'd already applied. Basic first aid—potentially useful but not immediately valuable unless someone got injured. Navigation using stars and terrain features—helpful but everyone here already knew their local area.
Marcus's fingers drummed against his leg as his mind continued spinning. There had to be something. Some piece of knowledge, some insight, some application that could translate into survival advantage.
"You're thinking too hard again."
His mother's voice pulled him from his thoughts. She'd finished her evening work and was settling near the hearth with her mending, her hands never idle.
"Just trying to figure out what to do now that hunting season is over," Marcus admitted.
"Rest. Recover. We've pushed hard for over a month." She threaded her needle with practiced ease. "Your body needs time to heal properly. That leg wound never quite settled."
The tusk wound on his calf had healed, but she was right—it still pulled sometimes when he walked, the scar tissue tight and uncomfortable. A reminder of overconfidence and luck.
"Resting feels like wasting time."
"Then help your father with repairs. Help me with the tanning—I've got three more hides to process from the village commissions. Help Bao with his chores so he's not so exhausted every night." Lin Shu glanced up at him. "There's always work, Liang. It doesn't have to be dramatic to matter."
She was right, of course. Practical, immediate work that contributed to household function. But Marcus's mind craved problems that required analysis, optimization, innovation. The routine maintenance of survival felt like treading water when he wanted to be swimming.
Still, if that was what was available...
"I'll help with the hides," he said. "Teach me the full process. Maybe I can speed it up or improve the quality."
His mother smiled slightly. "Everything is a project with you. Can't just do something—have to perfect it."
"Is that wrong?"
"No. Just exhausting to watch sometimes." She returned her attention to her mending. "Tomorrow then. I'll show you how to properly scrape and cure. It's tedious work, but important."
Marcus nodded, already thinking about the chemistry involved. Tanning was essentially preventing decay through chemical treatment, altering the protein structure of the hide. The village used simple methods—scraping, soaking in various solutions, drying. But were there improvements possible with better understanding of the underlying processes?
Maybe. Another problem to analyze.
His father and Bao came in from their work, both of them dusted with snow and smelling of mud and straw. Mei followed shortly after, having helped a neighbor family with something Marcus hadn't caught the details of.
They gathered around the fire for the evening meal—rice porridge supplemented with a small portion of smoked meat and preserved vegetables. Not luxurious, but filling. More than many families in the village had.
As they ate, Marcus found himself studying each family member with his enhanced observation skills. His father's hands, scarred and callused but steady. His mother's face, worn but determined. Mei's sharp eyes, constantly alert. Bao's growing frame, still young but gaining the height and breadth that suggested he'd be strong like their father.
Chen Liang's family. Strangers he'd been inserted into, borrowed relationships from a borrowed life.
But also, undeniably, his family now. People he'd hunted for, risked for, worried about through a month of dangerous work. The emotional detachment he'd maintained early on had eroded, worn away by shared meals and shared dangers and the simple accumulated time of living together.
When had that happened? When had these strangers' survival become something he genuinely cared about rather than just a means of ensuring his own?
Marcus wasn't sure. But looking at them now, he felt something that might have been protectiveness, or affection, or maybe just the recognition that their fates were thoroughly intertwined.
"Liang?"
He blinked, realizing his sister was watching him with concern.
"You're doing it again," Mei said. "That thing where you stare at nothing and think too loud."
"Sorry. Just... thinking about winter."
"We'll make it," his father said with quiet certainty. "We've got more than most families. Good stores, warm clothes, no one seriously ill. If we're careful and lucky, we'll see spring."
If. Always if.
But Chen Wei was right—they had advantages many didn't. The hunting had worked. The preparation had mattered. They'd improved their odds measurably.
Now they just had to survive the season on what they'd already accomplished.
And Marcus... Marcus needed to find something useful to do before his restless mind drove him to attempt something stupid in the name of productivity.
Later that night, as his family slept around him, Marcus lay awake and continued thinking. His mind wouldn't quiet, couldn't stop cycling through problems and solutions and possibilities.
What could he do that would matter? What knowledge could he apply? What advantages did he actually have in this world?
Perfect memory. Enhanced perception. Analytical thinking. The ability to process multiple streams of information simultaneously. Practical hunting skills. Basic modern understanding of science, mathematics, economics.
And four months of winter ahead to figure out how any of that translated into survival advantage.
The wind howled outside, rattling the walls. Snow was accumulating. The cold was deepening. Winter was here, and hunting season was over.
But Marcus's mind kept working, kept planning, kept searching for the next problem to solve.
Because sitting idle while winter ground away at their supplies felt like dying in slow motion.
And he'd already died once. He had no intention of doing it again, even slowly.
There had to be something. Some application of knowledge, some innovation, some way forward he hadn't seen yet.
He just needed to find it.
Marcus closed his eyes and let his mind spin through possibilities, knowing sleep was hours away but accepting the restlessness as the price of the way his brain worked now.
Tomorrow he'd learn tanning. Maybe find efficiencies there. Maybe not.
But he'd keep looking, keep analyzing, keep pushing.
Because that was all he knew how to do.
Winter was here. And somehow, they would survive it.