Day Seventy-Nine: Still Straw Sandals? (Part Two) An Additional Chapter by Bu Shangzhizheng

There were quite a few issues. The shoes made from these bottles were not breathable; wearing them made the feet heat up easily, and the soles tended to sweat. After sweating, the feet became slippery. But these were minor problems—not critical, and they didn’t entirely impede use.

However, one issue, if left unresolved, could cause real trouble. Luckily, I had tried on the shoes for a lengthy period and discovered it: the vines used to bind the shoes were too thin. At first, when the slender vines were tied across the instep, there was no discomfort. But once the soles began to sweat, the problem became severe.

The entire top of the foot ached horribly—not just because the vines were tied too tightly, but because as the feet sweated, walking caused a slipping sensation, making the delicate vines dig painfully into the skin.

I had to try replacing the vines with thicker ones. Of course, the first step was to enlarge the holes in the shoes so the thicker vines could pass through.

It took nearly half an hour to enlarge all the holes. After threading the thicker vines in a crisscross pattern, I immediately tested them again.

After ten minutes of walking, the thicker vines—doubled in size—finally worked. Although there was still some slipperiness, the pain on the instep was gone. That was enough; one couldn’t expect too much from such makeshift footwear—it was only temporary, after all.

As long as I spent more time by the sea, I could always find shoes, right?

By then, Lightning was howling with hunger. I made a cup of honey water to quiet him down.

In good spirits from the success with the shoes, I wasn’t impatient even though Lightning drank slowly.

After feeding him, I immediately finished making the second shoe. Finally, there was another pair to wear.

…

Unfortunately, one piece of wild boar meat, left too far from the fire, wasn’t properly roasted and had begun to spoil—such a pity. Just moments ago, when I tried to sun-dry the meat, the foul smell nearly overwhelmed me.

Looking closely, it was clear the piece was too far from the fire to cook properly. Fortunately, the rest of the meat was fine. There wasn’t much pork fat, especially the subcutaneous fat cut from the skin—less than a bowlful. But there was quite a bit of fat around the innards.

After moving the pork and grains outside, I began rendering the fat. The last batch wasn’t finished yet, but pork fat keeps a long time; how long exactly, I wasn’t sure, but several months was certain.

From a whole pot of fat, I rendered more than half a pot of lard. The basin still had some use, but couldn’t hold the lard, so I divided it into several large rice bowls.

While I wasn’t paying attention, Blackie sneakily licked some of the lard... Luckily, it was cooled and solidified, or I wouldn’t guarantee the safety of his tongue.

Unless he was absent, Blackie always showed up whenever I cooked—drawn by the scent of food.

I had seen Blackie this morning devour a bone he had buried under the swing yesterday. Now, he was so hungry he even stole lard—astonishing. Perhaps, like a child, he simply craved something tasty.

Just as I was about to shoo him away, I noticed his ears perk up sharply. His eyes fixed on the door, then he dashed outside.

That startled me. Could wild boars be back? I followed quickly, only to find no sign of any animal—not a single shadow.

Had Blackie fooled me? Was he playing tricks? Soon, his figure vanished beyond the fence, moving at great speed, and he barked twice.

That rascal! So he had just wanted to go out and play.

I returned to the lower level of the treehouse, putting the bowls of lard on the table to cool and solidify.

“Wait!” A sudden uneasy thought struck me. Blackie’s expression and posture when he dashed out were unusual. His ears perked and body straightened—signs usually seen before hunting or when sensing danger.

But his demeanor just now didn’t look like he intended to hunt. It seemed more like he was alert to an approaching threat... or a familiar danger.

After all, Blackie had once come home late, as if captured or trapped. Could it be he sensed them again?

“No, I must go check.” The thought was impossible to suppress. I had to find Blackie immediately. If my fears were correct, he was in grave danger.

With that, I rushed out of the yard. I only knew the direction Blackie went at first; beyond that, whether he changed course was unknown. I only knew that if I didn’t catch up soon, he might be in peril.

I heard him—on the right, definitely on the right. Wearing these shoes wasn’t ideal for running; I couldn’t move fast. If a wild boar chased me now, it might catch me in seconds.

Still, Blackie’s bark was strong and full of spirit, tinged with anger—at least it wasn’t a scream of pain.

I considered discarding my shoes several times along the way, but walking barefoot in this forest was too risky. Better to keep them on. I shook my head.

Blackie’s bark hadn’t sounded for a full minute now. I worried I might be too late to help if danger had already found him.

Luckily, just as the thought crossed my mind, his bark came again. I wanted to shout loudly to guide him to me; after all, now I could protect him.

But I feared others might be on the island—perhaps the very ones who had captured him before.

When I finally met Blackie face to face, I realized I had overthought it.

He really was hunting. Upon seeing me, he performed the classic hunting ritual: offering, seeking praise, and asking for food.

He had caught a rabbit. Despite having so much pork at home, he had gone after a rabbit—Blackie never ceased to surprise me.

After dropping the rabbit at my feet, he rubbed his head against my leg, begging for encouragement.

Of course, I happily obliged, stroking his head and speaking softly. He quickly ran several circles around me, clearly pleased.

Then he looked longingly at the rabbit and back at me—as if he were a clever child.

His wish was simple: he loved roasted rabbit legs the most. So I decided to roast some for dinner.

Lately, my mind had been restless, entertaining all sorts of wild thoughts—things I would never have considered before.

Passing the stream, I took a moment to prepare the rabbit, only to find Blackie had vanished again…