Day Sixty-One: New Questions, New Discoveries (Part II) An Extra Chapter for Elastic and Old Zhao

“What’s this?” Staring at the fruit tree before me, I was utterly surprised!

“It’s actually a fruit I know well!” As the old saying goes, looking at plums quells thirst, but here I am, mouth watering! It’s not the fruit itself tempting me to eat, but at the very sight of it, I can almost taste it—waves of sourness spreading through my mouth.

Yes, I believe this is a lemon. To confirm my suspicion and avoid any confusion from similarity, I reached out and picked one. I sliced it open with my knife, raised it above my head, opened my mouth, and gave it a gentle squeeze. A few drops of juice fell into my mouth.

“Hiss!” The sourness penetrated my gums, making my teeth tingle—this is definitely it! Though the sensation in my mouth was uncomfortable, I was delighted, even exhilarated. Lemon is invaluable to me right now. The moment I saw it, I thought of honey lemon tea: sitting beneath the shade on a hot day, sipping honey lemon tea—a perfect remedy for the heat. Lemons are also excellent for removing fishy odors. When eating sea fish in the future, a few drops will make the smell vanish.

These lemons seem fully ripe, their skins all yellow. The lemon tree isn’t tall, about four meters or so. The trunk forks above the roots into three upward branches, making it especially easy for me to climb.

Its leaves are oval, somewhat curled—perhaps from the sun’s intensity. Previously, I hadn’t noticed it thanks to a few large trees nearby blocking my view. Had I discovered it earlier, I might have grown fonder of eating fish. But at least I have it now!

I roughly counted—about a hundred fruits hang on the tree, enough to last me a while. Yet, from past experience, I know fresh lemons don’t keep long—maybe one to two months at best, though I can’t quite recall. Still, I won’t eat lemons daily, so I only picked about twenty and placed them in my plastic basket. The rest I’ll gather as needed.

Today’s trip was truly worthwhile; such abundant harvest. Perhaps I should explore further—who knows what other foods await my picking…

With a cheerful heart, I returned to the treehouse, pouring the fruits and lemons onto the upper floor. The washed clothes, pressed beneath everything for so long, were wrinkled beyond recognition. I pulled them out, gave them a few vigorous shakes, and hung them in a spot exposed to direct sunlight.

I hadn’t explored the woods near the lemon tree yet, but ever since its discovery, greed and curiosity kept urging me to return, hoping to find more edible things.

Yet, I was reluctant. The woods are damp, likely teeming with snakes, and I fear leeches even more. The last time, the swarm of leeches nearly broke me. Even now, remembering it sends chills across my skin…

My stomach protested again—it was time to eat. Little Black lay lazily beneath the swing, watching me.

“Hey, dinner time!” I called out. I hadn’t realized food held such allure for him—he sprang up, tail wagging, and rushed over, making me burst out laughing as I patted his head.

“Don’t rush, I’ll cook now. Wait a bit.”

I hurried down to the lower floor of the treehouse to prepare a meal. I’d had enough dumplings lately and wanted something different. I cooked a pot of rice, and while waiting for it to cool, I steamed two smoked fish. Now, with lemons, I dared to try something new.

When the fish were ready, the rice had cooled. I scooped some of the lard I’d rendered onto the rice, adding a dash of soy sauce—a simple meal. This method was taught to me by a colleague, an uncle born in the seventies. He said that in his childhood, everything was rationed, and pork was scarce, so the tastiest treat was rice mixed with lard.

I’d only listened, never tried it myself—times had changed. But now, this old wisdom came in handy, prompting me to give it a go.

I cut the lemon in half, squeezing the juice evenly over the fish. Nervous, I picked up a piece of fish and tasted it. I hadn’t added salt—salt was precious, with only half a pack left. The strong lemon flavor could substitute for some salt.

Holding my breath, I chewed the fish, and to my surprise, it wasn’t nearly as unpalatable as I had imagined. There was nothing off-putting about it!

The fish was somewhat tough but fragrant—a subtle aroma amidst the dryness. The bouquet was complex and layered: the smokiness from the charcoal, the distinct scent of fruitwood, a hint of salty aroma from the sun-dried fish, and finally the unique tang of lemon.

These flavors, seemingly unrelated, merged perfectly. Upon chewing, they began to unravel, each strand stimulating my taste buds individually. This was not just delicious—it was an experience.

With eyes closed, I savored every morsel, trying to squeeze out every trace of flavor from the fish… If Little Black hadn’t suddenly risen and placed his forepaws on my waist, I might have stayed lost in that sensation.

Looking at his pitiful expression, I handed him a bowl of rice mixed with lard and soy sauce. He didn’t even sniff it, just buried his head and devoured it. Judging by his eagerness, it must have tasted good.

I was still doubtful—could such a simple dish really be so delicious? I suspected nostalgia was at play for that uncle from the seventies. It was greasy, paired with soy sauce, certainly filling, but I wasn’t convinced it was truly tasty.

But the meal was ready. A taste would tell. I scooped a spoonful of glossy, soy-colored rice. Perhaps it had been too long since I’d eaten animal fat—the aroma hit me before the rice did, and my stomach growled in anticipation. Maybe this kind of food, rich in animal fat, is now more tempting to me than anything else…

No longer restraining myself, I swallowed the spoonful in one bite. The flavor was utterly new to me, a stark contrast to the fish. The fish was explosive, dazzling my palate like fireworks, while the rice with lard could only be described as plain. There was no captivating aroma.

The taste was enveloped in pork fat—after a few chews, I sensed the salty fragrance of soy sauce and the faint sweetness of the rice starch, all mingling with the lard, sliding down my throat…

The uncle was right after all…