I don't know what this tree bark is called. After eating it in the morning, I felt that my stomach was not so uncomfortable around noon, and my dizziness had also improved a lot.

But I'm still very weak, probably because I haven't eaten anything. I sighed; I'm so poor overnight that I don't even have rice to cook.

Just then, I heard Top calling out from under the tree, so I quickly climbed out of the house and looked down.

At that moment, Top was holding a brightly colored pheasant in his hand, which looked to be a male pheasant.

Top grinned at me, held up the pheasant in his hand, and waved it at me, as if to show off.

That guy seemed to be saying, "Look, today I can hunt enough to feed you, kid."

I was a little surprised at how Top did it, but when I saw the pheasant in Top's hand not struggling much, but rather seeming quite affectionate, I knew what was going on.

These must be the pheasants I released. Top has always been in charge of raising these pheasants, so naturally they are not afraid of Top.

Surprisingly, they survived. It must be because the pheasants hadn't found much to eat these past few days, and having gotten used to eating big fish and meat, they came back again.

I don't know if it was because I saw the pheasant, but I felt like my mobility had improved.

Now, facing such a family member, I have a strong urge to light a fire for them to keep warm, and it would be even better if we could have dinner together.

I am still quite weak, but that won't stop me from seeing my family.

I still have some torches treated with nitrocellulose in my warehouse, which are quite good for starting a fire for me now.

I used all my strength to hold onto the ladder of the treehouse and get to the bottom of the tree. I picked up the torch that had been thrown down and slowly walked into my shed.

I smiled and took the pheasant from Top's hand, saying to him, "Top, go and get some wood. We'll make a fire today."

Top was very obedient and quickly brought the dry wood. I also used basalt to strike a spark on the back of my machete to start a torch, and then I built a fire.

Top and I sat around the fire, feeling a bit bored, so we roasted the pheasant as well.

I felt something was wrong with what I was doing, so I asked Top to bring the pot over. Now that we've finished this meal, what will we eat next?

So we boiled a big pot of water, chopped up the roasted pheasant, and put it in to bathe. Soon the soup turned a beautiful golden-orange color, emitting an enticing aroma.

I told Top to pick more wild vegetables to make a side dish for the broth. Top had done this kind of work with me countless times and was already very familiar with it.

It grabbed a bamboo basket and started picking wild vegetables in the garden. A little while later it ran back with another bamboo basket, this one for draining the vegetables after washing them – what a meticulous monkey!

The wild vegetables were washed and put into the pot soon, only two days had passed. But smelling the aroma emanating from the pot of chicken, I felt as if a long time had gone by.

Hunger is indeed the standard for judging delicious food.

I also discovered something else: those ants don't drink alcohol. It's probably because alcohol has a pungent smell, which is why my wines were all preserved intact and didn't suffer any harm.

But my body is probably not ready for alcohol right now, otherwise I would definitely have a few drinks after surviving this ordeal.

Top and I held our bowls, sipping our chicken soup. In this snowy winter, what could be more comforting than a bowl of chicken soup?

For the next three days, Top would go out and find some of that tree bark for me to eat every day. Surprisingly, the bark was quite effective, and my body gradually recovered.

By the fourth day, I was able to move around as freely as before.

Apart from the chicken we ate on the first day, we couldn't bear to kill any more chickens to eat. Lured by Top, the pheasants were caught again.

I put them back in the old chicken coop and gave them some bitter lettuce leaves to eat.

At first, these old men, who were used to being served big meals, refused to eat, but after going hungry for several meals, they obediently started eating.

I left the fresh sand beast bones in the snowdrift, and threw away the rest. As for the ants, I didn't plan to touch them either; escaping death isn't always such a lucky thing.

The days that followed felt like going back from the 21st century to the 1960s and 70s. Top and I could only fill our stomachs with wild vegetables and some grass roots every day.

The once arrogant and wealthy man never imagined that he would have to eat wild vegetables and dig up grass roots to survive this winter.

At this moment, the seed that had been planted in my heart began to stir again, and I started to think about whether I should move to another place to develop, since there wouldn't be any food to eat here for the next month or two.

Even the fish in the water, when I tried using a longline, wouldn't bite. It seems they won't take the bait until March or April when spring arrives.

It's not impossible to catch fish, but you need to go to a deeper part of the lake and use a long rope to lower it into the deeper water to have a chance of catching fish.

But after that experience, I'm now a little scared whenever I see a lake. I don't even want to go fishing in the deep part of the lake anymore. I'm afraid that if something like that happened again, I wouldn't have enough lives to play with.

Top and I are constantly hungry, and we feel like we're starving even when we sleep. The hungrier we are, the more intense that thought becomes.

Now I'm desperate to set off and find a suitable place again. I don't even know if I just want to find a place to stay, or if I want to find a shortcut to escape this place.

At this moment, the image of that large flock of swans and other migratory birds that flew to the lake in early winter comes to mind again. Are they really products of this world?

My doubts began to creep in. Their migration route was so far. It couldn't possibly be a product of this place. Perhaps I'm just on some mysterious land that hasn't been discovered by humans yet?

Just like when Columbus discovered the New World, he probably never imagined there would be such a large landmass here.

My suspicions were like the best fertilizer; they began to nourish my soul, instilling in me the world's hostility towards me.

Look at those deadly monsters, they almost killed me several times. If I continue like this, they will kill me sooner or later.

Look at those powerful ants; even with a gun, I can't do anything to them.

At this moment, I am deeply mired in a quagmire of thought, ignoring the friend who saved my life and the selfless gifts from my mother in the warehouse.

Right now, all I want to do is escape this place.