Fortunately, it's not too late yet, so it shouldn't take long for Top and me to get there together.

However, I was soon defeated by my naive idea.

Top and I walked towards the woods east of the lake for nearly half an hour without seeing any sugarcane. As darkness fell, and this area led directly towards the mountains to the east...

Thinking of this, the nightmare of the white tiger attacking him resurfaced in his mind.

I started to have second thoughts; coming into this dense forest at this time was really not a wise choice.

But the temptation of sugarcane is too great. If I wait until tomorrow, without sugarcane as a reference, Top might not immediately realize what I'm trying to express.

Fortunately, after walking for a few more minutes, I saw a large patch of wild sugarcane in a depression in the mountains.

These sugarcane stalks, which are as tall as a person, are only the size of a thumb, but they are genuine sugarcane. With these things, I can make my life better.

Just then, Top was about to go into the sugarcane grove to bite off a couple more sugarcane stalks, but I quickly called out to him, indicating that we had to go back first.

Top looked a little confused, but it still obeyed me and immediately ran back.

As darkness fell, and I realized I hadn't brought a torch, I knew I didn't want to have a close encounter with wild animals out hunting in this dangerous jungle.

Along the way, Top moved through the branches in front of me, clearing a path. The occasional cries of night birds made me tense again, and my hand gripped the wooden spear until it was sweaty.

“Top, come down to my shoulder,” I called, and Top came down from the tree.

At this moment, I recalled the nightmare I had before. I dared not take any risks. I was like someone who saw a snake in a cup, and now I felt suspicious about any shadow I saw.

The monkey obediently jumped onto my shoulder and perched there, but its ears remained perked up, listening intently to the sounds coming from the jungle.

I practically ran the whole way, not daring to stop and rest for a moment. By the time we got back to the shed I had set up, it was completely dark.

I skillfully took out the tools for starting a fire, and after fiddling with them for a while, as bright flames leaped up and ignited the pile of firewood, my wildly beating heart gradually calmed down.

I was too reckless today, at that time. If a large wild animal came out of the mountains, my chances of winning were almost zero, and even if I were lucky enough to escape with my life, I would pay a heavy price.

This must never be done again.

I am not grateful for my safe return. In the wilderness, such wishful thinking should not exist even a little bit and should be completely eradicated the moment it arises!

Holding onto wishful thinking, once you've had a chance, you'll want to do it again. Maybe you'll get away with it the first time, but you might not get a second chance.

In the vast wilderness, there are too many ways to die to count on two hands.

A new day begins, and today I plan to test the kiln I made.

Early in the morning, after eating something, I started putting the processed pine firewood into the kiln one by one.

There aren't any strict rules here, as long as the lid is on. I placed them upright, which makes it easier to take out the charcoal later.

After working for most of the day, the kiln was finally filled with firewood. I put the large lid on top, and the preparation for this sealed kiln was complete.

I started a fire in the firebox below. The pine needles were very effective at starting the fire, and soon the temperature inside the firebox became scorching hot. I could feel the heat even from a distance.

At this point, you can hear the wood in the kiln hissing. The wood that is not yet completely dry begins to release moisture under the scorching heat.

The process of burning charcoal is quite time-consuming, so I sat by the stove the whole time, not daring to leave for even a moment.

This work continued for more than five hours, and thick smoke began to billow from the wood. After being collected by the gas pipe, the smoke returned to the firebox.

At this point, there is no need to add firewood to the furnace; the furnace can simply use its own fuel gas to continue refining the wood in the kiln.

These gases are similar to liquefied natural gas; they will continue to burn until the wood inside is completely charred and no longer produces smoke.

This method reminds me of a poem by Cao Zhi: "The stalks burn beneath the pot, the beans weep within. We are born of the same root, why are you so eager to harm us?"

The kiln took this theory to its extreme, making the most of everything.

I waited for about another hour, and by then the flammable gas that was spewing out had obviously become much smaller, with only a small wisp of flame flickering in the firebox.

I lay on the ground and looked up along the furnace bridge. I could see that the wood below was completely red, indicating that it had been successfully carbonized.

I gathered some tree bark and banana leaves and quickly sealed the last fire inlet with mud. This made the entire kiln a completely sealed space, and we could open it and take out the charcoal after a while.

While the charcoal fire was still cooling down, I picked up my basket and went back to the lake to retrieve the longline fishing rods I had set out.

This time, the catch was only ten fish, significantly fewer than before. It seems my suspicions were correct; even with a large number of fish, their feeding enthusiasm is affected by rising temperatures.

Fortunately, I've been quite diligent these past few days, going to the lake every day to collect the fish.

Now my granary is full of fish, filling three large baskets, more than the wild boar jerky I had before. It's enough to last me a month or two.

I dug up some wild vegetables nearby, and that'll be my meal for today. But today I think I can try cooking with some new things, like charcoal.

When I returned to the shed, about two and a half hours had passed. I felt that the time was about right, so I wrapped the still-hot lid with leaves and opened the kiln.

All that could be seen was complete darkness; not a single spark could be seen. The charcoal inside remained standing quietly in the kiln, and for now, there seemed to be no problem.

You'll only know if it's a mule or a horse when you take it out for a spin.

Testing the quality of charcoal is simple. I took out two pieces of charcoal with slightly whitish surfaces and then struck the two pieces together forcefully.

Suddenly, a metallic clanging sound rang out, and the two pieces of charcoal broke into four sections, all of which were jet black and shiny.

Looking at the charcoal I had personally produced in my hand, I was overjoyed. This charcoal was well-made; it was good charcoal!

Now that I have this charcoal, I can implement the next step of the plan tomorrow and use this charcoal to smelt the copper as well!