Day Fifty-Five: Exquisite Cuisine (Part Two)

It charged toward me like a sharp blade, and the crude wooden spear in my right hand was poised and ready. But as I thrust it diagonally at its belly, whether it saw me or sensed danger, it suddenly whipped its tail and veered aside. The spear missed and plunged into the sand and gravel below, making me momentarily lose focus as I quickly pulled it out.

In that brief instant, the lemon-colored shark turned and swam away again. “Could it be that sharks retreat after a failed strike?” I wondered, touching my head. At least I was safe; I had no interest in tangling with it any further.

Near the shallows were plenty of shells and mollusks, and I soon gathered many, some resembling sea conch. Tonight, I could open a bottle of drink, fry a plate of snails, and gaze at the moon—a reward for myself.

The idea was so tempting that I couldn’t refuse it, not even to myself! Yes, it was settled. That decision swept away my previous gloom, lighting a fire in my heart.

But the ingredients weren’t enough yet; I needed to find more food. Bird eggs, yes!

There were many in the woods, but perhaps because I’d visited several times, most of the low nests were empty. After searching nearby, I found only six eggs—not nearly enough. Today, I needed at least twenty.

These eggs proved harder to find. Before reaching this spot, I’d found only three, but the densest part of the forest yielded more than thirty. Birds were everywhere in this area; as I approached, they burst into flight, the scene spectacular, and I could feel the wind from their beating wings.

“What’s this?” I spotted a heap of small fish-like creatures lying on the muddy sand nearby, their bodies in the water but their heads at the shore.

“Could they be mudskippers?” I’d seen mudskippers as a child, caught many along the tributaries of the Yangtze, but they were freshwater and much smaller than these.

These looked as thick as my index finger and as long as my pinky. I remembered the fish soup made from sea mudskippers during a company trip—its delicious flavor still vivid in my mind.

Soon, my presence scared them away, but it didn’t matter. I was excited, certain they were mudskippers from the sea! That meant, if I could catch them, I’d have an amazingly tasty meal.

Even before catching them, my mouth was watering. “Forget it, no more thinking,” I rubbed my eyes and looked again—the mudskippers hadn’t gone far, settling just a few meters away, quietly lying on the shore.

Opportunity!

I didn’t want to miss this gift from nature. As for catching them, I had my own method, one I’d often used as a child.

I found a slender branch, just under a meter long. After stripping off its leaves, I had my mudskipper-catching tool ready.

Catching mudskippers requires care—any noise and they’ll flee into the water or their burrows. I’d seen them dig before; it was amusing. Without limbs, only fins, they lay on the shore. They dug with their mouths, sucking up dirt and spitting it out, repeating the process until their burrow was finished.

Back then, I could judge whether a mudskipper was inside by the soil at the holes along the riverbank. But with water quality changing so quickly, freshwater mudskippers are now rare. I haven’t seen them by the riverside in ages.

Crouching low, I approached the mudskippers from the side, branch raised in my hand. I moved as slowly and silently as possible, inching toward them.

“One more step, just one,” I judged silently. I was close enough, but a bit nearer would give me greater certainty.

“Perfect!” I’d reached the ideal spot, congratulated myself silently. The mudskippers hadn’t noticed me; they were resting in the shade of leaves, avoiding the midday sun.

I adjusted my branch’s angle. I had only one chance—waste it, and they’d hide or flee farther away.

Everything was ready. I stared at the mudskippers, then swung the branch down with force, sending a rush of wind.

“Crack!” The branch smacked the ground in the next second. The mudskippers scattered, darting into the sea in a blink.

“Haha, not bad!” I laughed aloud, delighted. I’d caught eight mudskippers in one sweep, though my goal had been only three. Perhaps because they were so densely packed, six were struck together.

Two seemed dead, motionless, but the others were merely rolling around, still alive—I had to gather them quickly.

Though each was only as long as my index finger, for me, they were giant mudskippers. If I could catch ten more, I’d be more than satisfied.

With so many here, the denser woods ahead surely held more.

And indeed, my guess proved right. In the thick forest ahead, mudskippers were even more abundant. Along twenty meters of coastline, they covered the shore.

I was startled by their numbers. While I don’t suffer from trypophobia, such a mass was unexpected—there must be thousands!

But the thought excited me. With so many, I could return often to catch them, and enjoy delicious, tender, boneless mudskipper soup!

A slaughter began…

…

“Yes, that’s enough!” I stopped, looking at the heap of mudskippers beside me.

One, two, three… thirty-nine!

So many! In just an hour, I’d gathered this trove of delicacies.

Tonight’s dinner would be more perfect than ever!