Rise of the Poor

Chapter 478: Survival on a Deserted Island (2)

After Zhu Ping’an had demonstrated first, Li Shu and the little maid with the round, bun-like face each plucked a red azalea from the slope. Imitating him carefully, they pinched out the stamens, lifted the blossom to their lips, and blew lightly on it as though performing some solemn ritual. They hesitated for the briefest moment—exchanging a glance that mingled doubt and curiosity—before finally placing the petals into their mouths.The azalea carried almost no fragrance when held beneath the nose, only the faint, clean scent of fresh greenery. Yet the moment it touched the tongue, a gentle sweetness tinged with a hint of tartness spread quietly across their taste buds, subtle but refreshing, like a whisper of spring rain dissolving into warm earth.

“It really is edible!”

After chewing and swallowing her first blossom, the little bun-faced maid’s eyes lit up as if someone had kindled two bright lanterns within them. Delight replaced hesitation at once. Without waiting another breath, she eagerly reached out and plucked a second flower, deftly removing the stamen just as before, and popped it into her mouth with childlike excitement.

Li Shu, however, did not take another bite. Instead, she stood still and gazed at the slope before her, where clusters upon clusters of azaleas bloomed in riotous profusion, their crimson petals blazing against the green like scattered embers. She narrowed her eyes slightly, as though savoring not the taste but the sight, and said from the depths of her heart, softly and sincerely, “These flowers are truly beautiful.”

Azaleas… so this is what azaleas look like.

A line of poetry drifted faintly through her mind: “Zhuang Zhou dreamed he was a butterfly; the longing of the Emperor was entrusted to the cuckoo.” She could not remember whose handwritten notes she had once read those words in—perhaps some ancient scholar’s travel journal—but she distinctly recalled one passage. It claimed that the azalea’s proverb was this: when the mountains are blanketed in blooming azaleas, it is the hour when the god of love descends upon the world.

Now the hillside was awash in their blossoms.

Had the god of love descended?

Remove AdsAt the thought, Li Shu’s gaze shifted quietly toward Zhu Ping’an. And what she saw at that precise moment nearly made her choke on her own sentiment. That block of wood—utterly insensitive to romance—was bent over among the flowers, his rear sticking up like a pig rooting in a vegetable patch, plucking blossoms with pragmatic efficiency. By the time she finished staring, he had gathered more than thirty flowers, bundling them up in the fold of his robe.

Blockhead!

Li Shu rolled her eyes inwardly, both exasperated and faintly amused.

After finishing his harvest, Zhu Ping’an tied the azaleas securely in his clothing and led Li Shu and the little maid deeper into the island. These blossoms, after all, were emergency rations. With food in hand, the heart remained steady—no matter how little, it was better than nothing. At the very least, these azaleas were edible; they might not fill the belly, but they would stave off hunger for a time.

“Sir, where are we going?” the little bun-faced maid asked, trotting behind him along the uneven path, her round face lifted with innocent curiosity.

“To look for food and a place to stay,” Zhu Ping’an replied calmly. On an isolated island such as this, the two most urgent matters were sustenance and shelter. Without either, survival would be impossible.

“I looked earlier and couldn’t find anything to eat,” the maid added doubtfully.

Zhu Ping’an simply lifted the bundle of azaleas in his robe and gave it a light shake, smiling without a word. The meaning was obvious.

The little maid’s cheeks flushed at once. Just moments ago she had declared there was no food, yet the young master had found edible flowers right before her eyes. It was not that there was nothing to eat—it was that she lacked the eyes to recognize it. Realizing this, she lowered her head shyly.

“Nature is generous,” Zhu Ping’an said gently, offering comfort. “This island is lush and green. It must be hiding many gifts of the wild. You two have lived indoors all your lives—it’s only natural you wouldn’t know these things. When I was young, I often followed my father and elder brother into the mountains. I’m somewhat familiar with forests.”

Once they reached higher ground, Zhu Ping’an paused and surveyed the surroundings carefully. After a thoughtful moment, he chose a direction and led them onward.

His wilderness survival skills were far superior to those of Li Shu and the little maid. In his previous life, he had watched countless episodes of survival programs—especially those featuring Bear Grylls—and had absorbed a fair amount of theoretical knowledge. Since arriving in the Ming dynasty, he had followed Father Zhu and his elder brother into the mountains repeatedly, gaining practical experience and sharpening his hands-on abilities. Thus, faced with this lonely island, he possessed at least a measure of confidence.

From his vantage point moments earlier, he had noticed that in one direction the forest appeared markedly taller and denser than elsewhere.

Generally speaking, valleys foster streams, and where water runs, vegetation thrives. The lushness suggested abundant moisture. That curved line of taller forest—arching faintly like an S—might well mark the course of a stream hidden beneath the canopy.

To survive on this island, fresh water was indispensable. Though seawater surrounded them on all sides, its salinity far exceeded that of human blood. Drinking it would only accelerate dehydration and perhaps lead to death. Moreover, seawater contained various minerals harmful in excess. Under their current conditions, distillation was impossible.

Therefore, finding fresh water was paramount.

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As he walked, Zhu Ping’an could not help but feel as though he had stepped into the pages of Robinson Crusoe. Yet unlike Robinson, he was not alone—he had two young women beside him. Happiness, after all, was born of comparison. The thought drew a faint smile to his lips.

“Hey, what are you smiling about?” Li Shu demanded, catching sight of his expression and rolling her eyes again.

“If luck is with us,” Zhu Ping’an said smoothly—careful not to reveal his earlier comparison—“we may soon find water.” He seized the opportunity to bolster their spirits.

“Water? I walked quite far earlier and didn’t see any,” the little maid said, shaking her head skeptically. “You only glanced once—how can you be so sure? There’s nothing ahead but grass and trees. Did you actually see water?”

Li Shu shared the doubt. She too had looked earlier; aside from flowers and trees, nothing suggested water. How could he choose a direction after one glance and speak with such certainty?

“In that direction,” Zhu Ping’an explained confidently, pointing ahead, “there’s a curved stretch of forest taller and denser than the rest. Trees flourish best where water is plentiful. A winding line like that often traces a stream.”

Li Shu followed his gaze. Indeed, she now noticed the difference—a conspicuous S-shaped band of forest rising several heads taller than the surrounding growth. Though she knew little of geography, simple reasoning sufficed. The more she considered his words, the more plausible they seemed. Her eyes brightened.

Water would be wonderful. Her throat was parched.

The little maid still puzzled over how a curved forest equaled a stream… but since both her young master and her mistress believed it, she decided it must be so. Her eyes lit up as well.

Zhu Ping’an led them toward the curved forest. In truth, he was not entirely certain a stream lay there. The height difference could just as easily be terrain—perhaps merely an S-shaped slope. But he would not voice such doubts. The two women had only just regained hope; he would not douse it with cold water.

The island was large. What appeared near from afar proved distant underfoot.

After some distance, Li Shu’s steps grew unsteady. Having regained strength from the azaleas, Zhu Ping’an broke off two sturdy branches and fashioned simple walking sticks. He handed one to Li Shu and one to the little maid, explaining that they would conserve energy and provide stability.

For himself, he snapped another thicker branch to serve as a crude weapon—just in case some unwary beast lurked in the undergrowth.

Before reaching the forest, he noticed beneath a tree a cluster of grass about sixty centimeters tall, its serrated leaves covered in fine white fuzz, the blades shaped like wolf’s fangs. His eyes brightened.

Wolf’s-tooth grass.

Remove AdsAs a child, when sharp stones had cut his arm, Father Zhu had gathered this very plant and applied it to the wound. The bleeding had stopped swiftly, the effect remarkable.

Li Shu’s wrist bore a deep gash; even now, blood seeped faintly through the bandage. With this herb, Zhu Ping’an felt far more at ease.

“This is wolf’s-tooth grass. It’s excellent for stopping bleeding. In a few days, your hand will be much better.”

Ignoring the way the serrated leaves scratched his own fingers, he plucked a stem with leaves attached and placed it in his mouth, chewing until it became a green pulp. He then carefully applied the mash to Li Shu’s wound before rewrapping her wrist with gentle precision.

“So disgusting. It has your saliva on it,” Li Shu muttered, lips pursed in exaggerated disdain.

Yet as she spoke, a faint smile bloomed quietly across her face, soft and luminous as the azaleas upon the hill.