Chapter 112: The Royal Fully Automated Hunting System

Second Brother raised a bowl of wine and drank it in one gulp, his excitement palpable. “I took out the sharpened sticks and other tools for digging ginseng from the pack and began prying open the patch and extracting the ginseng roots. First, you open the patch. Based on the growth and environment of the mountain ginseng, you decide on the method of harvesting. This is the master skill of the leader.”

“While others built fires upwind to smoke away mosquitoes and deter wild beasts, Chuba Lang stood beside me, fanning with a branch to keep the insects at bay, and always ready to light a cigarette.”

“I crafted six-inch-long sticks from polished deer antler—hard, smooth, water-resistant, and mold-proof. They don’t carry mildew and won’t cause the ginseng to rot even if accidentally scratched.”

“You must ensure every fibrous root remains intact. If you break a single root hair, the ginseng loses its vitality and won’t fetch a good price no matter what. We spent a full three and a half hours. I heard once there was a seedling called ‘Six-Leaf King,’ and they worked on it for a whole day and night!”

“We found one weighing fifteen qian, seventy-six centimeters long, at least eighty years old. All the brothers were overjoyed. We quickly gathered a large piece of red pine bark, lined it with fresh moss, and laid the ginseng gently on the moss as if tucking it into bed.”

“Then we scooped up some ‘leaving mother earth’ soil from the ginseng’s pit and covered it on top, so the ginseng wouldn’t feel homesick and would willingly leave the great forest. I personally wrapped it in red cloth, like putting a bridal veil on a ginseng maiden who had cultivated in the mountain for a hundred years, happily setting out to find the destined person in the mortal world.”

Finishing his tale, he looked intently at Zhuang Chen, his voice laden with feeling. “You’re fated to meet this treasure from a thousand miles away. Remember, treat it well!”

Zhuang Chen nodded and resolved to keep it carefully; it might prove invaluable in a critical moment. Second Brother wiped his face with his hand and laughed. “Before heading down the mountain, we selected an old pine tree near the ginseng pit, peeled off its bark, and chopped out a block. We marked the number of people who carried it out and the size of the ginseng, calling this the ‘cutting omen.’”

“We happily descended the mountain with four horses carrying flowers on their branches, five horses bearing flags, six horses building a temple, burning incense to honor the old leader Sun Liang, giving thanks for protection. The brothers returned safe and sound, none lost on the treacherous Mada Mountain, and we brought back a large haul of ginseng, celebrating for three days.”

“The money from selling the ginseng was evenly divided among all the brothers—blessings shared, hardships endured together. Next month, we’ll head back up the mountain, hoping for a good harvest!”

Later, Zhuang Chen learned that a one-year-old ginseng consists of three small leaves, commonly called “Three Flowers”; a two-year-old has five small leaves arranged like a human hand, called “Horse Hoof”; a three-year-old has two branches, each with five leaves, called “Double Sixty”; a four-year-old has three branches, known as “Candlestick.”

A five-year-old has four branches, called “Four-Grade Leaf”; a six-year-old has five branches, “Five-Grade Leaf”; and a six-palm compound leaf is called “Six-Grade Leaf.” Once ginseng reaches six-grade leaves, it stops growing leaves—a rare treasure of the earth, hard to find even in a hundred years.

Why is it called “stick”? Some say Changbai Mountain was a forbidden land for the Qing royal family, off-limits to commoners for ginseng harvesting, punishable by death and annihilation of the clan. To evade government detection, harvesters called the ginseng “stick” to avoid risk.

Others say “stick” is a nickname for the ginseng. Since ginseng has legs and can run, shouting its nickname makes it stop running.

Satisfied, Zhuang Chen stored the five-grade leaf ginseng carefully, while the others were soaked in wine, drinking a cup daily to replenish qi and blood and prolong life.

Second Brother was delighted to have found a good home for the “stick.” Grasping Zhuang Chen’s hand warmly, he said, “Little brother, you’re a man of integrity. This friend is worth keeping! Traveling all this way isn’t easy; don’t leave this afternoon—I’ll take you to see something amazing!”

After feasting and resting on the warm kang bed, waiting for Second Brother to sober up, they descended the mountain and came to a village courtyard. Second Brother called out loudly, “Old Huang, are you home?”

“What’s all the shouting about?” An elderly man in his early fifties appeared, alert and vigorous, especially his eyes, which shone brightly.

Second Brother pushed open the gate and smiled, “Some friends came down from the mountain; I brought them here to see something.”

Old Huang glanced at Zhuang Chen and snorted, “Hmph, come in then. You’re just looking for trouble!”

Second Brother gave Zhuang Chen a knowing look. Zhuang Chen nodded; every folk expert has a temper. The more formidable, the more curious about what’s worth seeing.

Inside, the room was simple. Old Huang went to the bedside where a white cloth was wrapped around something, large at one end and small at the other. The small end revealed a tuft of tea-yellow feathers. Second Brother leaned in, surprised, “Flat head, hooked beak, ginger eyes, protruding brows—is that a golden eagle?”

“Looks like you’ve got an eye for it!” Old Huang smiled slightly, proudly. “Two jin three liang in weight, big and strong, perfect for catching rabbits with ease. Those under two jin only deserve to be called chicken hawks, good for catching pheasants and partridges; no need to train them!”

Second Brother gave a thumbs-up, understanding Old Huang’s character, and praised, “See? This is a true expert. The white cloth protects the feathers during long journeys. The key skill lies in the rope inside. One rope can tie the eagle so it behaves like a good dog—pretty impressive, huh?”

Old Huang laughed heartily, gripping the eagle with one hand while untying the rope with the other. He wound the two-foot-long rope, plain and unremarkable, around the bird’s body a few times.

Then he tied the eagle up again, confidently saying, “If you don’t know this technique, you have to bring a cage when hunting in the wild. It’s a hassle, and when you put the eagle in the cage, its feathers get all damaged.”

Everyone watched as he placed the eagle back. The little creature’s eyes darted about, but it lay perfectly still like a stick on the bed.

It was Zhuang Chen’s first close look at an eagle: tea-yellow feathers, ginger-colored legs, black, long, sharp claws—razor-sharp. Its hooked beak curved with a pointed tip, perfect for stabbing, tearing, and slicing.

A pair of massive wings folded behind its back, extending to the tail. When spread, they reached two to three times its body length. Those yellow eyes glared fiercely, full of deadly aura—holding its gaze for long was chilling beyond words.

Second Brother invited everyone to sit and get acquainted. Old Huang was the village’s most experienced tiger hunter. His family had been in the trade for three generations, famed especially for eagle training in the surrounding region.

In old times, golden eagles were the favorite birds of poor folk during the off-season. Big and fierce, their fighting style was simple and steady, hunting skillful and ruthless. Feeding one or two during winter, after sufficient training, they would hunt mountain chickens and rabbits swiftly and plentifully, selling the catch at market to supplement household income.

The royal nobility and princes never bothered with rabbits or pheasants; they kept falcons purely for pleasure. Known colloquially as “rabbit tigers,” these peregrine falcons were small, light, and the fastest flyers. Their hunting relied not on ferocity but on cunning and skill, deciding victory with brains rather than brawn.

“Falcons must be kept in pairs—male and female—hunting together as a married team. Every late autumn when the leaves fall, the eighth-ranking officers lead soldiers and servants, with hawks, horses, and dogs, accompanying royal kin and the emperor himself in a grand hunting procession to the borderlands.”

Old Huang rarely met outsiders interested in hunting. With hunting long outmoded, his once-great eagle training had become a lost art. Finally encountering someone curious, he eagerly opened up. “Before the hunt, dogs go ahead, flushing out rabbits hiding in the grass. Once the falcons spot the prey, they rise in pairs, flanking it on both sides, forcing it to run in a set direction, preventing it from escaping into the brush.”

“The two falcons dance and weave, one high, one low, on either side of the prey. When flying low beside it, they either flap wings or strike with clenched claws—one swift hit, then retreat, never lingering to fight.”

“Then they soar high again, locking on the target for a second attack. Back and forth they take turns attacking, the rabbit rolling and sprinting under the pressure, until its heart and lungs fail, liver and gallbladder ruptured, gasping its last breath.”

“The falcons ignore the fallen prey, turning to fly back to their owner’s arm. The hunting dogs close in, guarding the rabbit. Meanwhile, a chosen large, strong sheep with sturdy horns rushes out from the crowd, a wooden crossbar tied across its horns, with a macaque perched on top.”

“The sheep charges close to the prey, the macaque jumps down, retrieves the catch, and hands it to the owner. No one else assists. Once the owner takes the prey calmly, he draws his knife and stabs the rabbit’s throat, letting its blood drip into the eagle’s beak, then removes its heart to reward the falcons. Only after this ritual do they collect the prey.”

Everyone listened dumbfounded. Good heavens! How formidable the ancients’ hunting methods were!