The Small Fish Pond

Seeing that the militiamen were becoming proficient with their slingshots, Leo decided it was too risky to stay in this area. He signaled to the little mouse, and together they headed upstream. He was eager to check the small fish pond he had built that morning.

Upon reaching the fish pond, the little mouse circled it twice, peering into the clear, shallow water. After a thorough search, she looked up at Leo with a puzzled expression. "Where are the fish?"

Leo, equally baffled, responded, "Yeah, where are my fish?" The small pond, no more than a few square meters, was devoid of any fish. The little mouse's disappointed eyes made Leo's face flush with embarrassment.

This wasn't right. It always worked like this on TV.

As he pondered, his eyes fell on the little mouse. She instinctively took a step back, but it was too late. Leo grabbed her and, despite her protest, found a small piece of bread hidden in her pocket. It was her secret stash for breakfast the next day. The little mouse, helpless, wrung her hands but didn't resist, bracing herself for a possible scolding.

"Don't worry, I'll pay you back double," Leo reassured her while crumbling the bread into the pond. "Come on, let's go back for dinner. Olivia said there's thick soup tonight. I'll get you a big bowl!"

As the sun set, smoke began to rise from the camp. The villagers scattered across the wasteland slowly made their way back, filling the camp with bustling activity. In the center of the camp, three large cauldrons simmered outside the kitchen tent, filling the air with the aroma of thick soup.

Leo, having swiped two large clay bowls from Olivia's truck, stood in front of the cauldrons. His presence made the villagers step back, and even the woman ladling out the soup handed him the ladle without protest. The villagers' eyes, once filled with either disdain, fear, or affection, now held a mix of curiosity, scrutiny, and awe. 

Whispers of "soul possession" circulated among the crowd. Ignoring them, Leo focused on the cauldrons, stirring the soup to scoop out the best parts. In Leo's eyes, the so-called soup was more like a porridge, made with de-hulled wheat, pickled vegetables, radishes, acorns, peas, dried mushrooms, and a snow hare caught by a militia scout. The concoction, boiled all afternoon, resembled pig slop from a 90s farm. 

However, for the starving villagers, this was a rare delicacy, far better than the hard, tasteless bread they usually had. This meal felt like a festive celebration to them. 

In Leo's fragmented memories, his village had a tradition of communal meals, a custom dating back to the Northern Tribes era. During harsh winters, the village leader would set up a large cauldron in the village center, light a bonfire, and fill it with snow and whatever food the villagers could spare. Every household would contribute, no matter how little. Once the cauldron was full, the food was cooked and distributed to all.

This tradition fostered mutual aid and allowed the leader to count how many families had succumbed to the cold. In good years, they could find some meat in the pot; in bad years, there was only watery soup. But it was always better than starving. 

As a child, Leo eagerly awaited these communal meals, as it meant he didn't have to beg or hunt for mice in the snow. As he grew older, he became less excited. Leo, now an outcast, had developed survival skills and often contributed food to the pot, helping the villagers survive. Some villagers feared or disliked him, but many relied on his occasional gifts of rabbits or deer legs to make it through the winter. 

On the early part of their journey, everyone ate separately. But as supplies dwindled and efficiency became paramount, Ulyan reinstated the communal pot tradition, making it a daily event. By the time they reached the river bend, most villagers were out of food, and the pot's contents mainly came from Ulyan. Those with remaining supplies handed them over to Olivia for management. With no other choice, the 300-person camp had temporarily reverted to a communal clan society.

While savoring the world's version of Eight Treasure Congee, Leo entertained the little mouse with grand tales. "Have you ever seen a pancake as big as a millstone, covered with almonds, walnuts, and raisins, drizzled with cream? One bite and the juices explode in your mouth!"

"Or a fragrant roasted piglet, with crispy skin and tender meat that falls off the bone with a light pull?"

"Fresh, thinly sliced lamb, dipped in hot broth…"

The little mouse, holding a large clay bowl almost as big as her head, listened in awe, drooling as she imagined the delicious foods.

After finishing their most sumptuous meal of the month, Leo took the little mouse back to the fish pond with a large wooden bucket. As they approached, he saw ripples in the pond. With a leap, he blocked the opening to the river. Despite his efforts, a fish still leapt over his arm and disappeared into the river.

"Catch the fish!" Leo jumped into the pond, startling the wild fish. He grabbed a wriggling fish, nearly brought to tears by the thought of finally having a proper meal. Ulyan was right, there were indeed fat fish to be caught!

"Catch the fish!" The little mouse excitedly jumped into the water but promptly fell, coughing up thick soup. The dinner had been so delicious she hadn't wasted a drop, even licking the bowl clean. 

Watching the soup slowly dissolve into the water, the little mouse pondered whether to scoop it back up. Leo smacked the back of her head. "Catch the fish, or they'll all escape!"

The makeshift dam wasn't high, and the startled fish were strong enough to jump back into the river. Leo, lacking any delicacy, smashed each caught fish against the rocks. The little mouse, unable to catch any fish herself, obediently gathered the dead fish into the bucket.

A full bucket of fish! Leo, carrying the bucket, warned the little mouse, "Tomorrow I'll make you grilled fish and fresh fish soup. No eating raw fish!"

That night, as Leo drifted to sleep, he heard the little mouse murmuring, "Papa, will we have grilled fish tomorrow?"

"Mm, grilled fish."

"Papa, will we have fish soup tomorrow?"

"Mm, fish soup."

"Papa, does roast piglet taste good?"

Just as Leo was about to get annoyed, he felt a gentle bite on his calf. The little mouse, already asleep, was talking in her dreams.