On the morning of the twenty-eighth day, before the sky had brightened, Lin Yu'an was awakened by his precise biological clock and an overwhelming sense of anticipation.
The shelter was shrouded in darkness, utterly silent, with only a few charred logs in the depths of the fireplace emitting a faint red glow, preserving the last bit of warmth in this cold darkness.
He didn't get up immediately but quietly lay in his sleeping bag, feeling the warmth of the down bag enveloping him, listening closely to the outside world; the wind had weakened significantly from the fierce roar of last night, leaving only a low whimper, an excellent omen.
He placed the broth he had simmered all night with shrimp shells back on the fire; the cold broth had coagulated into an amber-colored gel, which once heated, transformed back into a thick liquid with a faint fresh fragrance, filling the small shelter with its unique aroma again.
Without adding anything, he drank the hot soup down in one gulp.
