The woman held the steaming, glistening soup in the large porcelain bowl, its unique meaty fragrance making me nearly swoon with delight.

I almost forgot to look at the woman herself, my eyes fixed solely on the soup in her hands.

Andrei, just like me, stared intently at the bowl, his eyes practically bulging out of his head.

I swallowed hard and asked, "What kind of soup is this, Mr. Andrei? How can it smell so good?"

Andrei smiled at the woman and replied, "This is a special secret venison soup unique to our Durban village. I haven't tasted it in years."

"Oh? Really?" I hadn't truly registered what Andrei said; I couldn't resist grabbing the spoon from the table and reaching for the bowl.

Andrei reached out and lightly tapped the back of my hand, saying, "No manners. The host hasn't arrived yet."

Seeing how ravenous and impolite I was, the old woman didn't say anything, just gave me a kind smile before speaking a string of Russian to Andrei.

Andrei shook his head upon hearing her and replied to her in Russian.

The old woman then looked at me, smiled, shook her head, and turned back toward the kitchen.

Once she was inside, I quickly asked Andrei, "Mr. Andrei, what were you saying to the old grandmother?"

"What old grandmother? She is BEY’s mother, a famously skilled cook in our Durban village. Ah, back in the day, I even courted her, but that old rascal, Rabinovich, got her in the end. Well, what can you do? He was the village headman, a rich and handsome catch," Andrei said with a hint of wistfulness.

Seeing him still clearly captivated by the memory of the old woman, I was momentarily speechless and asked, "Mr. Andrei, you're still unmarried?"

Andrei flushed slightly, stammering, "H-how could I be? I've been married for a hundred years, with more than a dozen sons and daughters."

"Come on, Teacher Andrei, stop bragging. What's wrong with being single? Look at me, I’m single too, and I feel quite content," At that moment, BEY and his father walked in from the doorway and immediately exposed Andrei’s lie with their words.

Seeing Andrei’s embarrassed expression, I stifled a laugh, said nothing, and picked up my tea to drink.

BEY and his father sat down at the table and began an animated conversation with Andrei.

Since they were speaking Russian, I couldn't understand a word.

Moreover, my attention had been completely captured by the old woman.

She kept entering the kitchen and bringing out steaming hot delicacies—roast venison leg, baked beans, stewed meatballs, and more—until my eyes were practically fixed on the spread.

I swallowed, thinking that if Xiao Feiyang saw this, he would surely swallow his tongue off.

Right, Xiao Feiyang!

I suddenly remembered that fellow and asked BEY, "Brother, what's the status of the young man who came with us?"

BEY hummed in acknowledgment and replied, "He should be fine. Father already sent someone to take him to the shaman. The esteemed shaman is incredibly knowledgeable, especially in treating symptoms like Xiang Tou or soul loss. Don't worry."

I frowned, wondering if I could really trust a shaman instead of a proper hospital.

But then I reconsidered. My second aunt had once mentioned that traditional shamanistic practices might have reached Siberia. Since I had already witnessed Gu techniques, I couldn't deny the existence of shamanism.

So, I thanked BEY. Just then, the old woman finished serving the dishes, and Andrei invited me to eat.

Faced with such delicious exotic food, I was famished. I immediately picked up a plump venison leg and started gnawing on it.

The old woman did not sit down; instead, she brought out several tall silver goblets and began pouring fruit wine for each of us.

Seeing her bustling about, I tried to take the wine pot from her hands to pour for myself and invite her to sit and eat, but Andrei stopped me, saying, "Don't interfere. In our Chukchi culture, women do not sit at the dining table. Just let her be."

I ignored Andrei's words, took the wine pot from the old woman, and said, "Mr. Andrei, what age is it now? Even if your impression of China isn't great, I believe respecting the old and loving the young is at least a virtue of China. If I just sit here and watch the elderly grandmother work herself ragged, I would rather break your customs."

With that, I gently pulled the old woman to sit down and gestured toward the food on the table.

The old woman looked at me with surprise, spoke a string of Russian I didn't understand, and started to rise again.

Seeing this, I said to BEY, "Brother, you've also seen the world outside; tell me, am I wrong?"

BEY smiled and whispered a few words in Rabinovich's ear.

Rabinovich then burst out laughing and gave me a thumbs-up.

BEY also smiled and told me, "Father says that since you are a guest, we shall listen to you. The traditions of the Chinese people do indeed have merit."

Saying this, BEY went to fetch a set of tableware for the old woman and began serving her food.

To my surprise, the old woman's eyes grew moist. She wiped them with the back of her hand and spoke a sentence in Russian to BEY.

BEY translated for me: "My mother says, 'Thank you, guest.'"

Following this, we began to eat, laughing and chatting.

Andrei and Rabinovich drank heartily, while I talked with BEY about the village customs and strange local tales.

After we had eaten and drunk our fill, I was led to a room to rest, feeling delightfully drowsy, and I don't remember how I fell asleep.

The next day, I jolted awake only when the sunlight streaming through the window became intensely bright.

I looked at the fireplace not far from the bedside, and at the fur wall hangings and felt carpets around me, filled with a European ambiance, and realized it truly hadn't been a dream. I had actually spent a night in this nameless Siberian village I had intended to visit.

I rubbed my hair, picked up my backpack from the small wooden table beside the bed, and checked my phone. It was already past ten in the morning.

Checking the signal strength, it was completely dead. It seemed I couldn't call home to let them know I was safe.

So, I threw off the thick deer hide covering and scrambled out of bed, quickly pulling on my outer garment before rushing out the door.

As I opened the door, I ran right into BEY’s mother sitting in the living room, sifting through a basket of grapes in her hands.

Feeling awkward, I managed, "I'm sorry, I... I think I woke up late."

The old woman looked at me with a confused expression.

So, I switched to English, saying, "Excuse me, I don't intend to eat and drink here for free. Is there anything I can help you with?"

The old woman seemed to understand me, smiled faintly, and pointed toward a corner of the living room.

I saw a wooden washstand in the corner, with a wooden basin on top emitting steam, and towels, a wooden cup, and a horn comb hanging from the stand.

I sighed, realizing she still hadn't grasped my words, and muttered to myself, "Alright, I'll wash up first."

After a quick wash, I sat down at the table. I watched the old woman meticulously pluck the grapes from their stems, placing the green ones to one side, leaving only the dark, almost black ones in the basket.

So I asked, "Grandmother, what are you doing?"

This time she seemed to understand. She pointed to the green grapes, then pointed to a jar in the corner of the room, then pointed to the dark grapes, and finally made a gesture for money.

I looked at that jar—it was the one containing the fruit wine we had drunk last night, exquisitely sweet. It seemed they brewed it from their own grapes. And the dark grapes, it appeared, were destined for the market.

Understanding this, I slapped my chest and announced, "I'll help you..."

Then I moved to take the basket from her hands.

However, the old woman waved her hand, pointed outside, and spoke a phrase in Russian.

Before I could process it, she took my wrist and led me outside.

She led me into the yard. The sky had cleared, and the courtyard was bathed in brilliant sunshine; only the dampness on the ground hinted at the heavy rain from the night before.

Since it was already dark when I arrived yesterday, I hadn't properly seen the state of the yard.

Now, it looked stunningly beautiful.

Along both sides of the path were rows of large, richly layered Dragon Claw Chrysanthemums, blooming vividly in hues of red and yellow. Behind them were clusters of subarctic berry bushes—the same berries that grow as weeds in northern China, though they never fruit there. But here in Siberia, these berries yielded strings of tempting yellow fruit that made one’s mouth water.

What made one’s mouth water even more was the long wooden trellis built deep in the yard, against the wall.

The trellis was wrapped in green vines, laden with heavy, plump clusters of grapes hanging down—truly a picture of abundance.

The old woman pointed at the trellis, which was about two or three meters high, and said, "Wenluo Gua..."

Wenluo Gua? I was momentarily confused, but then I immediately grasped it, pointing back towards the grapes inside the house with a questioning look, " Wenluo Gua?"

The old woman smiled and nodded, giving me a thumbs-up.

I grinned proudly, thinking that next time I saw Nobita, I could show off my Russian.

Thinking of Nobita, I sighed again. Although the information Andrei gave me led me to suspect Nobita might have been deceiving me, I couldn't bring myself to blame him. To be honest, I felt lost myself. But if I could see him now, I would still be very happy.

Now that I knew Wenluo Gua meant grapes, I understood: the old woman must want me to help her pick them.

So, I nodded, went into the living room to fetch a chair, placed it under the trellis, climbed up, and began using scissors to cut down the bunches of grapes.

The old woman stood below holding the basket. Every time I cut down a bunch, she placed it carefully into the basket.

After I had cut about a dozen bunches, the old woman waved her hand at me and spoke a phrase in Russian.

I gathered from her gesture that she didn't want any more picked, so I asked, "No more picking?"

The old woman nodded and spoke a few labored words in Chinese: "No... pick."

Hearing her attempt my language, I couldn't help but laugh heartily and said, "Grandma, you speak so well."

The old woman smiled, not quite understanding what I meant.

When I jumped down from the stool, she handed me one of the dark grapes and made a gesture of eating.

I nodded, wiped the surface of the grape with my sleeve, and popped it into my mouth.

Then my nerves twitched, and I nearly spat the grape out.

Because this grape was sour! Truly sour!

Seeing my expression, the old woman looked a bit puzzled.

I stuck out my tongue, looking distressed, and declared, "Sour! Very sour!"

The old woman shook her head, popped a grape into her own mouth, and began chewing with obvious enjoyment, then gave me a thumbs-up.

Seeing her expression, I suddenly remembered that this was the subarctic region; grapes weren't expected to be sweet. To be able to eat grapes like this, she must already be very content.