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...
Two kilometers from the frontline camp, behind a wind-sheltered boulder in the nameless Gobi Desert.
A campfire surrounded by dozens of stones of varying sizes was blazing brightly. On a simple rack was half a pig, plucked from the camp kitchen. As the Fisherman recited the essentials of Siberian barbecue, he sprinkled seasonings evenly onto the rotating pork.
Rich fats seeped from within the meat, wrapping the freshly added spices as they dripped into the fire, crackling all the way, setting off bursts of aromatic explosions—bay leaves, basil, thyme, rosemary, white pepper... Sun Hang had no idea where the Fisherman got such an array of spices, but that didn't matter...
Sun Hang couldn't focus on the Fisherman's ramblings; his attention was entirely captured by the fragrant roasted meat.
