North of Ginseng King Mountain stood another mountain. It wasn't particularly high, but it held a ravine. Inside the ravine and along its sides grew a dense, unbroken sea of thatch grass, which is why the local mountain folk called this place Thatch Grass Peak.
On its northern flank was a large depression, a natural windbreak.
In the southeastern corner of the depression lay a huge fallen log—a poplar tree toppled by the wind. The thicker end of the log was about two meters in diameter.
On the leeward side of the log, Zhao Youcai, Li Dayong, Wang Qiang, and Lin Xiangshun sat with their backs against the wood. They were paired off, sitting on two wild boar hides. A meter in front of them, a bonfire crackled.
Next to the fire was a pile of dry branches they had gathered from the surroundings, along with two pine torches. This was all the firewood they had for warmth.
