After replenishing the overnight feed, Zhang Yang and Cheng-ge followed the winding path along the water's edge back to Yan-ge's bungalow.
From afar, they saw in the open space outside the house, a butcher's rack used for slaughtering pigs, and a black-haired pig, smaller than the ones raised at home, had been bled and gutted, hanging on the rack.
Yan-ge was talking to another middle-aged man in his forties or fifties by the rack. This man was holding a sharp butcher's knife, performing the skinning process.
No doubt, the pig had just been slaughtered not long ago.
Seeing Zhang Yang and the others came back, Yan-ge laughed and said, "You all finished fishing? Master Gu had some business, delayed a few minutes, so we'll have to wait a bit longer for dinner!"
When Zhang Yang was a child in the village, he had seen butchers slaughter pigs. The pigs in his memory were white, and the locals called the breed Yorkshire. This much smaller black pig was something he hadn't seen before.
