The campfire crackled, its warmth barely dispersing the chill of the mountain night.
Old Zhang's somewhat boastful voice had just faded when Li Younan looked towards the opened plastic bag he held.
The flames danced, illuminating the mushrooms—the caps were light brown, the stems sturdy—at first glance, indeed bearing some resemblance to the "Qiaoba mushrooms" from his hometown, as he mentioned.
But as he lifted one to examine the gills, the firelight clearly revealed their color—not the clean white or pale yellow, but a mottled, slightly dull gray-white.
Immediately after, Li Younan's gaze focused on the upper part of the stem—where the mushroom ring should have been, there remained a barely noticeable deep brown material resembling rotted cotton.
This was not a characteristic of "Qiaoba mushrooms."
"Old Zhang, hold on."
Li Younan stood up, voice as calm as possible, but everyone by the fire heard a difference.
