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墨書 Inktalez
There was no fear. In the pitch-black, hellish cave, amidst the earth-shaking chaos that felt like the end of the world, I heard the cheers of Zhao Squad Leader and Liu Squad Leader. I excitedly shouted back, pulling out a torch from behind me and flicking the lighter open with a snap. Although the torch had been soaked in water, the oil-soaked Hemp Fiber would not absorb a drop. As soon as it neared the flame of the lighter, the torch ignited with a whoosh.
Before me were two big boys striking various poses, truly having lost their minds over this unexpected turn of events. Their excitement was palpable. At that moment, death no longer seemed terrifying; we could all face it calmly.
Just as I was about to join in the revelry, the torchlight revealed that the cave entrance was empty—no Tentacles reached in, nor could I see the massive Aquatic Creature's body or head. A spark of hope ignited within me: we had a chance to escape!
I kicked Zhao Squad Leader, who was posing like the Statue of Liberty, and shouted, "Run with me!" Without looking back, I dashed toward the cave entrance.
The ground was slick with water. As I reached the entrance and came to an abrupt stop, my body slipped and fell sideways. The surface of the Embankment was rough, with deep ruts carved into the stone ground. I slid out like a piece of meat on a washboard. My sleeping bag-turned-robe was yanked over my head in an instant, and my bare skin scraped against the coarse stone floor, taking off a layer of skin. Just as I forgot about the cold due to the pain, I finally stopped at the edge of the Embankment. If I had exerted just a bit more force, I would have fallen into the water.
The water made a loud noise, like a raging tide. Standing at the edge of the Embankment with my torch raised high, I couldn't see where the sound originated; all I knew was that it couldn't be far away since the waves were crashing against the Embankment. I didn't wait there for someone to push me into the water; I got up and ran. Behind me came Zhao Squad Leader and Liu Squad Leader's shouts of frustration, but from their voices, it seemed they hadn't fallen in. Soon after, their footsteps followed closely behind.
The thrill of escaping death filled us with energy; we ran desperately. Once we left that slippery Embankment, our footsteps became even more rapid and determined. I thought everyone had tapped into their maximum potential and didn't even consider whether such heavy footsteps might attract that Cephalopod Monster. The bone-chilling cold was dispelled by my blood boiling inside me; I felt steam rising from my head and body as if I were a furnace evaporating the water from my hair and robe.
After running for what felt like an eternity, I collapsed onto the ground, utterly exhausted; aside from gasping for breath, I had no strength left. The torch slipped from my hand and burned alone on the ground ahead. As I fell, I heard two more bodies hit the stone ground heavily—no cushioning at all—as if they were unaware of pain or simply wanted to beat themselves to death. Yes, I had nearly collapsed in that same manner; even if that Cephalopod Monster charged at me now, I wouldn't have the strength to run away or even curse it.
My neck could easily twist ninety degrees; my face naturally turned toward one side of the water without any pain or discomfort. It seemed not just my neck muscles but all my muscles relaxed at that moment. However, it felt strange that my neck could move so easily; if I still had strength left, I felt like I could twist it even further. In the firelight, I could see hot breath and mucus escaping from my mouth.
It felt like there was a fire in my throat that threatened to consume me at any moment, but I lacked the strength to extinguish it—not even enough energy to swallow.
At that moment, I suddenly caught a whiff of rich coffee aroma.
...
It was not an illusion. I opened my half-closed eyes, emerging from the almost intoxicating memories, and saw Fatty brewing coffee.
I had a jar of Brazilian Coffee Beans, a gift from an American financier who came to audit the use of funds earlier this year. I usually drink coffee; those who work late nights likely share this habit. While I disdain instant coffee, I don't have much of a refined taste either. Typically, I just buy some coffee grounds to brew myself. Sometimes, when working outdoors, instant coffee is acceptable.
However, this jar of coffee beans, according to the bearded American, was an old variety from Brazil called Bourbon Coffee. It was rare and precious, hardly found even in Brazil itself. To savor the true flavor of this fine coffee, I specially bought a roasting machine and a grinder. Yet, after all that effort, the coffee I brewed didn’t leave me in awe. Perhaps I was just too rough around the edges.
With that in mind, I lost interest in going through the trouble of roasting and grinding for a cup of coffee that didn’t seem significantly different. A rough person should stick to rough things.
Fatty and I had now moved our storytelling session to the living room. I really had no idea how he discovered this jar of Bourbon Coffee beans; I had placed it on the top shelf of the cabinet, tucked away in the back. How could his English, which barely passed in high school, allow him to understand that this was a package of coffee beans? The box of coffee grounds with Chinese packaging was right in plain sight. Shaking my head, I dismissed the confusion and the heavy weight on my heart. The earlier memories had nearly suffocated me.
Seeing that I had stopped telling stories, Fatty chuckled, “I thought you were about to fall asleep; I’ll brew you some coffee to wake you up.”
The coffee beans made a “crackling” sound in the roasting machine as a slightly burnt aroma filled the entire living room. After watching for a while, I remarked, “It’s burning; what do you want to make? Black coffee or burnt coffee?”
Fatty disdainfully lifted his chin. “You’re such a novice! I'm going to brew you a real Brazilian Coffee; we call it Black Sweetheart. It’s a taste you’ll never forget—one that can make you forget women or even replace them.”
“You?” I asked in confusion. “Where have you brewed this kind of coffee?”
His response brought him down for a moment. “Africa. Everything there seems black—people, coffee, and the oil we fight over. Even damn memories are black.”
"Don't fool me, this is Brazilian Coffee. Burbansans." I stumbled through a clumsy English phrase based on the logo on the packaging. However, in front of Fatty, this was not an issue; I even doubted whether he remembered the twenty-six letters of the alphabet.
"In Africa, if you have money, there's nothing you can't buy," Fatty said after a moment of silence. "Except for the lives of comrades."
Fatty ground the coffee beans very finely, and the bitter aroma became even more intense. I had no more words; I just watched as Fatty skillfully brewed the coffee. I even thought that he could easily be a barista and run a café, at least it seemed effortless from the outside.
Finally, a cup of rich black coffee was placed in front of me.
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