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墨書 Inktalez
I couldn't help but exclaim, "It smells amazing."
There was no hint of insincerity in those words. From the aroma wafting from the cup of coffee before me, I began to believe the words of that bearded American guy; this coffee bean could indeed be something special. The only problem was that I didn't know how to brew coffee properly, and I might ruin something good.
Then I sincerely remarked, "Brewing coffee is a skill."
I lifted the cup and took a delicate sip, savoring it with great appreciation. The bitterness hit the back of my tongue, causing my expression to freeze for a moment, and I instinctively felt like spitting it out.
At that moment, I heard Fatty ’s slow voice beside me: "Take your time swallowing; that's how you truly enjoy coffee."
I instantly forgot about the bitterness and stared at him in surprise. It wasn't his taste that astonished me, but rather his pretentious way of expressing it. Was this really a time for pretentiousness?
In truth, my taste in coffee was quite mainstream, probably similar to most people. I would add a bit of milk to my brewed coffee and sometimes even a little sugar. This way, the flavor was rich and creamy, with hints of both the bitterness of coffee and the sweetness from the sugar. It felt comfortable from the very first sip, making it hard to reject. But this time was different; the bitterness overshadowed all other flavors.
I fought the urge to spit it in his face and swallowed the bitter coffee instead. For a moment, an elusive fragrance spread up from my throat, filling my mouth and nose with an intense aroma that was hard to describe. In my mind—though there wouldn't be any fragrance there—there must have been bitterness, perhaps from a unique brewing method or special coffee beans producing an indescribable effect. My head suddenly felt clear.
The aroma lingered in my mouth; I hesitated to swallow, fearing I'd lose that flavor or dilute it. The second sip was still bitter, but I no longer rejected it; I could even derive that unique coffee aroma directly from the bitterness. A line from Zhou's movie popped into my head: it reminded me of the taste of first love.
I truly felt that way—the feeling of first love. Bitter yet rich. The more bitter it was, the richer and more lingering it became. At the same time, I understood why they called it Black Sweetheart; perhaps being far from home made them long for their hometown, their loved ones, and the girl of their dreams.
"Do you feel a surge of energy?" Fatty said confidently. "Then let’s continue."
Once again, he pulled me back into heavy memories—the suffocating darkness of the Underworld.
The heat of the flames was followed by a bone-chilling cold. After struggling in the Rest Area and running intensely for this stretch, we had exhausted all our strength and energy. As soon as the three of us regained some mobility, we huddled together around the torch for warmth. The greasy torch burned brightly and emitted intense heat, temporarily alleviating our cold. However, it could not provide lasting warmth, as it would eventually extinguish, and more importantly, it could not supply us with energy; we needed sustenance to continue our journey. We quickly rummaged through our backpacks in search of something to eat. Each of us had brought a pack of dried fish and a flask of water when we set out. But upon checking now, only one flask remained; the other two had shattered. My pack of dried fish was down to half, scattered within the layers of my sleeping bag. Zhao Squad Leader still had his, while Liu Squad Leader had handed his pack over to Zhao Squad Leader when it got stuck in a crevice during our frantic escape; at that moment, survival took precedence over food.
Food had become a significant issue again. We ravenously devoured the half pack of dried fish I managed to pull from my sleeping bag. It was nearly spoiled, lacking salt and flavor—truly unappetizing. I thought that if it weren't for our extreme hunger and strong will to survive, no one would be able to swallow such food. After regaining a bit of strength, Zhao Squad Leader immediately opened the portable Walkie-Talkie. We had turned off the Walkie-Talkie as soon as we entered the Rest Area; we didn’t want to expose our location. The fact that we could use the Walkie-Talkie again was already a miracle. After a burst of static noise, Medic's voice came through the device. Zhao Squad Leader angrily shouted, "Shut up! I need to talk to Captain Xiao." Medic finally quieted down. However, no other sounds came through the Walkie-Talkie; no matter how Zhao Squad Leader called out, all he received was crackling static.
Seeing Zhao Squad Leader's anxious expression, I suggested, "Ask Medic what he needs. Maybe he knows what's going on." Realizing this, Zhao Squad Leader shouted into the Walkie-Talkie, "Medic! Medic! Talk! Has Captain Xiao contacted you?" At that moment, Medic's voice came through with a hint of distress: "Captain Xiao just spoke with me; he can't reach you because something is chasing him, and he needs to go in." My heart sank upon hearing this; that Cephalopod Monster had been keeping us occupied—how could there be something else pursuing them? I snatched the microphone and asked urgently, "Where does he need to go? What is chasing him? Are they injured?" My barrage of questions left Medic momentarily speechless; there was a long pause before he finally replied, "I don't know; he didn't say."
Zhao Squad Leader exploded with anger, grabbing my hand and thrusting the microphone back to his mouth: "What did he tell you? Can't you even relay a message?" The response from Medic was hesitant and incomplete; clearly, Zhao Squad Leader's tone had made him nervous and flustered. I pushed Zhao Squad Leader's hand away and spoke into the microphone: "Don't panic; think carefully and repeat Captain Xiao's exact words for us. Also tell us how you asked him—your conversation should maintain the same speed and tone as before." This time Medic understood what I meant. "Let me think," he said before continuing: "At first, Captain Xiao called out Zhao Squad Leader's name and Zhang Jianqiang's name over the Walkie-Talkie—he called out seven or eight times like this."
Medic then attempted to mimic Xiao Guolin's voice over the line; while his imitation didn't sound much like him at all, we could sense that he was trying to lower his voice while doing so. I listened patiently while signaling Zhao Squad Leader to remain calm with gestures; I mouthed to him: hold on, there’s no better way right now. He immediately deflated at my words. Indeed, in this situation, losing one's temper wouldn't solve anything. Until we found a better solution, having any solution was better than none.
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