Book Synopsis
Book Tags
Donation Rankings
Comment
0 Comments
You May Also Like
墨書 Inktalez
I was no longer sure of our location. Not only was I unable to determine the direction, but the forest we found ourselves in also exceeded my initial expectations. I had thought this forest was a submerged part of a hill, based on the enormous plants I had seen growing on the hillsides, while the marshy areas were filled only with dense reeds. However, as I fled through the giant trees like an old monkey, I never caught sight of any hills or dry land; these towering plants seemed to grow directly from the water. I began to wonder where we had ended up.
The two Lao People were still energetically running ahead. By now, the density of the trees had thickened into a continuous canopy. From above, the shade was so dense that I could leap from one tree to another without needing a rope. As a novice at parkour among branches, I struggled to keep up with the speed of the two Lao People.
Initially, they would occasionally assist me between trees, but as the forest grew denser, it became difficult to clearly distinguish the boundaries between trees; branches intertwined in a chaotic manner. In such circumstances, establishing a connection between two trees with a rope seemed unnecessary, and it appeared that the two Lao People also considered it superfluous to assist me.
Buasong helped me jump over a branch before stuffing the rope into his backpack and gesturing for me to proceed without it. Then he nimbly climbed along the branches to catch up with the other Lao Person ahead. Once I understood his intention, a sudden sense of fear gripped me; it felt as if they intended to leave me behind. I desperately chased after them; I had no confidence in my ability to leap from one tree to another alone. Yet, I watched helplessly as they jumped to another tree and continued moving through the foliage without stopping, which left me feeling abandoned—perhaps it was just human nature.
This predicament was tough for me. When I reached the spot where they had jumped across, although the distance between the two trees was short and their branches were within reach, leaping from one tree to another still proved quite challenging. The proximity only applied to the tips of their branches; the Lao People were light and seemed accustomed to this kind of activity, using the elasticity of the branches to propel themselves across. I initially planned to mimic them by throwing a rope over to secure it on the opposite tree and swing across, but after attempting it, I realized that this skill wasn't something one could master in just a few tries. Reluctantly, I stuffed half-prepared rope back into my backpack and steeled myself for a jump.
My weight was heavier than that of the Lao People; standing on the treetop caused it to sag significantly. I worried that if I exerted too much force, the branch might snap. Gently swaying the branch beneath me felt somewhat like a diving board—though not nearly as springy. The branch was soft and its rebound slow, akin to slow motion.
With such limited elasticity, jumping onto the opposite branch was exceedingly difficult. Summoning my courage, I pressed down hard twice on the branch beneath me. The branch bounced more vigorously up and down until at one moment, I leaped forward with all my strength.
I felt fear but not the thrill of soaring through the air; instead, I landed abruptly on the opposite branch. It turned out simpler than I had imagined—the distance between branches was minimal and they were sturdier than expected. My hands flailed as I grabbed onto anything within reach; despite shaking violently beneath me, this branch seemed capable of supporting my weight.
The fear didn’t linger long; my greater concern was being left behind by the two Lao People. In this environment, they possessed greater survival skills than I did and seemed to have a clear escape route in mind. This was crucial for me—without a compass or any reference points, I felt utterly directionless.
I quickly left that branch behind and focused on chasing after the glowing light ahead that marked their path.
Having gained experience from my first solo jump, I relaxed during subsequent leaps and gradually mastered some techniques for jumping through the forest. However, there were too many different types of trees here; rarely did I encounter similar species. This variety meant that each tree's branch elasticity and leaf distribution differed greatly, which continued to pose challenges for me. Yet these were not my biggest worry; what troubled me most was that the shadows of the Lao People grew increasingly faint and distant.
Just as I feared losing sight of them completely, the glow stick ahead came to a halt. Breathless, I reached its location and saw both Lao People whispering about something on a branch. Gasping for breath, I gestured inquiringly at them: What happened?
Buasong shone the flashlight on the water beneath the trees, gesturing as he explained everything to me.
I understood the general meaning of Bai Ta. Just as I had anticipated, their direction of travel was aligned with the flow of the water. This choice was likely based on the experience of the Lao People. They were probably right; if I lost my sense of direction, I would do the same. After all, the water would eventually converge into a great river, and by following its flow, we would ultimately find our way out of this valley.
As we moved along, whether drifting with the current or leaping from tree to tree, we kept an eye on the direction of the water. The flow would deviate at different angles when passing over hills or high ground, but the overall direction remained unchanged. However, a situation arose; here, the water encountered an obstruction, as if there were a dam ahead. The current became turbulent, swirling into massive whirlpools that almost turned sharply to the left.
If there were a hill ahead, the water would still be obstructed, but it would split and flow around it rather than making such a sharp turn. The two Lao People were bewildered by what lay before them; they could rely on their experience for many things, but once faced with something beyond their understanding, they were at a loss.
Finally granted a moment to catch my breath, I lay on a thick branch to relax. I considered my stamina and endurance to be exceptional, yet after all this exertion, I was beginning to feel worn out.
The branch I rested on grew horizontally, with my face toward the pavement below. I would have preferred to lie flat on it since its width allowed for that, but my back injury forced me to adopt a resting position instead. I worried about not receiving timely medical attention; if this continued, I would have to rest in this position for the rest of my life. It would deprive me of many joys in life—certain activities that seemed comfortable in bed would become forever out of reach.
This position made the roaring sound of the water even more pronounced. I opened One-Eyed Beast and adjusted the aperture wider, revealing white foam and debris swirling on the pavement below. The current had begun to form massive whirlpools at this point, with many large eddies colliding and surging forward, creating vast patches of foam.
Further ahead, the direction of the water changed dramatically; turbulence and whirlpools became more pronounced. However, in that area where huge waves surged, there was no path forward—of course, my route was through an aerial corridor without any large plants for us to climb or leap across.
This vast tropical plant cluster seemed to come to an abrupt halt here.
I'm sorry, but it seems there is no content provided for translation. Please provide the text you would like me to translate.
Comment 0 Comment Count