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墨書 Inktalez
I fear what the Lao People are afraid of. He is desperately trying to distance himself from us; what could possibly have changed between me and Buasong that frightens him?
In my view, Buasong hasn’t changed much. If I had to pinpoint a difference, it would be that he nearly drowned, his face pale with fright. As for me, I probably don’t look much better. The problem is, he can’t see either me or Buasong, let alone our expressions. All he can see in the darkness is the blinding light of the One-Eyed Beast.
As the Lao People gradually shifted direction, I finally understood his purpose in paddling. He couldn’t increase his speed; instead, he was trying to change course. This left Buasong and me feeling helpless; our log was too large, and we had no way to alter its path.
The Lao People’s actions were beyond my comprehension. The only conclusion I could draw was that the distance between us would only grow. Even if Buasong and I outpaced him, we would never have a chance to catch up.
I tapped Buasong with the One-Eyed Beast to stop his futile efforts and gestured to convey my assessment.
The message I conveyed was devastating. Buasong immediately acknowledged my judgment and began shouting desperately at the Lao People ahead of us. I could see him straining to yell, but his voice was drowned out by the roaring water, sounding like a mosquito buzzing even though we were so close.
I understood Buasong’s feelings at that moment; his shouts were filled with helplessness and despair. I didn’t stop him—wasn’t I feeling the same way? Let him vent.
Suddenly, the Lao People ahead stopped moving. The log he lay on was significantly longer and thicker than ours, allowing him to easily paddle with both hands in the water. Our log wouldn’t allow us to reach the water on either side if we lay on it; we could only use a long stick to paddle from one side.
Now, the Lao People on the log seemed utterly exhausted, sprawled across it. The log was mostly submerged, and his limbs dangled into the water while his body floated slightly above it. The two Glow Sticks in his hands weakly dipped into the water, emitting a gentle light that was shattered by the rushing current, transforming into countless shimmering patterns and spots beneath the surface.
My One-Eyed Beast Flashlight dutifully illuminated him, revealing that he had been desperately paddling but now showed clear signs of exhaustion—he had no strength left. Yet witnessing this scene stirred something unusual within me.
I am a southerner raised in a coastal city in the north. It sounds a bit contradictory, but it can be summed up in one sentence: boys who grow up by the sea must possess two essential skills—swimming and fishing. At least among my peers, these two skills were common.
Fishing can be divided into daytime and nighttime methods. Night fishing requires bait or floats that emit light; otherwise, fish hunting at night cannot see the bait. Sometimes, large lights are used to illuminate a section of water to help fish spot the bait and attract them over.
As I saw the glow emitted by the glow sticks in the hands of the Lao People, I suddenly felt as if I were looking at luminous bait used for night fishing. I was astonished by this sudden thought. However, I was too familiar with such scenes, and I prayed that I was overthinking. Yet fear chilled my heart.
The logs held by the Lao People in front of us were no longer aligned with our position; they were now spaced apart, moving in parallel. At that moment, one of the Lao People suddenly turned his face toward us, shifting away from the other side.
The light from the One-Eyed Beast made his eyes squint slightly. His face was pale, a kind of bloodless white, as if the melanin had been washed away from his skin. This unnaturally white face bore a strange smile directed at us.
I couldn't imagine what message his smile conveyed, but I could see that his expression was one of exhaustion. Half of his face remained above water, yet he was gasping for breath violently. Water could easily choke him at any moment, and it seemed he lacked even the strength to lift his head, resting it sideways on the log.
What was happening? Was he relieved to be away from us? To me, his expression seemed to convey a sense of relaxation as if he had finally escaped from us.
This expression shocked me deeply, and various unsettling thoughts flashed through my mind. Buasong also sensed something ominous; he had stopped shouting and was scanning around another Lao Person, searching for something.
I immediately understood Buasong's intent and cooperatively enlarged the circle of my flashlight beam, significantly increasing the illuminated area around the Lao People. Although enlarging the One-Eyed Beast's light would reduce the overall brightness of my flashlight, given how close we were and the pitch-black surroundings, the light from the One-Eyed Beast appeared strikingly bright.
The water surrounding the Lao People was remarkably clear; by this point, there were very few debris on the pavement. Most of it had been sucked down into whirlpools below. It was a miracle that the Lao Person in front had not been pulled under. The current was swift, constantly generating new whirlpools during its flow. White foam was rarely seen on the pavement; even when some white waves formed, they quickly dissipated and could not create bubbles floating on the surface.
The pavement looked pristine, as if it had been wiped a hundred times; if it were still, it could reflect a person's face. However, we couldn't see anything beneath it. When my flashlight illuminated another Lao Person's position, the angle was too narrow, greatly diminishing its penetrating power against the pavement. The flowing water and whirlpools also strongly reflected and refracted light from my flashlight; thus, what shone on the pavement mostly appeared as large patches of phosphorescence.
Perhaps standing up would improve visibility, but that posed too great a risk for me; I didn't dare take that chance.
In contrast to my and Buasong's tense demeanor, the Lao Person under the light of the One-Eyed Beast appeared eerily calm. At that moment, nothing seemed capable of making him anxious; his relaxed attitude suggested that he might have lost any sense of tension altogether.
However, for Buasong and me, tension and excitement were just beginning.
As I and Buasong were intently focused on Pavement, the surface beneath the One-Eyed Beast suddenly surged upward, boiling like a massive spring bursting forth from the depths. I knew this was not a natural spring; at the center of this geyser-like eruption lay the wooden form of Lao People. The wooden figure moved swiftly in the rushing water, yet the center of the eruption remained unchanged.
This clearly indicated that the geyser-like water was moving in sync with Lao People.
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