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墨書 Inktalez
This is my bottom line. I can tolerate Fatty taking down the Hakka People, but until I know the truth and confirm that the Hakka People are indeed our enemies, I cannot accept shooting at them. For me, as long as they do not threaten our lives, I would never choose to shoot at the Hakka People. I know Fatty has a much lower threshold than I do, and at this moment, we must act according to my principles.
"He will leak your whereabouts. If there are people in the Village with ulterior motives, we will run into big trouble on our way back," Fatty said urgently.
"They have people with abnormal hearing; my movements are hardly a secret. Besides, are you worried about someone robbing you with that backpack of Arms?"
"Just like yours, the ones plotting against you are likely Vietnamese. Do you think they would come empty-handed? Don't underestimate the situation or be overly optimistic. This guy has been elusive; I haven't seen him at all until now. You think it's just a coincidence?"
"What does that mean? Does he want me to catch him?"
Fatty frowned. "I don't know. But it’s a miracle he suddenly appeared in our line of sight. Yesterday, I was circling around the mountains with him and didn’t see him at all. Now, as soon as we reach the mountain, there he is. Explain that to me."
"How can you be sure someone is following you if you haven't seen them? It sounds like paranoia."
"Don't insult my judgment. There might be some sixth sense involved, but I won't rely solely on feelings. I remember what traces I've left on the path I've taken. If I walk that path again and see different traces, then there’s definitely a problem.
Yesterday wasn’t simple; I sensed someone was following me, and the Vietnamese noticed it too. But for some reason, they acted as if nothing was wrong. Initially, I worried it might be members of the Vietnamese Gang. If they left any signals along the way, I wouldn’t recognize them. Unexpectedly, it wasn’t the Vietnamese following me; it was the Hakka People."
"You win," Fatty gestured towards the Hakka People disappearing into the dense forest on the hillside. "But we need to hurry; if this Hakka People gets away, something will definitely happen—and it won't be what we want to see. We need to find Tang Yumo before they react and get the information we need from her."
With that, Fatty began pulling ropes and climbing gear out of his backpack.
I had borrowed a Tiger Claw from the Lao People, something that Fatty wouldn’t use himself. However, he recognized it from his time as a mercenary in Southeast Asia when he had seen others use it effectively.
But I didn’t pull out the Tiger Claw. I was considering what the Hakka People had said before they ran away: they have arrived.
Of course, that statement was most likely meant to draw my and Fatty's attention and create an opportunity for their escape. Clearly, Fatty thought so too; he didn’t even react or show any signs of alertness to that statement.
I was different. A San had warned me about strange sounds on the mountain, and combined with the unusual behavior of the Hakka People today, I couldn't help but feel anxious.
My breathing was still loud. The howling wind seemed to dull my ears, drowning out other sounds. I took a deep breath and held it, silencing the noise of my breath, allowing my racing heartbeat to emerge, mingling with the wind. Yet amidst all this noise, there was a distinct sound that somehow managed to break through, faintly reaching my ears.
"Give me the Tiger Claw. What are you dawdling for?"
Suddenly, Fatty's voice disrupted all the sounds around us.
I was so angry I nearly kicked him if I could have taken him on. However, I quickly made a shushing gesture and pointed to my ears, signaling him to listen closely.
"Stop pretending! I was here yesterday, and there wasn't a ghost in sight. What sound do you want to hear? The Vietnamese didn't hear anything; do you think your hearing is better than theirs? There's nothing here but the wind."
I shouted in frustration, "Can you be quiet for a moment? Hold your breath and listen carefully; there's a sharp sound mixed in with the wind. It's disturbingly eerie, like two gongs clashing together. How could there possibly be a metallic scraping sound here?"
With my shout, Fatty became tense; he certainly knew I wasn't joking about this. However, his reaction was different from mine—he didn't immediately hold his breath and continued to breathe loudly. Instead of listening for that sound, he kept turning his body and head, his eyes wide open as he scanned the surroundings.
It seemed he trusted his eyes more; perhaps the danger within his line of sight felt more immediate and pressing.
I decided to ignore him as long as he didn’t disturb me. I needed to determine what this sharp sound was as quickly as possible, at least to figure out its direction. The behavior of the Hakka People was too unusual; I would rather believe they were throwing up a smoke screen to escape. If not, we were definitely facing great danger.
Without Fatty's interruptions, I focused intently on listening. Soon enough, that sharp elongated sound appeared in my ears. I carefully discerned its direction and what kind of sound it truly was.
"Damn it. What the hell."
Suddenly, Fatty cursed loudly.
I turned my head to see that Fatty had already shouldered his backpack; everything he had just taken out was hastily shoved back inside. It seemed like he was preparing to run.
I shouted anxiously, "What's going on?"
"See for yourself." As Fatty slung his rifle over his shoulder, he gestured with his eyes toward a direction. "Don't point at it; don't provoke it."
The direction Fatty indicated was above my head—at the top of the mound that loomed like a wall before me.
I tilted my neck back nearly ninety degrees to catch a glimpse of the top of the wall. There, under the direct glare of the setting sun in the west, it shone brightly and painfully. A hint of red peeked out from the bare Summit, an unusually striking red, like fresh blood.
"What is that?" I asked Fatty eagerly.
His nervousness and quick preparations to flee made it clear he knew what that red on the Summit was. Although I couldn't see it clearly, that splash of blood-red made me anxious; in nature, this color signifies a warning.
"Damn. What kind of eyesight do you have? Can't you tell that's a Mountain Demon? Do you need binoculars?"
Hearing this made my legs go weak. No wonder Fatty was ready to run at the sight of this thing; if I had recognized it at first glance, I might have bolted down the mountain.
Mountain Demons are social creatures, and an adult male Mountain Demon can fight against a leopard. If this is their territory, they could attack me and Fatty at any moment. No wonder the Hakka People ran off like they saw a ghost; it seems they knew whose territory this was.
Thanks to Fatty's reminder, I finally saw the vivid and grotesque face of the Summit. The striking blood-red was its nose, flanked by white, wrinkled skin, with eyes sunken deep in brown fur staring expressionlessly at us. (To Be Continued...)
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