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墨書 Inktalez
After the release, the results were dismal. I urged those who enjoyed this story to continue their support.
I became more convinced of my premonition; the greatest challenge we would face next would not be food shortages, but something far more terrifying and immediate.
There was plenty of broken wood, and the Lao people and Vietnamese quickly built a fire. We were all fine; as long as we could move, we could generate heat. Fumi, however, was not doing well. Although he was the most relaxed among us on this journey, sitting on the cold ground made his body tremble slightly.
The campfire improved Fumi's condition. After sipping some boiled hot water, everyone's complexion began to brighten.
I tossed the micro-transmitter hanging around my neck to Jack and swapped out some bullets from our backpacks.
Jack looked at me in surprise. "Zhang, do weapons even work in this godforsaken place?"
However, he clearly had no objections when I took up the heavy AK-47.
I pointed to another gun hanging around my neck. "Who knows? But I like this guy; this is a weapon for a man."
Jack scoffed. "I hope you can carry it until the end."
"I should be able to."
What I really thought was that with this gun, I should be able to survive. At least it was the most hopeful option; I was determined to be the one who lived until the end. Of course, that was the worst-case scenario, and it was something I did not want to see.
While everyone else warmed themselves by the campfire and rested, I walked alone to the edge of the Underground River. The water flowed slowly, with a large amount of wood chips still floating on its surface. The drop from the pavement to the riverbank was minimal, no more than a meter. Here, there was no need to worry about falling in. Climbing out of the water would not be a problem for any of us, including Fumi.
With the AK-47 slung over my shoulder and my backpack left by the campfire—an influence from Jack's insistence on not leaving weapons with those we didn't trust—I sat cross-legged on the riverbank. One hand reached out with a glow stick toward the water while I pulled out a pack of food from my pocket with the other and tore open the packaging with my teeth. It was a pack of compressed biscuits, nothing like the crunchy snacks we usually ate. They were hard and crumbled easily when bitten into.
I took a bite of the compressed biscuit and then poured the crumbs that fell into the bag into the river. The compressed biscuits had a strong absorbent quality and would swell dramatically upon contact with water; these expanded crumbs quickly sank beneath the surface, hidden by floating wood chips.
The flow of the Underground River was steady. The pavement showed no ripples. The glow stick illuminated my face, reflecting it along with my silhouette in the water, which was sliced into countless pieces by drifting wood chips. As I munched on the compressed biscuit, I continued to pour every crumb that fell into the river while carefully observing the pavement.
I remained completely still until I finished the pack of compressed biscuits, and the Underground River's Pavement did not move either.
"If you have more food than you can eat, you can share some with me. There's no need to feed the fish. Besides, there are no fish here," Jack's voice and his shadow appeared behind me simultaneously, his hand also clutching half a pack of compressed biscuits.
I turned my head and looked up at him. It seemed he noticed my movement and guessed my intention.
Jack finally had a chance to look down at me from above, enjoying the moment as he chuckled a few times. I rolled my eyes at him in disdain and turned back to face the river. I felt that this action had a significant psychological impact on Jack; he was already taller than me, and this feeling of looking down should have been something I wanted to achieve. He often had this feeling over most people, especially after coming to China. Could it be that the pressure I put on him caused this? Would that make me the villain?
I ended this baseless speculation and patted beside me. "Sit down; I have something to say to you."
I heard Jack chuckle again. "I prefer standing while talking."
Damn, I guessed right; I suddenly felt overwhelmed.
"Jack, if we can go back this time, you definitely need to see a psychologist. Seriously, you're not well."
Jack's laughter came from behind again. "Zhang, don't provoke me; I know myself well enough. My psychological assessment is an A."
There's such a test? I was confused. If there is, why would someone studying Archaeology need to take such a test? I couldn't help but question it in my mind.
However, I wasn't one to back down in conversation. "I thought you had a psychology degree from Duke University. But since there's a specialization in animal psychology, you must be minoring in that."
After a loud "pfft," a shower of dry biscuit crumbs sprayed onto my head and the river surface. Then came Jack's violent coughing and intermittent, incoherent curses.
I turned to look; Jack was either choking or had turned beet red from coughing, bending over as he struggled for breath while making incomprehensible sounds.
Seeing that this could turn serious, I quickly used one knee as leverage to stand up, moved behind him, and wrapped my arms around his upper abdomen, pulling him forcefully toward me. With enough strength, I lifted him off the ground.
Noticing that Jack's condition hadn't improved, I was about to give him another squeeze when he raised one hand and gestured as if drinking water. I sighed in relief, patted his bent back, and went over to the campfire to fetch a cup of water.
I was worried about foreign objects entering his respiratory tract. If he was just choking, that would be a problem. After drinking a few sips of water, Jack's complexion improved, and he shot me a fierce glare without saying a word. It seemed that he felt he had no advantage in our verbal sparring; after all, Chinese was not his native language, and my English was even worse. There was no way I could engage him in English. Once he picked up speed, I couldn't understand what he was saying at all. So our communication rarely relied on English. In this regard, Jack was at a disadvantage during our banter.
Finally, Jack agreed to sit down. We sat side by side on the riverbank, about a foot apart. He was still coughing lightly while I brushed off the crumbs of compressed biscuits that he had sprayed onto my hair and clothes.
I noticed his feet dangling over the pavement and said to him, "Pull your feet up, like this."
Jack shot me a disdainful look. "What's wrong, boss? Is this something you need to manage? Are you worried that a giant crocodile will jump out of the river and eat people?"
I had no response and continued to lower my head, brushing off the biscuit crumbs from my hair. I had been throwing crumbs into the river for some time now, and I observed carefully; it didn't seem like there were any creatures in the water. Yet deep inside me was a strange sense of fear as I watched his feet swinging over the pavement. My anxiety grew stronger, almost like an obsessive-compulsive urge to drag his feet off the pavement.
My anxious feelings made my movements frantic and disordered. My two hands patting my hair made a soft sound against my scalp. The biscuit crumbs mixed with flakes of skin floated toward the surface of the river.
At that moment, a hand suddenly grabbed me.
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