Chapter 2: Narrow Escape (4)
Caves and burrows—no. After last night's centipede, I was truly spooked. Sleeping on the ground left me vulnerable to large nocturnal predators.
So... up a tree it was.
Before the light faded entirely, I found a wind-sheltered slope and chose a tree that looked relatively easy to climb. Using every ounce of my limited climbing skill, I hauled myself into a fork about two or three meters off the ground.
My stomach growled. I chewed a few bites of flatbread—didn't dare eat more—and downed several wood sorrel roots.
Darkness fell completely. The night temperature was in the low twenties, cool enough to need my jacket. Somewhere on a distant hillside, owls hooted—an eerie sound, but not terrifying.
Compared to what I'd left behind, this natural emptiness felt almost like happiness. I touched the pressed cake and phone hidden against my chest, and a small measure of calm settled over me.
Worried I might roll out of the tree in my sleep, I unwrolled the long towel and, with a wrench of determination, tore it in half. I tied the halves into a wide band—about a foot across and over two meters long—and bound myself to a thinner tree trunk.
That towel from the compound's meal lady had served me well in more ways than I could count.
Thinking of these random small things, I gazed at the stars visible through the leaves, and slowly fell asleep.
It seemed I slept for a long time before vague voices filtered into my consciousness. I twitched my nose—I smelled smoke.
I opened my eyes, turned my head silently—my neck was stiff from sleeping against the hard tree trunk—and saw several flickering firelights approaching from a distance.
Someone was coming!
6.
Almost without thinking, I untied the towel band securing me to the trunk and rolled it into a bundle—the towel was orange, and even at night, it might attract attention. I shifted deeper into the foliage.
The tree I'd chosen was at the edge of a sheltered clearing, and the people carrying torches decided to stop and rest here. I couldn't believe my luck.
"Damn it! I'm telling you, that girl didn't go this way—probably fell into some ravine and died already!"
Two men, cursing by the fire, speaking Mandarin with a southern accent.
They were... hunting me? I held my breath.
"If that pretty-boy Shane hadn't put up such a huge bounty, who'd do this kind of hard labor..."
"A hundred thousand—he really went all in."
I peeked through the branches. One man tossed dead leaves onto the fire while conspiratorially gossiping with his companion—
"Hey, I heard the girl Shane's after was his girlfriend."
I gave a cold, silent laugh.
"I heard that too... isn't she a lunatic? Talk about twisted taste... bet Fat Ruan messed her up in the head!"
The two men guffawed crudely, then veered into a string of lewd commentary.
From their chatter, I gleaned a few useful facts: we were less than twenty kilometers from a town called Yin Valley, which was a lawless haven for scammers and bounty hunters.
Close call—I'd almost walked straight into enemy territory. According to my route, I might have passed near this town tomorrow.
As if on cue—
"Crack!"
The fire flared as one of the men used his knife to open a can, scooping out chunks of Spam and grilling them over the flames.
The savory aroma drifted up through the branches.
I stared at their backpacks, swallowing silently—those two must be carrying plenty of supplies.
The men ate and drank below while I hid in the tree, waiting until the small hours. Their fire slowly died, and they curled up beside it under their jackets, snoring in tandem, loud as a pair of sawmills.
They must have been exhausted from a day of mountain tracking. I counted thousands of heartbeats, holding my breath until I was sure they were deeply unconscious. Only then did I dare move my stiff limbs.
Judging by the moon's position, it was still four or five hours until dawn. As soon as it was light, they'd be able to spot me if they looked up.
I pressed my fist against the chipped gap of my canine tooth, biting down hard—the pain snapped me into focus. I couldn't keep hiding; I had to leave while they were asleep.
I carefully removed my shoes, tied the laces together, and hung them around my neck. Barefoot, I inched my way down the tree trunk, hands gripping the rough bark, every movement excruciating against my torn skin.
Cold sweat rolled down my forehead, arms trembling uncontrollably.
I reached a lower branch, paused, and observed. The snoring continued rhythmically. One of the men rolled over, mumbling something in his sleep—both had their backs to the tree now.
Down, down—my feet explored the trunk's knots and ridges. One meter, two meters... finally, my toes touched the cool, damp earth.
The ground was covered in wet leaves. Even barefoot, I could make noise. I shifted to the balls of my feet, feeling my way backward through the underbrush, one slow step at a time.
Night insects nearby fell silent at my intrusion. I carefully pushed branches aside and tucked myself deeper into the foliage. When the insects resumed their songs, I exhaled a long, cool breath through my nose.
It felt like an eternity had passed.
Twenty or thirty meters out, crouching among grasping brush branches, I shielded my face, sat still, and listened.
The hunters hadn't woken. No one was following.
I put my shoes back on, lacing them tight.
The forest at night was pitch-black—ink poured over the landscape. Traveling in these conditions was dangerous, but the sleeping hunters were more dangerous. I didn't know their tracking skills, their routes, or whether I might cross paths with them again.
One encounter, and I was done.
Torn between conflicting imperatives, I hid in the cold, wet brush, curling myself as deeply into the thicket as possible, draping vine leaves over the gap I'd made entering.
Fighting off drowsiness and insect bites, I waited for dawn.
Around five or six in the morning, the two men woke, coughing and hawking and relieving themselves, the sounds crystal clear to my ears.
I sat curled in the silent undergrowth, sharp brush branches pressing against me from every side, jabbing my skin. Motionless, I stared at a snail slowly inching along a twig right in front of my nose.
The hunters discussed their route.
"From Little Golden Port, the mountain trail goes toward Yin Valley—that's probably the way she went."
"Damn weird though, haven't seen a single trace..."
"Let's head that way today. Pass me the map."
"Here, I think—over this mountain and down is Yin Valley. Whether we find her or not, we can hit up Yin Valley, have some fun, you know?"
"Last time, that broad—could you get her?"
"Maybe..."
Paper crackling as they unfolded the map. A soda can hissed open. Someone cursed—probably spilled on his clothes.
"Save me some!" the other called.
The crunch of boot soles on leaves, gradually receding, their banter fading into the wind.
They were gone.