Chapter 260: Dawn: Silent Camp

Fatty had much stronger nerves than I did. He set Panzi down, propping him against a rock, while telling me to go with him to scout. The mist was gone now. He picked up a rock to throw ahead, and the two of us, wary of those tents, walked into the camp.

As soon as I stepped inside, I realized just how well Third Uncle had prepared this time. I saw a generator, a stove, and even a huge awning. Under the awning was a flat boulder with many documents held down by rocks. I noticed a few drinking cups placed on an adjacent relic stone, and on the other side, a clothesline made from vines tied between two tents, with clothes hanging on it. It was practically a makeshift settlement.

Everything seemed normal—no signs of a struggle, no bloodstains, but also no people. It was as if the camp dwellers had just gone for a hike.

In the middle of the camp we found a huge bonfire pit, completely reduced to ash. Inside the ash we found the burned remains of smoke flares; no doubt this was where the signal smoke came from. Yesterday's smoke had risen right here.

The tent flaps were all open, showing no one inside. We could even smell the odor of athlete's foot.

After tiptoeing around and finding nothing, Fatty and I looked at each other in confusion.

I remembered the color of the signal smoke we had seen. Panzi said red smoke meant "do not approach," which clearly indicated something had happened here. I grew nervous again, feeling as if I were covered in thorns—where had these people gone? What had happened here? The unease was impossible to suppress. If we had been well-equipped and full of energy, I might have decided to leave immediately and find a safe place nearby to observe. But we were barely hanging on, and I really didn't want to leave this spot to trek any further. Given Panzi's condition, there was no way to do that anyway; he needed immediate care.

On the giant rock under the awning, Fatty found a pack of cigarettes. Unable to resist, he lit one and took a drag, but he was so exhausted that after two puffs he couldn't keep it going. I took a few puffs too; at that moment, tobacco served as medicine, and I gradually calmed down.

Then we immediately carried Panzi into one of the tents. Inside I saw two backpacks. The tent was big, big enough for at least four people. On the waterproof floor there were various odds and ends—flashlights, watches—all left behind. I even spotted an MP3 player, but no lamps. I thought to myself: was the small generator outside just for charging this? What a waste.

At last we could truly relax. We stripped off all of Panzi's clothes and removed the remaining ticks. Fatty rummaged through someone's backpack, found a small medical kit, and disinfected Panzi's wounds with alcohol. Then he went from tent to tent, found a sewing kit, and stitched up the deeper wounds on Panzi's body.

Panzi had woken up, groggy and barely conscious. When Fatty pushed the needle in, his face twisted, but he didn't struggle much.

Watching Fatty stitch so neatly, I asked in surprise, "What did you used to do? You're good at this."

"I've told you before, but you keep forgetting—during the 'down to the countryside' years, who didn't know how to sew? No dad to beat you, no mom to cherish you, you just had to take care of yourself," he said. "But this is the first time I've stitched human skin. You think if I added some pattern, the guy would find it too boring?"

I knew he was joking. I gave a dry laugh and said it wasn't funny at all.

Looking at Panzi, I felt a surge of emotion. Thank goodness the python, despite its immense strength, had short teeth. Even with such severe injuries, none of the vital areas were damaged. But he had lost so much blood that recovery wouldn't be easy. Seeing Panzi naked, covered in scars, I suddenly realized where those scars came from. Every time he went underground, it was a narrow escape. No wonder Third Uncle relied on him so much—the guy truly didn't care about his life when working.

Still, perhaps it was exactly that reckless approach that let him survive every time, even though he always got badly hurt, I thought.

Fatty said to me, "That's called a self-destructive tendency. I know it well. I had a close buddy who served in combat. Everyone in his squad died—died horribly. After discharge, he couldn't get over it. He kept wondering why he didn't die back then, as if surviving meant he had been expelled. When we went tomb raiding, he'd try desperately to get himself killed—whatever was most dangerous, he'd do it. Actually, he was just looking for a chance to off himself. People like that need an anchor, or they'll do anything. So I think to Panzi, your Third Uncle is like his lifeline."

I didn't share such a profound experience, so I couldn't fully understand what Fatty meant. But I saw his hand tremble a little, so I told him to stop talking and focus on sewing.

It took us nearly an hour to finish stitching. Our hands were covered in blood. After disinfecting Panzi's wounds again, Fatty finally let out a sigh. By then, Panzi had fallen back asleep.

We walked out of the tent and both had to sit down and rest. Fatty wasn't completely relaxed; he immediately looked around and said, "This place is off. I think we should gather what we can while we have the chance, and not stay here long."

I nodded. I wanted to stand up, but as soon as I moved, I realized I couldn't. Not a single muscle in my body obeyed me. Fatty tried to move too, but obviously he couldn't walk either. We looked at each other with bitter smiles and sighed together.

To be honest, we were at the end of our rope. Even if something urgent came up right now, I probably couldn't get up. Both mentally and physically, we had surpassed the limits of exhaustion; we were completely spent.

Seeing that I wasn't moving, Fatty smiled bitterly and said, "But going back into the jungle now is probably dangerous too. Rather than getting killed in that damp, cold place, I'd rather die here. Listening to an MP3 while getting bitten by snakes—that's a fitting end for a tomb-raiding celebrity like me."

That was a bit of an Ah Q spirit, but I nodded—sincerely, even. Although I'd experienced exhaustion like this a few times before, this time was especially severe. Mainly, before even entering this place, crossing the vast Gobi had already drained too much of our energy and strength. We were already dead tired before we got into the canyon, and everything after that was sheer endurance. Having such a long trek only to find that the journey had just begun was extremely disheartening. But even scarier was the realization that if I survived this, the return trip would be the real test. And now, if A Ning's radio really existed out there, there was no way we could get it. Everything from here on would be a nightmare.

Just thinking about these things gave me a splitting headache. I really didn't want to dwell on them.

We rested a while, boiled some water, ate a little dry food, then stripped off all our clothes. Those clothes were so worn that they fell apart when we took them off; even the holes were bigger than the pant legs, so we had to discard them. We grabbed a few clean clothes that were hanging out to dry and put them on. Looking at my legs, they were covered with bloody scratches from thorns. Luckily they were all superficial wounds, painful when wet, but not at risk of infection.

What was disgusting were the ticks. There were none on the front of my legs; they were all concentrated in the hollow behind my knees, bloated with blood. Fatty found some tick spray, gave a few squirts, and the ticks all dropped off. I wanted to crush them, but Fatty said that might attract more, so he swept them all into the stove, where they crackled as they burned.

The tea I boiled myself was especially fragrant. I drank some, then washed my feet and wounds. My completely numb muscles finally began to feel again—ache, weakness, prickling—everything at once. I couldn't even stand, so I had to scoot around using my butt as feet.

Last night, only I had slept a little, so despite the overwhelming drowsiness, I let Fatty sleep first while I leaned against a rock and kept watch.

The sun was high now, and the entire ruin was clearly visible. Around us there was no wind, and the valley was as silent as if frozen. I thought Fatty wouldn't be able to sleep either, but no sooner had his head touched the rock than he started snoring like thunder. He hadn't even put out his cigarette; he fell asleep with it dangling from his mouth.

I took his cigarette and smoked it myself, shaking my head with a wry smile. Then I felt myself almost nodding off too. I forced myself to stay awake, struggling not to fall asleep, but it was no use. As long as I sat still, my eyelids became as heavy as lead.

The morning light faded and the sun grew fierce. I took a few deep breaths, moved into the shade of the awning, and forced myself to start organizing my backpack. That was when I saw Wenjin's notebook, stuffed at the very bottom.

Fearing that this precious notebook might be damaged during the harsh trek, I had wrapped it in a pair of my socks. Since entering the canyon, plans had kept changing, and I hadn't had a chance to read it carefully. Thinking back now, the contents didn't seem to help much.

Maybe Wenjin had come here years ago. For the history of this ancient city, ten or twenty years is nothing, but for the environment here, it's long enough. In over twenty years, the vegetation here would have completely changed in growth patterns.

At least Wenjin's note "many snakes here" hadn't lied to us. Still, I felt she'd been too brief. There was so much that could be said about these snakes, but she only noted their abundance. Was she just not observant?

The notebook contained a detailed account of their journey through the rainforest. I could look through it again to see if anything could help us. By now my mind was blank; all I could think about was how to get out of here, so I flipped to the later parts of the notebook.

But I was too tired; the characters blurred before my eyes. I doused my eyes with water and forced myself to focus. After a few pages, I couldn't hold out any longer. Reading felt like a lullaby. I put the notebook down, tried to clear my mind, but my consciousness inexorably began to fade.

Just as I was about to fall asleep, I heard a faint voice in a daze. It sounded like Panzi calling me: "Third Young Master."

I jolted awake, thinking Panzi needed something. I rubbed my eyes and painfully sat up, but found everything quiet. There was no sound at all.

I thought to myself, damn, I'm so tired I'm hearing things. I immediately pressed and rubbed my temples, but then I heard a very faint voice, as if laughing or complaining about something, coming from deep within the camp.

I shuddered and thought: Could they be back? I immediately ran out, but saw no one inside. I called out, "Hey," and walked among the large tents, circling around, but saw nothing.

Strange? I patted my own head. The silence all around was unsettling.

I stood there for a while, and nothing happened. Puzzled, I walked back, sat down in my original spot, took a few deep breaths, and lit a cigarette, feeling like I might be losing my mind.

But I immediately knew I wasn't—I saw several muddy footprints on the stone in front of me, stretching all the way from a distance to where I was sitting. Those hadn't been there just now.

I became alert and looked around. I saw that the large rock with the documents also had a lot of mud on it, clearly something had been propped up on it. Then I noticed that the position of Wenjin's notebook I had placed there had changed and was stained with mud.

In an instant, my drowsiness vanished, and I immediately stood up.

Who did this? So many muddy footprints—could it be that Wenjin? Did this person see her own notebook and flip through it? Or was it that monster that looked like A Ning?

I looked around—no one was there. Then I examined the footprints. They extended all the way into Panzi's tent. I immediately tensed up, picked up a rock, and went over to Fatty to try to wake him.

Waking up Fatty wasn't that easy. I shook him a few times with no response, and didn't dare make too much noise, so I gritted my teeth and headed for the tent myself.

The tent flap was slightly open. As I approached, I saw a muddy handprint on the nylon door curtain and immediately swallowed hard.

I took a deep breath, imagining the process: I would push aside the door curtain, rush in, and shout first. If that person lunged at me, I'd smash him with the rock.

At that moment, I suddenly felt the rock wasn't very handy, but there was no time to find another. I took another deep breath, gritted my teeth, and ducked into the tent. Sure enough, I saw a person covered in mud crouching in front of Panzi.

I yelled and was about to lunge at him, but then I saw the person turn his head. I was stunned. On that mud-caked face, I saw a pair of eyes that were incredibly familiar.

It was actually Poker-face.