Ling Yechen was startled, his gaze drawn to the depths of the bamboo forest in the direction Jing Lan was facing. A profound silence reigned beneath the canopy of trees. The wind, soft during this period, barely stirred the bamboo stalks, their creaking an almost imperceptible whisper. Yet, despite the stillness, Ling Yechen could discern no unusual sounds. ‘Was it merely his imagination…?’ Though the thought crossed his mind, Ling Yechen refrained from speaking, acknowledging Jing Lan’s superior familiarity with the forest. Jing Lan quietly tilted his head, listening intently. However, he soon ceased his efforts, straightened his posture, and continued walking forward. Yet, the moment Jing Lan took another step, Ling Yechen too perceived a subtle, discordant rustling carried on the gentle breeze from the bamboo grove. It sounded as if something was slowly crushing the dry bamboo leaves scattered across the forest floor. As both men halted, the faint sound slowly faded away—not abruptly, almost as if it held no fear of being overheard. Ling Yechen waited for Jing Lan to name some animal as an explanation, but only a hint of confusion etched itself onto the latter’s face. Without a word, Jing Lan resumed his steps, though his gait was now significantly lighter. Perhaps it was due to his softened tread, but the eerie sounds in the bamboo forest vanished entirely.
“Was it some kind of animal?” Ling Yechen whispered.
“I can’t imagine what it could be,” Jing Lan replied, tucking the Siberian ginseng he held under his left armpit. His right hand instinctively moved to the hilt of the dagger at his waist. A sudden unease settled upon Ling Yechen, prompting him to persist, “Could it be a zombie?”
“Who knows,” Jing Lan responded, abruptly stopping. He bent down to pick up a broken piece of concrete, chipped off from the roadside, and hurled it towards the bamboo grove. The concrete chunk arced in a straight trajectory, striking a bamboo stalk with a resonant ‘thud,’ followed by the soft rustle of it landing in the pile of fallen leaves. A gentle breeze swept through, and a profound tranquility still enveloped their surroundings.
“It seems I was overthinking things,” Jing Lan had barely finished speaking when a violent rustling erupted from the bamboo forest. It sounded as if numerous chaotic footsteps were coalescing within a confined space. The cacophony echoed through the bamboo, seemingly drawing nearer, yet it paused at a certain point and then subsided once more. Jing Lan gently nudged Ling Yechen with his elbow, whispering conspiratorially, “Tread lightly, follow me. If I run, you run.” Even with his unfamiliarity with the forest, Ling Yechen realized that whatever was making the sound did not behave like typical small jungle animals. Most small creatures would flee in fright from noise, rather than approach it. ‘Could it be some large beast? If so, would Observation Post 115 still be a safe haven? While the concrete walls of the building could withstand wild animals, the four of them couldn’t possibly stay indoors forever.’ Moving as silently as if treading on snow without leaving a trace, the two returned to the observation post. The eerie sounds from the jungle did not resurface, but Lui Si, who had been idly playing ‘Go Fish’ poker with Little Lamai inside the post, noticed the unusual expressions on their faces. Jing Lan had no intention of concealing anything, directly providing a detailed account of their recent experience. He also casually asked Little Lamai if he knew what could have made the sounds.
“It could very well be wild boars,” Little Lamai suggested. Jing Lan noticed that Little Lamai’s eyes were red, as if he had just been crying. ‘Had Lui Si bullied him?’
“Wild boars’ footsteps should be heavier, shouldn’t they?” Jing Lan mused. He had never actually seen a wild boar but had heard descriptions from relatives. Apparently, Keke’s father had encountered one on a mountain in his youth; even with a double-barreled shotgun loaded with buckshot, two shots failed to bring it down. He had to scramble up a tree, and the boar proceeded to ram the tree directly. Only after reloading and firing two more shots, just before the tree was toppled, did he finally kill the boar.
“They are heavier, yes,” Little Lamai confirmed. “But with the thick layer of leaves, it’s hard to tell. And you mentioned a scattered, rustling noise—that could be wild boars rooting through the soil, searching for insects to eat.” Though Little Lamai was still steeped in sorrow, his mind remained clear enough to offer a strained answer to the question. ‘If there were wild boars, living in this forest would likely become impossible in the future. At the very least, gathering supplies as they had today would turn perilous.’ For some inexplicable reason, Jing Lan’s heart inexplicably lightened with a sigh of relief. ‘Was it because he had finally found a reason to leave this place?’ He suddenly felt that, beyond rescuing Keke, he harbored other reasons for departing, yet he couldn’t immediately recall what they were.
Lunch consisted of a pot of boiled Siberian ginseng soup, seasoned with two spoonfuls of salt, which they ate while chewing compressed biscuits. The Siberian ginseng was intensely bitter, but after growing accustomed to it, one would come to appreciate its subtle, herbaceous aroma. After eating, Jing Lan called Keke again, but for some reason, the call went unanswered. He then initiated a conversation, recounting peculiar anecdotes from the band’s past—his intention clear: to gauge Lui Si’s true feelings for Keke. Judging by the weary demeanor she had displayed that morning, she was, at the very least, not the type to throw herself headlong into danger for someone she liked; alternatively, she simply might not like Keke that much. Lui Si readily took the bait, animatedly discussing the ‘Four-Color Conjecture’ band’s notable past performances—naturally including Ling Yechen’s debut, and only, stage appearance. Lui Si hadn’t been present, but according to her, she had watched the performance recording no fewer than ten times.
“Little Yeye’s improvisation was truly exceptional,” Lui Si enthused. “Keke’s voice is also superb; she could easily make a living from it. No wonder she dared to major in a ‘pitfall’ subject in university. Worst case, she could just become a singer, take on commercial gigs, and probably earn more than other biology students who end up managing fish ponds, right?” Seeing Lui Si in high spirits, Jing Lan seized the opportune moment to pose his question: “So, would you be willing to rescue her?” Jing Lan finally witnessed a look of surprise on Lui Si’s face. He was slightly taken aback, having assumed Lui Si would be wary of such a maneuver. ‘Perhaps she had undergone a brief internal struggle.’
“I can’t do it,” she stated. Jing Lan replied, “Under our current circumstances, none of us can, but in the future, we may have to fight many more unprepared battles.” “I am not suited to survive in a world like this,” Lui Si declared, lifting her head. A seriousness Jing Lan had never seen before settled upon her face. “Don’t assume I was calm last night,” she added. “Some things are simply suppressed deep within my heart for now.” “Then what if only Ling Yechen and I go?” Jing Lan inquired.
“Little Yeye wants to save Sister Keke too?” Lui Si asked. “You truly like her, don’t you?” Ling Yechen, somewhat embarrassed, averted his gaze. “Keke just refused me outright when I called her,” he admitted. “But I still want to save her.”
“Because ‘you like her, and it has nothing to do with her’?”
“It’s not that foolish a reason,” Ling Yechen clarified. “If we don’t save her, Senior will be heartbroken, won’t he? Sister Keke is very important to Senior—not just a blood relative, but also a companion they’ve relied on through life and death, I imagine.” As he spoke, a pang of bittersweet emotion unexpectedly struck Ling Yechen. It wasn’t just the failed confession; he suddenly realized how much he, too, yearned for a companion he could rely on through life and death. Lui Si lightly tossed the playing cards she had been fiddling with. “Then do as you wish,” she said. “In any case, bringing me along would only be a detriment.” ‘Rationally speaking, this plan wasn’t bad. Deploying only the capable individuals each time meant that, should an accident occur, they wouldn’t suffer a total annihilation.’ Yet, a persistent force within Jing Lan’s heart urged him to pursue a strategy of full-scale relocation. He couldn’t articulate the basis for this notion, thus he was unable to immediately persuade Lui Si to change her mind.
“Then tomorrow, you two stay here and carefully observe the surroundings,” Jing Lan instructed. “If there are wild boars, a sighting would be a more reliable confirmation, and we could consider setting traps—then we’d have pork to eat.” Lui Si nodded. “Don’t worry,” she assured him. “I know how formidable wild boars can be; I won’t venture out lightly.”
On the afternoon of January 13th, the group passed the time playing cards inside the observation post. The game served as a distraction, and Little Lamai’s mood finally brightened somewhat. Around dusk, he even invited the others to go to the second floor to watch the sunset. As they once again beheld the clear evening sky of the southern winter, silence fell among them. Whether the scenery was familiar or foreign to each of them, the world that birthed such beauty was no longer as it once was. The notification tone from Jing Lan’s phone shattered the quiet, indicating another WeChat message from Keke. Reaching for his phone, and feeling a slight weariness in his legs from standing, Jing Lan was about to turn and sit on the sofa. However, a fleeting glance revealed a faint silhouette on the uphill road below, roughly 200 meters away, steadily approaching step by step.