Day Fifty-Three: Relentless and Unceasing (Part Two) An extra update for the early morning hours

The rain poured down relentlessly from above!

To be honest, the gap was actually not very wide—barely the width of a palm. But the downpour outside was so heavy, so dense, that I simply couldn’t pull the trunk, which served as a section of the wall, tightly enough with my hands. In just a few dozen seconds, I was thoroughly soaked, more so than any shower I’d ever taken at home.

I had to give up the idea of holding onto the trunk. Yet, as soon as I let go, the trunk began to sway violently from side to side. Clearly, the vines below were loosening more and more under the onslaught of the gale. It seemed likely that in the next moment, this crucial trunk would be blown down, and if that happened, the vines would surely snap.

In this tense moment, a thought came to me: I should use more vines to tie the trunk securely. There were some vines inside the shelter, ones I had gathered previously. The trunk formed part of both the lower and upper level walls, so to bind it properly, I would have to climb to the upper level.

No doubt, the upper level was just as drenched; my bedding was soaked through where the rain had swept in. Fortunately, the rice and flour had not gotten wet—my greatest fear. Bedding could be dried out, but if the rice or flour grew damp and couldn’t be dried quickly in this hot, humid weather, they’d soon become moldy and spoil.

There was no time for further deliberation. I quickly hauled the trunk back into place, steadying it against its wild swinging. The rope was much thicker than the vines, but only the vines could fit through the narrow gaps between the trunks, so rope was out of the question, else I would have used it instead.

I looped a vine around the trunk, pulled it taut, and finally lashed the long vine securely to the neighboring trunk, tugging with all my strength. Panting, I felt a measure of relief—the trunk was temporarily fixed in place. But since it was only vines, I couldn’t guarantee how long it would hold. At least this particular vine was quite dry; I’d had it for a while, so it was likely stronger than any fresh ones I could find.

Little Hei had stayed by my side throughout, even as the rain poured in. At the first sign of trouble, she rushed over to join me, sharing the brunt of the downpour. I felt both helpless and deeply moved. Sometimes Little Hei seemed foolish, but she often warmed my heart in the most unexpected ways.

At this moment, she was still at my feet, following wherever I went.

“Come on, Little Hei, let’s go warm up by the fire. Getting sick is no joke,” I said, patting her back. She trotted along beside me to the fire pit, then curled up again to enjoy the warmth. She always stuck to one principle: in the treehouse, she would lie down whenever possible; outside, she’d stand rather than lie down.

Soon, she closed her eyes and drifted off into dreams once more, but I felt only more alone and desolate. With no one to talk to, no one to share my thoughts with, the harsh weather made me ever more fearful, timid, and anxious.

Sometimes I wished I could be as carefree as Little Hei, unburdened by worries—but I couldn’t. The roar of wind and rain was still terrifying, and I felt as if my little shelter could collapse at any moment. Sitting by the fire for so long, exhaustion and sleepiness crashed over me like a tide. I wanted desperately to sleep, but my mind raced, refusing to quiet itself. To me, sleep would be the best escape, but I simply couldn’t manage it.

Yes, I couldn’t.

I hadn’t slept well the previous night, and my headache was growing worse. The body is always so real, so impossible to ignore. Many of the little branches I’d stuffed into the cracks had been blown out by the wind; rainwater kept streaming in through the gaps. I couldn’t even rest for a moment. I had to stand up again, pick out some branches from the firewood, and stuff them into the cracks one by one, pressing them down as best I could. It didn’t work as well as I’d hoped—water still seeped in, but at least it slowed down.

The experience I’d gained from using branches as makeshift shelter proved invaluable this time. Last time, I’d fallen ill and nearly died while digging drainage ditches. So I’d made thorough preparations for waterproofing here. First, my fire pit was at the highest point of the lower level. In addition to digging drainage trenches outside, I’d also made a miniature trench inside, three fingers wide and a knuckle deep, running all the way around.

I had to admit, this trench was performing brilliantly—far better than I’d dared hope. Most of the water seeping through the cracks and dripping from the upper level was being carried away by the little trench. Without it, my shelter would probably have been flooded by now—at least the lower level, except for the fire, would have been entirely submerged.

Originally, I’d planned to place the flour and rice on the table I’d built to keep them safe from the rain. But now I realized it wasn’t necessary. Even if rain did come in through the cracks, it would drip through the gaps in the upper level “floor,” and the food—stacked near the door, where uncut trunks formed an eave—remained dry. That was the only place untouched by rain.

Perhaps it was midnight now, or maybe the early hours before dawn. I’d completely lost track of time, my mind growing hazier by the minute. Utter exhaustion dogged me, and my thoughts had long since scattered. Now, even the simplest problem took me ages to solve.

Yet, oddly, I felt a kind of exhilaration. The wind and rain had lessened considerably, though my face was probably frozen in a stiff, blank expression. The storm had almost conquered me; my spirit was near its breaking point when, at last, the weather began to relent.

I couldn’t remember how many times I’d prayed for the storm to end, for the courage to endure, but faced with the raw power of nature, I felt so small, so powerless, unable to summon any resistance.

My eyes were burning, my forehead slick with both sweat and oil, my hair the same. Please, let this storm end.

I collapsed onto my bedding, not caring that one corner was soaked. If I closed my eyes now, I knew I’d fall asleep instantly. But before surrendering to sleep, I forced myself to listen to the sounds outside. If the storm wasn’t picking up again… then I could finally sleep in peace.

Five minutes later, my heart was utterly at ease. The once-roaring rain had quieted to a gentle patter; the wind was almost gone.

At last, I closed my eyes.