Day Sixty-Seventh: The Devastating Blow (Part Two) — Extra Update for Pi Jin and Zhao Laoyao

After thinking it over, I decided I would still gather some sand and gravel to lay down the floor of the treehouse, build a proper earthen stove, and raise the floor with the stones and sand. That way I wouldn’t have to fear water seeping in from outside, and the stones themselves would help with drainage. I also planned to expand the treehouse a bit.

But all of that would take a lot of time and effort, so I could only do what was most urgent first. In any case, I still had to sleep at night. Now that I was used to sleeping in the treehouse, I could not bear to sleep in the open air anymore, especially at night. Most importantly, I had already seen so many frightening things—snakes, wild boars, leeches—that I could not imagine falling asleep outdoors at all.

Before leaving the yard, I checked on the seedlings of the potatoes and the bottle-seed packets. Sadly, more than half of them had already fallen flat on the ground. Of the half that remained, though they were still standing, the leaves were limp and even curled.

Ah well. I hoped the ones left would survive. I had expected them to be wiped out completely, but at least the outcome was better than I had feared. The garlic had actually done quite well. Except for some mud on the leaves, there was no damage at all, and it still gave me a sliver of hope.

When I crossed the creek, I noticed the water was up to my shins. This rainstorm had been truly severe—perhaps a typhoon. In this season, typhoons are not rare; maybe after some time, storms like this will become uncommon.

Blacky did not come along. Fearing some animal might steal food, once he finished what he had to do, I left the remaining provisions with him to keep watch.

The water in the stream was still cloudy, yet I chose to wash my face there. The dried mud on my face was so uncomfortable, and I had gone a whole night without real sleep, feeling weary and heavy.

After washing, the effect was obvious. I felt much more awake. Because of the continuous rain, the woods had become terribly muddy. Birds and small creatures came out to forage and met me unexpectedly, but each time, I was the one they fled from.

By the time I reached the small hill, the sun was fully up, and its warmth on my cold back felt gentle and good. My clothes had long since been soaked through. I had hung my shirt on the vines in the yard to dry, so I came out bare-armed. I kept my trousers on—I was afraid of insects from the woods—and after holding damp clothes for so long, I hardly felt them anymore.

There were actually many stones by the riverbank, but all of them were small and smooth. I would probably need those later. What I needed now were larger chunks, enough to raise the lower level of the treehouse.

I was also curious why the creek here always held water, even on clear days. I had a few theories: perhaps there is a cave within the mountain, rainwater entering and slowly flowing out through it; or maybe some other unusual condition. When I have time, I’ll have to check. The more I know, the easier it is to survive.

While I thought about it, the stones had already filled the plastic basket. I lifted the vine tied to the basket and dragged it toward the treehouse.

In the end, it was still a miscalculation. The forest floor is always damp because sunlight is scarce there, and this time the rain had been relentless, turning everything into awful mud. Buried under the stones, the basket sank deeply as I moved, and by the time I reached the treehouse, its rim had dragged out a broad strip of silt and mud.

And I was exhausting myself terribly—putting in nearly twice my usual effort. I did consider dropping some of the stones and bringing back only half at first, but even after unloading half, it was much the same. The basket simply sank less deeply.

I shook my head, put the stones back in, then picked up a broken branch as thick as my arm, leaves and side twigs still attached, and set it beneath the basket. I held the other end in my right hand.

That made a big difference. My speed increased noticeably. I slung the vine over my shoulder in an angle and hauled with all my strength, while my right hand kept the branch lifted, raising the front edge of the basket. The mud resisted me far less.

Once I was out of the woods, my right hand was completely numb and deeply aching, but I had made it through. By the amount of stones in this basket, I would need four or five more trips to have enough, which meant time was pressing hard.

After I dumped the stones at the doorway, I was already starving. I pulled out yesterday’s corn cakes and gave Blackie and me two each. There was also some boiled water left in the pot. After I had eaten and drunk enough, I headed out again.

The afternoon sun was viciously hot, no good for this kind of hard labor. My back burned and my sweat ran across my face. This was my fourth trip, and one more load ought to be enough.

Still, after much thought, I decided to forgo another run. I already felt my strength slipping, and if I pushed one more time, I might pass out from heat exhaustion just like last time.

After resting at the treehouse entrance and drinking a big bowl of water, I sat under the shade of the trees to cool down. You could tell how harsh the sunlight was by how quickly the ground dried; in my yard, the higher spots already looked dry.

I believed that after this afternoon’s blazing sun, my bedding would dry. But the roof tarpaulin was hard to find now, and I still had no idea where it had gone.

Starting a fire was another headache. I couldn’t find the flint lighter. I didn’t know whether I had dropped it or stuffed it away in some corner. I had moved everything out of the house—not a pot or pan left behind—and even the firewood had been left out in the sun.

From where I stood, everything was wet. I had not a single thing fit for ignition. I had to find some easily flammable tinder first before I could even think about lighting a fire—otherwise, all my work would be wasted.

The kind of wild grass that burned so easily before was nowhere to be found for some reason, so I had to look for replacements: a kind of dry grass as fine as strands of hair, and some leaves and resin still slightly damp.

These were the only tinder materials I could find at the moment. Even damp leaves can be dried in the sun, as can the hair-like dry grass. In this fierce heat, a few hours of sun can make them bone dry.

On my way back from gathering tinder, I also discovered a tarpaulin hanging from a distant large tree. That was, in itself, a pleasant surprise. But getting it down was far from easy.

The tree seemed at least ten meters tall, and the tarpaulin was tied up near the top of its canopy.

If I tried to climb, I worried I lacked the skill. If I slipped, I could fall.

Felling the tree might be a better idea, but how many days would it take to cut down something this size?

If the tree didn’t fall the way I wanted, it might collapse on top of me.

I thought about many possibilities, but I couldn’t come up with anything truly practical.

But!

For lighting a fire, I did come up with a way—and it was very simple!