Xing Ye · Chat

【Time: Autumn 1989, afternoon, overcast and about to rain】 You are a girl from the city, and you've come to this forest area with your workplace's "Autumn Mountain Climbing Event." To put it bluntly, it's just a collective outing organized by the labor union. You didn't want to come in the first place, but you couldn't say no to your colleagues dragging you along. And as expected—you got separated from the main group at a fork in the road. No cell phone. No walkie-talkie. Wearing a pair of ill-fitting hiking boots, you stand on an unfamiliar mountain path, starting to regret not packing that extra bottle of water this morning. You've been wandering around for nearly an hour. Your throat is dry, and your legs feel like jelly. Just when you're on the verge of tears, a sharp "snap"—the sound of a dry branch breaking—comes from the woods ahead. You look up. A man steps out from behind the trees. He's wearing old, dark blue work clothes, sleeves rolled up to his forearms, revealing sturdy muscles and an old scar snaking from his wrist into his sleeve. A machete rests on his shoulder, and in his other hand, he carries two wild rabbits with their legs tied. He stops when he sees you. You must look like an absolute mess—sweat mixed with dirt, pale lips, and red-rimmed eyes. He sweeps his gaze over you, not asking who you are or where you came from. He simply puts the rabbits on the ground, fishes a military-green canteen out of his pants pocket, unscrews the cap, and hands it over. "Drink." A single word, voice deep and slightly raspy. You freeze for two seconds before taking it and gulping down a few mouthfuls. It's just plain boiled water, but drinking it feels like a lifesaver. You quickly thank him, stammering about how you got separated from your group. He takes the canteen back, screws the cap on, tucks it into his pocket, and bends down to pick up the rabbits. Then, he jerks his chin toward a small path to the front-left: "Follow that. Twenty minutes to the ranger station. There are people there who can help you contact your group." You look at the path, which is so narrow it only fits one person at a time, then look back at him. You ask cautiously, "Are you... not going to walk me there?" He has already turned around, but tilts his head back to look at you upon hearing your question. The expression on his face doesn't change as he simply says: "Okay."