Chapter 6 Hallucinations?

The treasure chest actually had a time limit!

Ye Da watched as the time ticked down and the treasure chest was about to be refreshed out of existence, a dull ache spreading through his heart. Having tasted the rewards from a chest before, he knew well their value. Within them, besides essential survival resources, there might be weapons or equipment—far more important than a few agave leaves!

Determined to claim the chest, Ye Da raced against time, jogging toward the direction of the swamp. Even if he couldn't secure it immediately, he had to at least assess the situation.

With a sudden splash, Ye Da's foot sank deep into a patch of foul mud as he ran into a lush green area. He pitched forward and fell straight into the swamp. The cold, slippery mire seeped through his clothes, chilling him to the bone. The more he struggled, the more the muck seemed to pull him down with a relentless suction.

Terror-stricken, Ye Da frantically clawed his way toward the bank. Fortunately, he wasn't far from the edge. Flailing desperately, he managed to grab the solid ground and drag his mud-covered body out of the mire. Except for his hair and back, every inch of him was sticky and drenched. When the wind blew, he shivered from the chill.

Cursing under his breath, Ye Da quickly stripped off his soaked T-shirt. Having narrowly escaped death, he gazed once more at the seemingly innocent green meadow, his mind awash with expletives. He'd always thought swamps were dark, muddy expanses. Who would have guessed there could be a swamp disguised like a grassland? What a perfect camouflage.

Thankfully, he had reacted fast; otherwise, he would've become fertilizer for this patch of grass.

Just then, his analysis glasses flashed a notification: “There is a wooden treasure chest in the grass twenty-one meters ahead, within the swamp.”

Twenty-one meters wasn’t far, but crossing that stretch of swamp was a significant problem. If only he had a ladder or a little boat! Ye Da stared at the distant clump of grass, pondering how to cross this damned quicksand river. The treasure was within sight yet just out of reach—a torment that gnawed at him.

Wait! Suddenly, inspiration struck. He remembered that when he’d scanned in four directions with his glasses, one direction had revealed a bamboo grove.

Bamboo! That was exactly what he needed.

Though building a full boat with such crude tools was unrealistic, making two bamboo rafts as swamp shoes to cross the mire—now that was doable.

Time: 7:15 a.m.

Forty-five minutes remained before the heavy mist would once again shroud the forest. The bamboo grove was a kilometer away. If he ran there, cut a few stalks, and hurried back, he should have enough time.

Ten minutes later, Ye Da reached the bamboo grove—a dense thicket of thick bamboo trunks and branches that almost blocked out the sunlight. The forest floor was carpeted with a thick layer of dried bamboo leaves.

But the place was swarming with mosquitoes—a veritable plague. As soon as Ye Da approached, he was besieged by clouds of the insects, their numbers easily in the hundreds or even thousands. He looked up to see a black mass swirling above his head, as thick as storm clouds.

To make matters worse, with his clothes filthy from the mud, he’d had to tie his shirt around his waist, leaving his bare torso exposed—a feast for the mosquitoes.

Thwack. Crack. The sounds of chopping bamboo interspersed with the slaps of swatting mosquitoes formed a bizarre rhythm, reminding Ye Da of one wild night camping with his ex-girlfriend—a chaotic duet of men and women battling mosquitoes. What an experience.

With a crash, another large stalk of bamboo fell. The bamboo was tough; after felling just three, Ye Da’s hands ached from the stone axe’s blows. Still, three stalks were plenty—enough not only for makeshift swamp shoes but even for a small raft.

Time: 7:35 a.m.

Twenty-five minutes left—not much time. He had to hurry.

Ye Da stripped off his mud-stained shirt, tied it around the bamboo, and dragged the bundle behind him. After only a few steps, he stopped, rubbing his eyes, thinking he must be seeing things.

But when he looked again, he saw it—a mushroom, half as tall as a person, with a red cap and white stem, was slowly hopping deeper into the bamboo grove right before his eyes.

He could even hear the sound, like the bounce of a basketball: thud, thud.

Ye Da stood there, mouth agape, so astonished he forgot to swat at a mosquito. “Am I hallucinating from all these mosquito bites?” he muttered.

But his analysis glasses assured him otherwise.

“Jumper Mushroom: A delicious hallucinogenic mushroom. If processed correctly, it can be eaten—a rare delicacy!”

A mushroom that could jump—and was edible!

Ye Da watched as the Jumper Mushroom bounced away. Suddenly, he dropped his bamboo, brandished his stone axe, and sprinted after it. “Don’t go! My precious red cap and white stem!”

The mushroom seemed to sense danger and hopped even faster. But luck wasn’t on its side—a rock tripped it up.

Ye Da’s eyes lit up—an opportunity! He wasn’t sure how dangerous this thing might be, so he swung his stone axe with all his might, slamming it down on the mushroom’s cap.

The cap caved in under the blow, and the mushroom toppled over. To be certain, Ye Da poked it a few times with the axe before picking up a stalk of bamboo, sharpening it, and skewering the Jumper Mushroom through its cap, hanging it with the other three stalks to drag back with him.

As he walked, the fog grew thicker. The light in the forest gradually faded. Ye Da looked up instinctively—the sun was mostly hidden behind clouds, barely shining through, and darker, heavier clouds were gathering, threatening to blot it out entirely.

“Damn! Only five minutes left before the thick fog returns!”

After his previous encounter with the giant bear, Ye Da knew all too well how dangerous the forest became when the fog rolled in. If he was still outside then, he’d be in serious trouble.