Chapter 7 Snatching the Bamboo

"Clack!"

Ye Da dropped two bamboo poles, leaving himself with only one, to which the springy mushroom was tied. Gripping it tightly, he dashed through the forest at full speed.

As time ticked closer to the hour, the mist in the forest grew thicker and thicker. Ye Da looked ahead—everything was shrouded in a dense, white fog. The mist was growing so heavy he could barely see his own hand in front of his face.

Fortunately...

Ye Da had always been cautious; he’d marked the big trees along his path well in advance. Now, as he hurried back toward his tree hollow, a glance at each mark was enough to find his way without getting lost.

“Pant… pant…” Ye Da finally made it back to the tree hollow just as the clock struck eight. As soon as he entered, he doubled over, hands on his knees, gasping desperately for breath.

He felt as if his lungs might burst. Especially those last hundred or two hundred meters—he’d run so fast it felt like he could have outpaced even Bolt.

That was exhilarating!

Wait!

Suddenly, Ye Da pressed a hand to his heart. Though his heart was racing, there was none of that familiar panic, that terrifying sense it might stop at any moment.

“Has my heart disease… healed?” A glimmer of joy appeared in his eyes.

Thinking back, he realized that all day, during his busy activities outside, his heart condition hadn’t acted up once.

Could it be that… that beast core had even repaired his heart?

But just as Ye Da was pondering his health, a rustling sound came from outside—the swish of leaves brushing the ground.

He quickly noticed that the bamboo pole at his side was slowly being dragged out of the hollow.

“What’s going on?!”

Ye Da peered outside, and, after making sure no bear or other fierce beast was about to pounce in, he scrambled to pull the bamboo back.

He’d cut three bamboo poles, but dropped two to move faster on the way back. This one was all he had left. If he wanted to retrieve the chest from the swamp in the afternoon, he’d have to depend on this bamboo.

It was too important to lose to whatever mysterious thing lurked in the mist. Ye Da yanked hard.

“This is mine! Give it back!”

But no matter how much strength Ye Da put into it, he couldn’t budge the half-dragged bamboo. Worse, the pole kept sliding out at a steady rate, as if an invisible winch was pulling it away.

What on earth was out there?

Peering out, Ye Da could only make out shifting shadows within the dense fog beyond the hollow.

The thought that whatever was out there might not even be a living creature sent a cold chill through his entire body.

What should he do? What could he do?

Ye Da watched helplessly as the bamboo in his hands grew shorter and shorter. His anxiety mounted.

Strangely, whether he held on or dropped the pole, the speed at which it was dragged away never changed. It simply vanished at a constant, unhurried pace—enough to drive anyone mad with anxiety, yet utterly beyond his control.

Damn it, think! There must be some way to stop whatever’s out there!

His mind was spinning.

Just as the bamboo was about to disappear outside, Ye Da’s hand brushed against the box of matches in his pocket. A sudden flash of inspiration struck him.

Fire!

He remembered the survival rules of this mist world:

“A campfire brings warmth and drives away the mist. Please make one before night falls!”

The things in the mist feared fire.

Ye Da quickly opened the matchbox, pulling out a stick longer than a cigarette. He scraped it against the box, but there was no striking surface—it was too smooth. He had almost forgotten, these weren’t safety matches.

He struck the match head against the rough wall of the hollow. Instantly, a small orange flame flared to life.

He held the weak, aromatic flame toward the hollow’s entrance. The mist outside recoiled as if meeting its nemesis, rapidly scattering. Unfortunately, the flame was too small, and the area cleared was limited.

Ye Da crouched and tried to pull the last bit of bamboo back. Still, it wouldn’t budge.

Apparently, the fire wasn’t strong enough.

He needed a proper campfire.

He scanned the hollow and saw a pile of dead leaves. Not wanting to waste a match, he quickly withdrew into the hollow and used the dying flame to ignite the leaf pile.

That pile had been his bed.

But to keep the fire going and drive off the mist, he had to sacrifice it.

Whoosh!

The dry leaves caught easily, and the flames blazed high, illuminating the entire hollow.

Ye Da grabbed a burning twig and threw it through a crack in the tree.

A harsh, inhuman screech pierced the mist—a sound like fingernails dragging across a chalkboard, making Ye Da’s skin crawl.

As the horrible shriek faded into the distance, Ye Da tried pulling the bamboo again. This time, it slid back easily.

He retrieved the entire pole, but the springy mushroom tied to it was covered in claw marks, as if it had been attacked by some strange creature.

Could it be...

Seeing the state of the mushroom, Ye Da began to suspect: the creature in the mist had been after the mushroom, not the bamboo. Were they only interested in food or living things?

The fire crackled, reminding him that now was not the time to dwell on the monsters outside, but to keep the fire alive and under control.

Ye Da broke some branches off the bamboo and fashioned a rough broom, sweeping all the dead leaves into a pile and tossing in some broken twigs to keep the flames going.

If the twigs ran out, he still had nine units of poor-quality wood left over from breaking down the wooden chest. He could burn those too, though it would be a bit of a waste.

With the fire secured, Ye Da finally sat down to catch his breath.

First, he powered on his phone, hoping for a message from Dali or anyone else, but there was still no signal.

He tried sending Dali a message: “Dali, I discovered there’s private messaging in this game. If you see this, add me. If you can’t find me, look for the person selling bear meat in the trading market—that’s me.”

[Message failed to send.]

Ye Da sighed at the response.

Could it be that the signal only came at certain times—perhaps midnight or morning?

He saved the message and checked his battery—only 60% remaining. He decided to look at the trading market to see if anyone was selling a power bank. If not, he’d try to acquire one.

The instant he opened the trading market, he was bombarded with transaction alerts:

[+10 units poor-quality wood, -1 unit bear meat]

[+1 unit poor-quality flax, -1 unit bear meat]

[+1 unit poor-quality nail, -1 unit bear meat]

…

Before he left, Ye Da had put 20 portions of bear meat up for sale. He hadn’t expected them all to be snapped up so quickly.

He’d also received a flood of private messages:

“Hey, any more bear meat? Did you actually take down that bear yourself?”

“Ah, I was just a step too late—the wood’s all gone. Only flax and nails left, but I don’t have those. Please, can you put up more bear meat? I’m begging you!”

“I spent two hours this morning gathering dead branches, and only got twelve units of poor-quality wood. Can you sell your bear meat a little cheaper?”

“I’m still hunting for bird eggs, and you’re already hunting bears? Wow, I’m in awe.”

…

Most of the messages were desperate pleas for meat.

Only now did Ye Da understand just how valuable the meat was. He still had twenty-five portions of bear meat and five of bear innards left, but he didn’t immediately put them up for sale. Instead, he planned to trade them for key supplies.

Like a power bank.