Chapter One: Archaeological Expedition in the Shennongjia Mountains (Part One)

I’ve heard that the moment when a person suddenly grows up happens in countless different ways. Between time and space, there’s a thin membrane, and countless people pierce through it from countless places, descending into the real world they once wished to avoid, only to eventually become much like everyone else.

Every sector in modern society is advancing rapidly, with skyscrapers everywhere. Archaeology has progressed alongside them.

Allow me to introduce myself: I am a sophomore intern in the archaeology department of a certain university, named Hu Xiaodong. My grades can only be described with two words—average. This makes me feel as though I’m not cut out for archaeology.

Recently, some students from our department are to accompany our professors to Shennongjia to investigate so-called wild man relics and skulls, among other things—an assortment of oddities. The most bizarre rumor is that Shennongjia is home to blood-drinking “demon corpses.” Naturally, I don’t pay attention to such tales. In a harmonious society like ours, all these supernatural beliefs were forcefully driven out of people’s minds during Chairman Mao’s turbulent decade.

Besides, not everyone gets to witness such strange phenomena. Unless you’re destined—or just unlucky. There are so many people in the world, and the odds of misfortune falling on you are just a few in billions, so don’t always assume the worst.

With such thoughts, I set off on my journey to Shennongjia.

On the way, the towering buildings gradually shrank, then disappeared altogether from view. As a child, I always believed those skyscrapers belonged to everyone; as long as you were capable, you could become the boss and rule over them. But I was wrong. Only after growing up did I realize such things are earned by individuals through their own struggle, not collective property but private ownership.

I, a youth who spends his days in leisure, fear not finding work after graduation. This society is terrifying. Talent is either elite or strong; business is all about survival of the fittest, and the unfit are eliminated.

Fortunately, I still have two years of carefree time.

We drove into Shennongjia, and after consulting with the local forest rangers, entered the woods. The whole area resembled a primeval forest. After a short drive, the car could go no further, so we had to continue on foot.

Clad in travel gear, backpacks slung over our shoulders, and hats of every kind atop our heads, we entered a forest of ancient giants. It’s often said that monkeys are the most spirited of animals, and sure enough, after walking just a few hundred meters, we encountered a troop of golden snub-nosed monkeys—over twenty in all.

This was no small discovery, a fresh beginning for our five-day investigation.

Our group numbered over twenty, about ten of whom were women. In such circumstances, the men always strove to impress, treating the female students like young ladies—save for their clothes, the men carried all their luggage.

Except for me, of course. I wouldn’t waste energy like those ordinary fellows; instead, I walked with Old Ma, engaged in conversation.

Old Ma is the team leader in our department, about forty years old, with a buzz cut and muscular frame that bulges in his travel clothes. Despite his fierce looks, he’s easy to talk to. A few words in, and we were already speaking candidly; I began to wonder if he’d studied hypnosis, for talking to him made me feel light-headed.

My oversized backpack pressed against me, making it hard to breathe—full of shovels, ropes, and all sorts of things. I had no idea why we needed shovels or ropes to investigate wild men; unless their relics were buried underground.

Not everyone in our group knew each other. Aside from Old Ma, I was unfamiliar with the rest. The archaeology department had hundreds of students, and this trip was randomly selected.

Speaking of random selection, it excited me; my luggage suddenly felt lighter, and I breathed a sigh of relief. “Nice!” I thought.

So many people, and yet I was chosen—proving I’m lucky. The whole department nearly went up in arms over those twenty spots.

Suddenly, something felt off. My backpack seemed too light, as if the burden had vanished. My face darkened. “Is my pack torn?” I thought anxiously, spinning around.

I was at the end of the line, not paying much attention. When I turned, I saw someone supporting my pack with their hand. Because the pack was so big, it created a blind spot behind me at a ninety-degree angle, and my mental defenses nearly collapsed. I remember shouting, “Ghost!” which made everyone turn and look at me suspiciously.

My heroic image shattered with that cry.

Gradually, my nerves settled. Ignoring the sideways glances—which were plainly disdain—I looked back and realized the “ghost” was Old Ma. He was embarrassed, and so was I.

The misunderstanding cleared, I apologized, and Old Ma explained why he’d ended up behind me. After mutual forgiveness, he felt guilty and helped carry half my load. I could only express my gratitude through a glance at him, full of respect for our teacher-student bond.

Seeing the mix of scorn and envy in the others’ faces, I walked on with head held high, living out the saying: “Walk your own path and let others talk.”

Since they hadn’t moved and only I walked forward, I didn’t notice anything amiss. But as I reached the lead girl, I heard an exclamation—then, just as luck would have it, I tumbled into a ditch.

Now I understood why they hadn’t moved—there was a huge ditch ahead, and I’d fallen for it!

The ditch was two meters deep; landing in it twisted my precious foot. Fortunately, I’d trained a bit and wasn’t badly hurt—after a shake, I was fine.

No one helped me; they all skirted around the ditch, leaving me alone to curse, “If no one helps, you’re all puppies!”

I vaguely heard footsteps pause, and a chilling voice came from overhead: “Do you think we’re naturally at odds?”

It was unmistakably Old Ma’s voice. How could I be so unlucky?

I had to humble myself and say, “Uncle Ma, I was wrong—I really didn’t mean to curse you!”

But Old Ma, that sly fox, took advantage of my weakness: “So you did mean it, then.” With that, I knew he wasn’t planning to help, probably seeking revenge for my earlier shout.

But mountain folk have their tricks. Luckily, I’d encountered this situation as a child in the countryside. Bracing my feet against one side and hands against the other, I climbed up bit by bit. Two meters isn’t too deep; with a push and a twist, I stood on the edge.

Old Ma watched in surprise and shouted, “Excellent!” The group behind me even started clapping and cheering, “Good!”

Turns out they were watching my misfortune. Damn it, just wait till I get back at them.

Old Ma still walked behind me. Fearing he’d play tricks again and make me the butt of jokes, I switched places with him.

We’d been walking into the forest for an entire afternoon, and dusk was falling. Old Ma urged us to set up our shelters, then went off under a tree to sip his tea.

They say ginger gets hotter with age, and it’s true. My shelter was the fastest but also the worst. Old Ma pointed out the flaws, then settled inside and refused to leave. Luckily, it was big enough for two, though summer mosquitoes attacked us in waves.

We set up nearly twenty shelters on a flat clearing. Fortunately, mine was opaque, so I couldn’t see outside and didn’t feel afraid. Unlike others, who brought semi-transparent tents and slept like pigs.

Only I was showing off inside my shelter, since Old Ma was already asleep.

No one cared about my antics. In the morning, they all said my tent was old-fashioned, but truth be told, at night it was useful—much better than their dainty tents, keeping out ghosts and everything else.

The night hadn’t even reached two in the morning when some girls could no longer bear the loneliness.

...

(P.S.: Brothers, this is a new book—the first chapter, shamelessly asking for your support! More than two thousand words in this generous opening chapter.)