Chapter 6: Digging Yams
Having quenched his thirst, Zhao Man untied the bindings and stacked the sand yams beside the potatoes in the kitchen. Then, he spread the foxtail grass over the bamboo logs to dry in the sun.
Once that was set, he turned the wild greens and bamboo shoots he had laid out yesterday. Feeling their level of dryness, Zhao Man estimated they could be gathered and packed away tomorrow.
Placing two stalks of water dropwort on the kitchen counter, Zhao Man shut the door behind him. Calculating the distance between his home and the black market, he followed his memory and made his way over.
It was still the same alleyway, selling goods not much different from the official base market. Just as he was glancing around, Zhao Man felt someone reach for his terminal. He snapped his arms back against his chest and whipped his head around, only to see a half-grown youth quickly pull his hand back and bolt into the distance.
With a newfound appreciation for the black market’s level of security, Zhao Man dared not browse any further. Keeping his guarded wrist pressed tight against his chest, he beat a hasty retreat to the official market, where he purchased a water flask and a pack of salt, costing him one point and ten cents.
Zhao Man wanted to buy a weapon—ideally a firearm. The black market sold them under the table, but without someone to show him the ropes, Zhao Man couldn’t navigate the back alleys, let alone risk getting mugged. Without a weapon, how was he supposed to deal with whatever was lurking in that bracken patch?
Left with no other choice, Zhao Man sent a message to Tang Heng: Captain Tang, do you know where I could buy a weapon?
Perhaps he really wasn’t busy, as Tang Heng replied instantly: What kind of weapon? A standard gun usually runs around 200 points. Long spears, heavy sabers, and the like are barred inside the base. If you just want a dagger, pick one up at the market yourself.
Seeing that even a run-of-the-mill firearm cost two hundred points, Zhao Man abandoned the idea. Thanks, Captain Tang. Just asking.
Filling the pot with water, Zhao Man set to work preparing dinner, eager to taste the fruits of today’s labor.
With only a little water in the pot, it came to a boil in no time. He snapped the three washed stalks of water dropwort in two and tossed them into the bubbling water. After blanching them for ten seconds, he fished the greens out with chopsticks and set them in a bowl.
Pouring out the blanching water, he refilled the pot to boil drinking water. Once it was rolling, he poured half into a basin to cool and dropped the sand yams in to cook. When thoroughly done, the light brown skins of the sand yams had faded into a dull, ashen gray. Zhao Man sprinkled a pinch of salt over the dropwort and the last two sprigs of chameleon plant, officially sitting down to his meal.
This was the first time since arriving in this world that Zhao Man had a complete meal with both a staple carb and side greens. Lingering over a silent wave of emotion, he picked up a sand yam and peeled back the skin. Taking a hearty bite, he found the flesh dense, slightly starchy, and completely free of any astringent aftertaste. Having bitten off too large a chunk, Zhao Man had to chew and swallow with deliberate effort, taking nearly a full minute just to get it down.
“Sigh.”
After washing it down with a mouthful of water, Zhao Man let out a weary breath; that single bite had exhausted him. He picked up a stalk of water dropwort with his chopsticks. It was crisp, with an indescribable, subtle flavor lingering behind the salt.
Finished with his meal, Zhao Man laid the wilted foxtail grass over his bed frame, topped it with the woven mat, and cut the fabric he bought previously into two pieces—one large, one small. The larger sheet became his bedsheet, while the smaller wrapped around his spare clothes to serve as a pillow. The remaining fabric he rolled up and tucked into the bamboo segment under the bed.
He lay down, testing the setup. It was vastly better than sleeping on the bare planks, but still noticeably hard. Looks like I’ll need to haul back some foxtail grass every day for the next few days, Zhao Man murmured to himself.
Thump, thump, thump.
Zhao Man froze at the sudden knocking at his door. Glancing at his terminal, he saw it was seven o’clock, yet there were no incoming messages. Zhao Man climbed out of bed, gripped his machete, and stood silently behind the door, watching it closely.
The knocking persisted for five or six minutes before someone began leaning heavily against the door, trying to force it open. The base used biometric fingerprint locks, and the newly built structure was exceptionally sturdy; unable to budge it, the person outside finally stopped. Zhao Man pressed his ear against the metal surface. There were no footsteps, nor any murmur of voices. After a tense moment, the faint scuffle of departing footsteps drifted away.
His whole body slumping in relief, Zhao Man stowed his machete and climbed back into bed.
At four-thirty the next morning, the terminal vibrated right on schedule. Zhao Man got up, changed into his work clothes, washed his face, and brushed his teeth. After finishing off the potato he boiled yesterday, he poured the cooled boiled water from the pot into his flask, stashing it into his backpack alongside his nutrient solution, dagger, machete, and rope.
Locking the door, Zhao Man turned around. Seeing his neighbors bustling toward the main gate with hurried steps, none paying him any mind, he joined the flow heading toward West Gate 3.
At the stroke of five, the gates parted on cue. Zhao Man strode westward at a brisk pace. As before, the crowd splintered until only twenty or thirty people remained. Planning to harvest the sand yams on the far side of the slope today, Zhao Man estimated the distance and turned down a side trail.
Footpaths branched into smaller paths until only Zhao Man and one other scavenger remained. Zhao Man walked along quietly when a sharp shing cut through the air. Looking up, he found the person ahead drawing a dagger, glaring back at him with a chilling stare.
“Stop following me.”
Startled, Zhao Man reacted swiftly, whipping his machete from his backpack. “I’m not following you. I’m heading straight.”
Catching sight of the heavy machete in Zhao Man’s grip, the man didn’t waste another breath; he picked a fork in the path and bolted down it.
With his heart thumping wildly against his ribs, Zhao Man brandished his blade and sprinted forward, not stopping until he reached the base of the low hill.
Bracing his hands against his knees, he waited until his breathing steadied, then cut a man-tall walking stick from the roadside brush. The foot of the hill was carpeted in grass, swaying gently in the breeze like a rolling green wave when viewed from afar.
This side sat much closer to the sandy slope, and closer still to the bracken hollow; Zhao Man could distinctly make out the vein patterns on the lowest-hanging fern fronds.
Backing up twenty meters, he took in the full view of the fern hollow and the sandy slope. The gray gravel and lush green met to form an inverted T-shape.
Using the long wooden stick, Zhao Man swept the roadside brush. Once he confirmed the area was clear of danger, he raised his machete and cut a swath of grass.
Finished with the grass, Zhao Man picked up his stick and approached the woods flanking the fern patch. The trees here grew larger and denser than those on yesterday’s route; his gut warned him of danger, but retracing his steps to yesterday’s path would waste too much daylight. Weighing his options, Zhao Man gripped his machete and plunged into the timber.
Once inside, he verified his immediate surroundings before peering about. Drawing from his childhood spent in the countryside in his previous life, he reasoned that a hill of this size rarely harbored massive apex predators; at most, it was home to snakes, insects, rodents, and bees.
Walking and observing in tandem, Zhao Man didn’t dare waste precious time scanning plants. Keeping his bearings, he pushed straight toward the sandy slope. Twenty minutes later, he reached the sand safely, having run into nothing hazardous along the way. “Scaring myself over nothing,” he muttered under his breath.
With that, he set straight to digging, working his way down from the very top. These yams grew in the shallow top layer, uncommonly straight and clean; he could unearth them simply by following the roots with his digging stick.
Perhaps spurred by an underlying sense of unease, Zhao Man dug at breakneck speed. In under two hours, he had stripped the harvestable slope bare. Not daring to waste time testing them on-site, he snapped the longer roots in half, stuffed them alongside the shorter ones into his backpack, gathered the overflow in his arms, and retraced his steps downhill.
Going down proved far trickier than climbing up. Snagged by roots and creepers, the sand yams bundled in his arms poked against branches here and tripped his footing there. The ascent had taken twenty minutes, yet thirty minutes into the descent, he was barely halfway through.
Pausing once more to bend down and free his ankle from an encroaching vine, Zhao Man caught movement out of the corner of his eye. Focusing his gaze, he spotted a man-tall earthen mound twenty meters to his right. Swarming all over the mound were fist-sized red ants scurrying up and down. Two of them had their antennae twitching in the air, inching toward Zhao Man as they probed the breeze.
A spike of panic shot through his chest. Tearing his foot free with frantic effort, he gathered the yams into his arms and scrambled down the slope, half rolling, half sprinting, ripping through tangled undergrowth with brute force whenever he got snagged. The violent thrashing only stirred up a louder commotion, drawing yet more ants to the chase. A continuous, skin-crawling rustle echoed from all sides, as if the entire forest had suddenly roared to life.
Terrified out of his wits, Zhao Man bolted downhill with a single-minded frenzy. His boot came down on what felt like a thrashing, rubbery stick, but he didn’t dare glance down to check, desperate only to escape the canopy. At last, bright light broke through the foliage. Zhao Man burst out of the woods, tearing across the open ground toward where he had laid his grass out to dry. Hurling his bundle to the earth, he finally spun around to face the hill, heaving great, ragged gulps of air.
Before he could catch his breath, his vision went dark as a shadowy figure lunged straight at him.
