Chapter Nine: Surviving the Catastrophe

“All right, your welcome dinner is ready. However, it seems my speech just now went a bit long—we’re running half an hour late. Let me see…” She made a show of checking her watch again. “Oh dear, there are only five minutes left before departure. My apologies, everyone! I almost forgot to mention—five minutes from now, to make things more realistic, tanks and live ammunition will be used to send you into the jungle!” After speaking, she gestured at the line of supplies already arranged. “In other words, you now have four minutes and twenty-eight seconds to eat your only dinner for the week and collect your equipment. Lastly, I wish you all success in your missions—see you at the opening ceremony in a week!”

Damn! Even before Guo Qianshuang finished her last sentence, everyone couldn’t help but curse. No one cared about maintaining formation anymore; they charged forward, uncovered the large pot, and began shoveling food into their mouths.

As the saying goes, dumplings when you board, noodles when you disembark. But what simmered in that pot for hours was no longer noodles but a thick, gluey porridge. Nobody cared about that, though—they stuffed it desperately into their stomachs, blowing on the hot food as they ate.

Chen Cao hadn’t wanted to eat like this either, not even if he tried to cheat a bit. But now, he found himself forced into a dead end. Never mind anything else—just consider that seemingly mild assistant instructor, Guo Qianshuang, who’d fired live ammunition at him. There was no hope with those burly, fierce-looking instructors.

There was no choice but to take it step by step. Though he’d had dreams of raising pigs, he certainly didn’t want to go home maimed.

The sticky mess of porridge, mixed with rank-smelling pork, was an unpleasant meal. Even so, Chen Cao only managed to eat until he was half full. As soon as he reached for his gear on the ground, the assembly call sounded, followed by the staccato of bullets striking the ground at their feet—an obvious warning.

Nobody dared linger. While there was still some light, Chen Cao and the others dashed madly into the jungle.

When the gunfire finally ceased, Chen Cao estimated by memory that they’d penetrated about twenty kilometers into the forest.

Damn it, the hot, humid air of the jungle soon had Chen Cao drenched in sweat and cursing loudly.

Now, surrounded by dense forest, his shout echoed back at him only as silence—no response at all.

Everything was deathly still, apart from the persistent chirring of insects.

Chen Cao leaned against a large tree and opened the camouflage bag he’d grabbed in haste. He hadn’t had a chance to see what was inside. Now, peering in, he couldn’t help but curse again.

The small camouflage bag held only a military knife, a packet of beef jerky barely the size of a fingernail, a ration bar the size of a finger, and a plastic rod as thick as a finger. He had no idea what it was for. Did these lunatic troops solve everything with their hands? Everything was measured by hand.

Looking at these meager supplies, Chen Cao couldn’t help but let his mind wander to darker places.

Suddenly, his gaze landed on the plastic rod. Speaking to himself, he mused, “Could this be for signaling for help? But it doesn’t look like it—just an ordinary plastic stick. Nothing special about it. Or maybe it’s for…?” His thoughts again veered into mischief.

Anyway, I’m not moving. Let’s see if they come to rescue me. Chen Cao looked at the tranquil surroundings, settled himself against the tree, and closed his eyes.

“Hmph. I’ll just play dead and see what they do about it!” With that, he tossed his bundle aside, stretched, and decided to take a nap—he was exhausted.

But Chen Cao was dead wrong. Wilderness survival was nothing like he’d imagined. In the jungle, survival is the only rule.

Hissss—just as Chen Cao was about to drift off, a hissing sound came from above.

“Snake!” His first instinct was to leap to his feet. With his night vision, he looked up into the branches—and at a single glance, his blood ran cold.

A snake—a massive one. Chen Cao measured it in his mind—it was as thick as his thigh, clearly a giant python. From the way it was coiled around the branches, it had to be at least five meters long.

“My God—five meters. What does that even mean?”

He couldn’t be sure exactly how long, but that was his estimate. Chen Cao stared at the hideous creature, its breath reeking as it exhaled. He felt his thighs quiver.

The python, clearly starving, had been lured by the scent of the beef jerky Chen Cao had just unwrapped. Its emerald eyes fixed on Chen Cao; to it, he was nothing but a juicy, greenish lump of meat.

It flicked its tongue, slithering down the tree. As it moved, the leaves crackled beneath its weight—a sound that made one’s skin crawl in the night.

“Running won’t work—I can’t outpace a predator like this!” Chen Cao quickly dismissed the idea.

The snake drew closer. Chen Cao didn’t dare move. Suddenly, a memory surfaced—when he was young, Tang Bo had a pet python that froze whenever he whistled. At this point, any idea was worth a shot. Chen Cao pursed his lips and began to whistle softly.

The snake, in the midst of its swift crawl, suddenly froze at the sound.

“Haha! It works!” Chen Cao was delighted and whistled even harder. But at that moment, the python suddenly reared up, its massive head looming as it lunged at him, mouth agape.

“Damn it—what a load of crap!” Chen Cao yelped. Fortunately, he was agile enough to dodge the strike. As he rolled away, he snatched up his bundle and drew his knife.

With a weapon in hand, he felt a bit steadier. Facing the python, which had missed its strike and now turned to come at him again, Chen Cao spat, “You beast—if I have to die, I’d rather go down fighting than be digested in your gut!” With that, he charged, knife in hand.

But the python wasn’t as sluggish as he’d hoped. Facing this attacking prey, it simply flicked its head aside, dodged Chen Cao’s thrust, and in a flash, coiled tightly around him.

As the python squeezed, Chen Cao’s bones began to creak. A suffocating dizziness swept over him.

He couldn’t afford to lose consciousness now—or he’d be dead for sure. Chen Cao fought to stay awake, but his arms were pinned, and the knife was useless in his grip.

The python lifted its head, glaring at him with those cold green eyes, exhaling a foul stench that almost knocked him out.

With a surge, the python constricted tighter, and Chen Cao collapsed, losing all strength. His vision blurred as consciousness slipped away.

With a soft clatter, the sharp knife fell from his hand.

“Am I really going to die here?” Chen Cao started hallucinating, fleeting scenes from his life flashing through his mind. But there was only emptiness—his father’s face was a blur, his mother’s even more so. So be it. There was no one in this world he truly cared about.

His thoughts faded as his vision darkened.

Sensing its prey growing limp, the python loosened its grip. In that instant, Chen Cao’s hand groped forward and grasped the plastic rod.

Anything could be a weapon now. Acting on instinct, he jammed the plastic rod into the gaping maw of the python, thrusting deep.

“Hisss! Hisss!” The giant snake convulsed as if electrocuted, thrashing wildly in pain.

“Cough, cough…” As the python let go, air rushed back into Chen Cao’s lungs. He gasped and coughed violently.

With a final spasm, the python writhed and then lay still.

Chen Cao collapsed to the ground, staring in disbelief at his hands and the scene before him. He’d been as good as dead, yet somehow his body had acted on instinct. Was this the will to survive?

He picked up a branch and, in a wary crouch, nudged the motionless snake. Satisfied it was dead, he let out a long breath.

With control restored, his nerves settled and his courage returned. Chen Cao was always one to seize an opportunity. He retrieved his knife, grabbed the python’s head, and stabbed it several times until it was a pulpy mess.

The python’s head was nearly as large as a volleyball. With the knife, he pried out the bloodied plastic rod, which had saved his life. What was this thing?

Wiping the blood off, he examined it—it was now shorter and thinner than before.

“Could it be poisonous?” The thought made him toss the rod aside.

As he pondered, two cries rang out nearby.

“Help!”

A girl’s voice, clearly. The next cry was more masculine.

Chen Cao narrowed his eyes—wasn’t that the voice of Zhou Hongye, the round-faced little fox? They must have been enemies in a past life. But why let him hear this now? Still shaken from his own brush with death, Chen Cao hesitated.