Chapter 84: The True Directionally Challenged

A few days passed in the blink of an eye. Summer Luo and Yan Yan Gan were at the riverside, washing food.

“Tomorrow night, we can finally go home,” Summer Luo said.

“But we still have to keep training, just not in the wilderness anymore,” she sighed.

“Anything’s better than this place.” Yan Yan Gan slapped the stream in irritation, sending droplets flying.

“Yan Yan, after this afternoon’s training, we need to gather some firewood. We still have three meals left and we’re running short,” Summer Luo said, holding the food.

“Why don’t we ask the boys to help?” Yan Yan Gan suggested.

“No need. Just a little more is enough. Let’s go ourselves, no need to bother them. Their training load is twice ours,” Summer Luo pressed her lips together.

“Alright, we probably won’t need much anyway.” Yan Yan Gan nodded.

By noon, Summer Luo was able to cook a vegetable dish on her own, but when it came to meat, she was helpless—it had to be Song Chengyi.

During the meal, everyone seemed drained, nothing like the energy they’d had on the first two days. They ate quickly and rested for a bit, knowing training resumed in the afternoon.

The group was split into boys and girls. The girls’ tasks were simple: jogging and standing in military posture. The boys, however, had much heavier drills—horse stance, classes, push-ups.

Summer Luo watched the boys doing push-ups from afar, searching for Song Chengyi among them. She found him at a glance.

Compared to the others, Song Chengyi was probably in better shape; Summer Luo knew he ran every morning. Still, seeing the sweat-soaked back, she couldn’t help but feel worried.

After the girls finished their training, Song Zeming told them to head back.

Summer Luo seized the chance to say to Yan Yan Gan, “You go take the food and wash it, I’ll go pick up firewood.”

“Let’s go together,” Yan Yan Gan protested, uneasy.

“We need to split up or we won’t make it in time,” Summer Luo smiled.

“It’s hard to find any around here, most has been picked clean,” Yan Yan Gan warned.

Summer Luo patted her friend’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, I saw plenty during my runs the past few days. I’ll grab some and be right back.”

“Be careful.”

“Mm-hmm.” Summer Luo smiled, giving an “OK” gesture, then ran into the woods.

Yan Yan Gan watched her disappear, then returned to camp, queued for the food, and went to the river to wash it.

The boys would finish training and come back soon. Yan Yan Gan didn’t know how to start a fire; Song Chengyi would have to do it when he returned.

By the time the boys finished, dusk was settling.

Song Chengyi stretched his arms and returned to find Yan Yan Gan crouched, trying to light a fire.

Seeing Song Chengyi, Yan Yan Gan sighed with relief, as if seeing a savior. “Big brother, help me—I've been trying forever and it won’t light!”

Song Chengyi walked over and, with ease, used a tissue to ignite the wood.

Yan Yan Gan immediately tended the flames, muttering to herself, “If Summer doesn’t come back soon, we won’t even have fire to cook.”

Song Chengyi stood up, looked around, but saw no sign of Summer Luo. He walked to the river—still no one.

He returned and asked Yan Yan Gan, still crouched, “Where’s Summer Luo?”

“She went to gather firewood. She should be back soon.” Yan Yan Gan kept tending the fire.

“By herself?” he asked, frowning.

“She told me to wash the vegetables, divide the work.”

The others arrived, overhearing their exchange.

“The area’s full of students camping. She’ll be back any minute. Song Chengyi, start cooking, we’re starving.”

Song Chengyi felt uneasy, but reasoned that the place was full of students and instructors—nothing could happen. He began to cook. Yet, as he finished the last dish, night had deepened, and a sense of wrongness grew.

He asked Yan Yan Gan again, “When did she leave?”

Yan Yan Gan glanced at the darkening sky, suddenly anxious. “She left right after training ended. It’s been more than an hour.”

A few others gathered. “It’s nearly night and she’s still not back?”

Song Chengyi pressed his hands to his hips, brows furrowed.

“Could something have happened?” Yan Yan Gan clenched her hands.

“Maybe we should wait a bit longer, then tell the instructors?” A Feng suggested.

“We can’t wait anymore. Go tell the instructors now—I’ll go look for her.” Song Chengyi said, then ran off.

“Song Chengyi!” Yu Bin called after him.

Yan Yan Gan realized something was seriously wrong, her eyes reddened with worry. “What do we do? I… I’ll go find the instructors.”

She ran, breathless, to the group of instructors who were eating dinner.

The instructors saw her arrive in a panic.

Song Zeming recognized her—she was often with Summer Luo.

“What’s wrong?” Song Zeming stood.

“Song… Instructor Song… Summer Luo from our group went to gather firewood and hasn’t returned,” Yan Yan Gan gasped.

“How long has it been?” Song Zeming asked, tense.

“Almost an hour and a half.”

“Was she alone?” Other instructors put down their bowls.

“Song Chengyi went to look for her just now,” Yu Bin and the others said, arriving.

Song Zeming looked at them, stern. “Don’t go anywhere. Stay here. I’ll take people to search.”

“Instructor, let us help. It’s dark, she’ll be harder to find,” Chen Nan suggested.

“This is for the instructors and teachers to handle. Don’t make trouble. Wait here, and if they return, contact us immediately,” Song Zeming said firmly.

Left with no choice, the group stayed put.

Song Zeming led the instructors in all directions to search. Teachers from various places also joined.

Yan Yan Gan sat by the fire, crying, wracked with guilt. “It’s all my fault. I should have gone with Summer. How could I let her go alone?”

The others were worried, too. After days together, they’d grown close.

Chen Nan was frustrated; he shouldn’t have waited to ask the instructor—should’ve gone to look right away. Now, there was no way to go out searching.

Summer Luo, seeking firewood, had walked far.

She remembered seeing plenty during her runs earlier.

After wandering for a long stretch, she finally spotted a pile of dry wood not far ahead.

She started gathering it immediately.

As the sky darkened, she prepared to carry the gathered firewood back.

It was heavy, almost too much to carry—she’d collected plenty.

She headed back the way she’d come.

After a while, she realized she didn’t know the way back at all. She’d always struggled with directions.

Panic set in.

She pressed on, trying to recall the path, muttering, “I think I came from here.”

“Yes, that’s right, I remember this tree.”

She kept walking and muttering for a long time.

The surroundings grew darker.

Summer Luo tried to encourage herself—just a bit further and she’d see the bonfire. The area was full of campers; just a few more steps.

As night deepened, carrying the firewood became harder with every step.

She set it down, exhausted, and rested on the ground.

She reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone, seeing it as a ray of hope—thank goodness she had it.

She turned it on, only to see “No Service.” Of course, there was no signal.

Unwilling to give up, she stood and held her phone high for ages, hoping for a signal, until she was worn out.

With no choice, she turned on the flashlight, illuminating the path ahead. She looked at the firewood at her feet and finally picked up a small bundle—she couldn’t return empty-handed.

The farther she walked, the more anxious she became. It felt as if she was only getting farther away.

Nothing looked familiar anymore.

The forest at night was pitch black; tall trees blocked the moonlight.

Only shadows filtered through the leaves.

Beyond the beam of her phone, she couldn’t see any light.

Now, Summer Luo had to face the truth.

She was lost.

She smacked her head in frustration—how could she be so careless? How could she get lost just gathering firewood?

She left the firewood, took her phone, and began to tentatively move ahead.

At night, the woods were filled with bird calls, but to Summer Luo, they sounded ominous.

How unlucky could she be? Last time she traveled to Japan, she got herself lost, and now, during military training, she was lost again.

The more she thought, the more aggrieved she felt.

The woods, never cleared by the school, were tangled with weeds.

She watched her feet sink into thick layers of dead leaves; stepping on them made a loud rustling, shaking her whole body.

Fear mounted.

Behind her, the wind stirred the leaves with a soft whisper; Summer Luo didn’t dare look back, only quickened her pace, running forward.

She didn’t dare stop, only kept running, praying she would see the bonfire soon. If she could just spot a flicker of flame, hear a voice, she could find her way back.

But it was all in vain.

At last, Summer Luo tripped over a branch, falling hard onto her knees, which instantly went numb.

She slowly pushed herself up, reaching for her fallen phone.

The screen faced upward, its light shining beneath the leaves.

She struggled to grab it, and the surroundings brightened again.

She moved the branch from beneath her knees, angrily tossing it aside.

“It’s all your fault! If I hadn’t come out looking for you, I wouldn’t be lost,” she said, like a child, venting her frustration at the stick.