The Twenty-Ninth Day: The Loss of Jingzhou Due to Carelessness

Yesterday’s bounty still needed a few more days in the sun before it could be stored away. The seaweed lay drying on the sand, its color shifting from deep green to a yellowish hue, its texture crisp and dry to the touch. The fish and other small creatures were all spread out on the roof of my little hut to dry as well.

At dawn, my routine remained unchanged: I fetched seawater and poured it into the stone pit. In another two days, I would have a new harvest—the thickening white crystals at the bottom of the pit spurred me on.

At noon, I turned all the seaweed over to quicken the drying process. The midday sun grew noticeably hotter, and after a morning of labor, fatigue swept over me. I found a flat patch under the shade of a tree and decided to take a nap.

Yet an uneasy feeling tugged at me, as if I’d forgotten something important, though I couldn’t recall what it was.

“Forget it, just get some sleep first,” I told myself.

Beside me, Little Black was already dozing contentedly beneath a coconut tree.

Sunshine filtered softly through the leaves, a gentle breeze stirring the shadows. In such comfort, my mind grew calm and quiet, and soon I drifted into a deep sleep.

Dreams began.

At last, someone discovered me and brought me back to the civilized world...

With the money from my suitcase, I ascended to the pinnacle of life! Luxury cars, beautiful women—they all beckoned to me. The girlfriend who had left me quietly before now came seeking me again. Of course, I wasn’t about to take her back; I grabbed a fistful of cash and flung it at her face, telling her, “Get lost!”

Journalists clamored for interviews, TV shows vied to have me as a guest. Strangely, in every scene, there was always a candle—its flame flickering, on the verge of going out.

A sense of oppression and dread haunted my heart. This was the life I’d always dreamed of. I should have been happy, but I couldn’t understand why the candle kept appearing.

My story was written into a novel, adapted into a film, and I became famous! I attended the movie’s premiere, but just as it was my turn to speak, to my horror, the host handed me not a microphone, but a candle—the same candle I’d been seeing! The flame was even weaker now.

The host thrust the candle toward my face!

“Aaah!” I screamed, stumbling backward.

With a gasp, I finally woke up.

“Damn, the fire! The fire pit!” I sprang up before I could even wipe the cold sweat from my forehead.

How careless I’d been! That morning, I’d forgotten to add wood to the fire pit. I’d meant to do it after my chores, but I’d completely forgotten, and now I’d slept at such a time!

Though I hadn’t napped for long, my heart clenched in panic. I was running now, gripped by fear. Life without fire was unimaginable.

My heart thudded wildly—I finally understood why I’d felt something important was undone, why I’d dreamed of a dying candle. Subconsciously, I’d known, but my mind hadn’t caught up with the warning.

The hut came into view. Since coming to this island, I’d never run so fast. I prayed desperately that the fire was still burning—even if only embers remained, just don’t let it go out. At the door, I thrust it open with trembling hands.

“No!” I shouted in despair, kicking at the cold ashes in fury.

“Why!” I howled in frustration.

Rage flushed my face, leaving no outlet. I flung the bedding around the hut in a blind fit, but gradually my anger subsided.

Reason returned. I began to accept the situation: the fire was gone, but I needed it, so I’d have to find a way.

Anxiety gnawed at me. The sun was already slanting westward. I couldn’t imagine falling asleep without the comforting glow of the fire.

Like anyone else, the first thing that came to mind was to try making fire by friction...

Time pressed. Reeling from the setback, I didn’t consider alternatives but rushed outside. Dry vines, flammable grass-like plants, small twigs—I gathered armfuls and brought them to the hut’s entrance. Then I fetched some thicker branches.

That was the easy part. The real challenge was next. I’d only ever read about it, never tried it myself.

With my Swiss Army knife, I sharpened one thick branch to a point. I flattened and hollowed out the middle of a stouter branch to serve as a hearth for drilling.

Everything prepared, I began what I hoped would work. I placed the flammable grasses aside, twisted into a bundle, ready to ignite at the first sign of a spark.

I sat on the ground, set the pointed stick in the hollow, and spun it rapidly between my palms.

Sweat dripped from my brow, but not a wisp of smoke appeared, let alone a spark.

Soon, frustration gave way to dejection. My palms blistered and ached, and I wanted to give up.

But the thought of a cold, fireless night was unbearable.

“Just a little longer,” I ordered myself. “If there’s no hope, I’ll abandon this method.”

In the end, I did give up. My blisters had burst, the pain was piercing.

Blinded by anger, I leapt up and snapped the sticks beneath my feet.

“To hell with fire by friction!” I cursed furiously.

I dove into the hut, rummaging through my things, desperate to find anything that could make fire.

With a sharp slap, I struck my forehead.

“I’m such an idiot!” I berated myself.

Guess what I’d forgotten? I still had my pistol...

I’d acted too rashly, again.

Fire was no longer a problem. I removed the bullet from the pistol, used a wrench from my toolbox to open it, and sprinkled the gunpowder on the dry ground.

I piled the dry grass atop the powder, with dry twigs at the ready.

Next, I searched under the bed and finally found my old, empty lighter.

“Thank goodness I didn’t throw you away,” I muttered with relief.

Flick! I spun the lighter’s wheel, sparks flew.

“Good, it still works,” I said, growing excited.

The moment of miracle had come. My hand trembled as I held the lighter to the grass pile, spinning the wheel over the powder.

Nothing yet...

Again. Sizzle, pop, boom.

The fire blazed up once more. I carefully fed in the small branches.

This time, I would cherish it—no matter what.