Day Fifty: A New Discovery (Part Two) — Extra Chapter for Qian Xiaoge

At last, I emerged from the woods. The view before me was wide open, and to my surprise, this too was a seaside, though completely different from the beach beside my treehouse. Here, the shore was not made of sand, but of pebbles and trees.

The trees grew from the edge of the coast right into the sea, forming a wall as if to protect this stretch of shoreline. I looked up at the sun, which had passed its zenith by quite a bit. Judging from its position, it must be around three in the afternoon. Time was running short.

Finding a stick, I crouched and began to draw, confirming my location to estimate the distance from my treehouse. My reason for not retracing my steps was simple: I needed to understand my bearings so I could follow the coastline back to the treehouse. According to my memory, I sketched out the route on the map. It seemed I wasn’t far from my treehouse. If I returned along the coast, it would take twice as long, but walking by the sea was still much easier than struggling through the woods.

Not to mention all the dangers lurking in the forest.

After confirming my route, I headed into the trees that stretched all the way to the sea. Some grew sparsely, others thickly, all lush and green. I had always believed that the plants growing by the sea were known as mangroves, and in my mind, mangroves were always red.

So when I saw these vivid green trees before me, I was at a loss.

But it didn’t matter. All I wanted was to see if I could find any food or useful things among these trees.

It was the first time I’d seen such peculiar trees—most of them stood submerged in seawater, yet their crowns were bursting with life: fresh leaves and vigorous branches everywhere.

White seabirds soared and landed, their calls echoing above the shore, which was strewn with small pebbles and sandy mud. That must be why the trees could survive here.

I glanced around. The tallest trees reached seven or eight meters, as high as a three-story building. Some crowns out in the water were even larger. It was clear that the sea ahead must be at least ten meters deep. If I hadn’t seen it myself, I’d never have imagined these trees could thrive completely immersed in seawater. It was astonishing.

To my left, the trees were very different—thin and no more than two or three meters high, their trunks barely as thick as my arm, growing in dense clusters impossible to squeeze through.

So I chose the woods before me. I didn’t bother rolling up my pant legs; they were already muddy from crossing the low ground, so I walked straight in.

My arrival startled many seabirds that had been hunting or resting. A few larger ones even swooped at me, perhaps attempting an attack.

Of course, I could not yield to such birds. I waved my axe at them, and soon the big seabirds scattered. Such timid creatures, to think they’d attack me—I almost laughed.

A few minutes later, I understood why these big seabirds had been so aggressive: I had stumbled upon their breeding grounds.

Beside exposed roots, on branches, in the forks of trees—almost every large tree was surrounded by eggs, big and small, blue and white. It was as if I had entered a museum of seabird eggs.

Perhaps due to the scarcity of humans here, the seabirds built their nests quite casually—not like other birds, who prefer safer heights or hidden spots. Here, some nests sat right on the branches barely a meter above the ground.

Without even searching, I could spot dozens of eggs within my line of sight, not counting those slightly farther away or a bit higher up.

To me, these were precious delicacies. I would not refuse any food now; my supplies were limited, and before they ran out, I needed to find alternatives to sustain myself long-term.

Of course, these eggs couldn’t do that, but I wasn’t going to miss any chance to gather food, saving as much of my provisions as possible.

I picked up a bird’s nest, nearly the size of my head, with two eggs inside, each about half the size of a chicken egg. The nest itself would make a sturdy container for more eggs.

Like an executioner, I gathered all the eggs within reach, ignoring the circling and screeching seabirds overhead, filling the nest with every egg I could find. When I finished, I looked up at the birds and felt a pang of guilt. If food were plentiful, I wouldn’t have come to steal their eggs—but survival leaves little room for sentiment.

Shaking off such pointless emotions, I counted the eggs: thirty-six in all!

That would suffice for now. Any more and I wouldn’t be able to carry them unless I wrapped them in my clothes, which I absolutely would not do—lest leeches or insects bite me again.

As I prepared to head back to shore, I discovered some snails by the roots—many kinds, large and small, dazzling in their variety. One looked much like the horned snail I had eaten before, but I couldn’t be sure.

Though I wanted to scoop up the snails as well, my hands were full with eggs and the axe. There was no rush, so I decided to leave them for now and hurry back to the safety of my treehouse before the sun set.

But fate always seemed to toy with me.

Just as I was about to leave, a few enormous animals approached from nearby.

Wild boars!

There were three of them.

I was so startled my knees nearly buckled, and I almost collapsed, but quickly regained my composure, for the boars were turning toward the roots, not toward me.

“Don’t run! Don’t draw their attention—stay calm, stay calm!” I told myself, struggling to control my fear.

I set the nest aside, gripped the gun at my waist.

If they noticed me, I couldn’t guarantee a fatal shot, nor even a hit.

The best outcome was for them not to notice me, and to wait until they left.

Hiding behind a tree trunk, I watched them quietly.

The boars seemed to be rooting around the trees, possibly searching for tender shoots or insects.

An hour passed, my legs trembling with fatigue, my body aching from crouching so long. Dizzy, I lurched forward, barely catching myself, but a loud “thud” escaped.

Startled, I looked back.

One of the wild boars lifted its head and stared straight at me.

Our eyes met.