Chapter Sixty-Nine: Night Conversations

As night fell, Ma Run fashioned a simple water vapor collection device using plastic bags and bottles. In the sweltering climate of this island, vast amounts of moisture evaporated daily, and with this collector, they could harvest a bit of fresh water—though not much, it was better than none at all.

Zhao Jingya was unyielding; she insisted on not eating and simply clutched her stomach, lying on the ground. She’d rather go hungry for an entire night than eat a raw loach.

Zhou Miao paid her no mind, lying back contentedly on a bed of palm leaves, chatting with Ma Run about wilderness survival.

But before long, after a day of exhaustion, Ma Run couldn’t resist the pull of sleep either and soon began to snore loudly.

Once Ma Run was asleep, Zhou Miao shifted to a more comfortable position, intending to fall asleep early as well. But he noticed Zhao Jingya suddenly get up and turn off the camera.

In the tent by the shore, the director’s team stared at the darkened feed, exchanging glances but not daring to say anything. Zhao Jingya was the little princess of their sponsor’s family—no one would risk offending her.

“What are you doing?” Zhou Miao asked in confusion.

“I’m not used to being watched while I sleep,” Zhao Jingya replied, turning off the camera before lying down again. Her stomach continued to rumble.

“I really can’t understand why you’d choose a show like this—low viewership and so extreme. You’re so popular now, why not go on some hit variety show to boost your fame?” This question had been on Zhao Jingya’s mind for a long while, and with no one else around, she finally couldn’t help but ask.

Zhou Miao chuckled at her complaint. “Those so-called popular shows you’re thinking of? I see them as mindless fluff. It’s these so-called ‘extreme’ shows you call niche that I’ve followed since middle school. I like everything that feels real—including the ten million support you gave me.”

He rested his arm behind his head. “As for popularity, to be honest, I couldn’t care less. Whether people like me or not, it’s all the same to me.”

“If I cared about popularity, I wouldn’t have called out my fans at that press conference. If I cared about popularity, I wouldn’t have stirred things up at the Golden Melody Awards. If I cared about popularity, I wouldn’t have joined this show with you.”

Zhao Jingya hugged her knees, puzzled. “If you don’t care about this or that, what do you care about? Money?”

Zhou Miao shook his head. In the depth of night, there seemed to be a glimmer in his eyes. “What I care about is that when people talk about my signature works, they’ll argue passionately over whether it’s ‘Rice Fragrance’ or another song.”

“What I care about is that ten, twenty, thirty, even fifty years from now, people will still listen to and love the songs I wrote.”

“What I care about is that when future generations look back on this era of music, the brightest, most beautiful notes they see are called Zhou Miao.”

Hearing this, Zhao Jingya was at a loss for words, unsure whether to call him naive or arrogant. She just stared at him, her lips parted in astonishment.

Since childhood, she had never wanted for anything. What others dreamed of was hers for the asking.

She used to think that the greatest trouble for the wealthy was having no troubles, that the biggest problem for the rich was having no problems at all.

But only today did she realize what she’d been missing all this time.

It was a dream.

Those who have a dream and strive for it truly radiate with an inner light.

“I believe in you. You’ll definitely succeed!” Zhao Jingya whispered softly.

Zhou Miao glanced at her in puzzlement—why did she have so much confidence in him after just one day?

“If you really believe in me, then eat this loach. It’s not disgusting at all, trust me!”

“I trust you—my foot!”

...

At sunrise the next day, Zhou Miao was roused from sleep by the urgent pressure in his bladder. Opening his eyes, he found Zhao Jingya’s fair, slender leg draped across his stomach. He quickly pushed her away—thankfully, the camera was off, or Hu San would have gotten jealous if the footage aired.

He found a spot to relieve himself. Ma Run was already up and checking on the water vapor collector from the day before; it had accumulated nearly half a bottle of fresh water.

After roughly shaking Zhao Jingya awake, the three of them headed to the small pond where they had set a trap the previous day. The results were encouraging: three or four palm-sized fish were trapped inside.

They quickly scooped up the fish—at least breakfast was settled!

Zhao Jingya, now so hungry her legs were trembling, said, “We can make sashimi out of these. We don’t need fire to eat them.”

Zhou Miao shot her a look. “Why didn’t you say that when we were eating loach yesterday? Do you look down on loaches or something?”

Zhao Jingya wanted to retort, but she was too drained to speak. For the first time in her life, she was experiencing the true pain of hunger.

“Sashimi, sashimi...” Zhao Jingya muttered as she pinched a fish by the mouth.

Ma Run, using the sharp aluminum lid from a can of pork as a makeshift knife, skillfully gutted the fish and sliced them into thin—if uneven—slivers. He rinsed them in fresh water, and they were ready to eat.

Without waiting, Zhao Jingya picked up a piece and popped it into her mouth, chewing slowly, her face blossoming with happiness.

Was it really that delicious? Zhou Miao wondered, picking up a slice to try. The texture was tender and didn’t taste raw at all; not bad, really. When you’re hungry, anything tastes great.

In the blink of an eye, the little fish had disappeared into their stomachs, but they still felt hungry.

“There might be crabs under the rocks by the beach—let’s look for some,” Ma Run suggested.

The three of them began turning over rocks by the water’s edge. To their delight, they found plenty of small crabs and quite a few sea snails, enough to fill a bag made from their clothes—lunch was taken care of.

Back at camp, Ma Run set about making a fire again. To survive here for fifteen days, fire was indispensable. This time, he picked a drier, rougher piece of wood, and the three of them took turns using the bow drill.

At last, after more than an hour of effort, a thin wisp of smoke rose. The three were so excited they hardly dared breathe, afraid to snuff it out.

Zhou Miao hurried over with a bundle of dry grass. Ma Run tipped the glowing embers onto it, blowing gently, his touch as tender as if brushing dust from a baby’s eyes.

The smoke grew thicker; the sparks flickered. At last, a tiny flame of hope ignited in the dry grass. Zhao Jingya quickly added small twigs.

At last, they had fire! Zhao Jingya was so moved she nearly burst into tears.

As the fire grew stronger, Ma Run placed the can full of crabs and snails over it to cook. At last, they could have a hot meal.

They polished off the whole can of little crabs, leaving nothing behind. If it weren’t for the crab fuzz pricking their mouths, the three might have drunk the broth as well.

Only now did their stomachs feel somewhat sated, but Ma Run wasn’t happy. “This won’t do. We’re getting too little energy each day, and eating too much of this stuff will give us the runs. We’ll have to venture deeper inland and see what we can find.”