Chapter Seventy-One: The Storm

In the wild, diarrhea is a dangerous thing; if severe, it can even lead to dehydration. Fortunately, Zhao Jingya had only eaten a little, and after drinking plenty of hot water, she recovered after a few days.

Once they found the breadfruit tree, the food crisis was resolved, alleviating much of their survival anxiety. Now they had food, water, and shelter; there was no need to hunt for sustenance every day. With nothing pressing to do, they would occasionally catch a chick or check the pond for fish.

Looking back, the fifteen-day wilderness survival task seemed hardly a challenge. Yet, just as the three relaxed their vigilance, nature taught these young people a harsh lesson.

Drip, drip. Zhou Miao, deep in sleep, suddenly felt his face wet and clammy. He opened his eyes in a haze, barely grasping what was happening.

A crack of thunder startled him awake, and he saw rain dripping inside the camp, while outside a torrential downpour had begun. Worse still, the entire camp was shaking under the assault of wind and rain. The joints between the wooden beams groaned ominously, on the verge of collapse.

The other two were also jolted awake by the thunder. Ma Run’s face changed instantly when he saw the fierce wind outside. The camp might be blown apart by such a storm!

“Quick, grab the frame, don’t let the wind carry it away!” Ma Run sprang up, grabbing the sides of the structure. Zhou Miao and Zhao Jingya followed suit, anchoring the camp with their own weight.

But the gale grew ever stronger. Under Zhao Jingya’s terrified gaze, the palm leaves and thatch tied to the frame were ripped away, leaving nothing but an empty skeleton. The sudden rain drenched them to the bone, the cold biting so hard it made them shiver uncontrollably. Ma Run wiped his rain-soaked face and shouted, “We can’t stay here, follow me!”

The three dashed out into the storm, fleeing their destroyed camp like headless chickens. Ma Run surveyed the surroundings; there was nowhere to shelter from the rain. He found a spot that wouldn’t flood and was sheltered from the wind, told Zhou Miao and Zhao Jingya to lie down, then piled broad leaves over them, finally burying himself as well.

With the leaves for cover, the rain didn’t strike directly, but their body heat still seeped away. Zhou Miao trembled uncontrollably, his breath coming out in cold clouds.

Thunder continued to rumble overhead; at that moment, they truly felt the terror of nature.

All night, the three huddled together for warmth, counting every second, praying for the rain to stop.

It’s impossible to say how long passed. Just as Zhou Miao felt numbness spreading across his body, the rain ceased.

He poked his head out from the pile of leaves to find daylight breaking, sunlight filtering through the canopy to warm his face. His hands, soaked all night, had turned pale, and every part of his body ached.

“The rain’s stopped, let’s get up,” Zhou Miao called.

The leaf pile stirred, and Zhao Jingya struggled to her feet, her hair plastered to her scalp, looking utterly bedraggled.

Zhou Miao called several times, but Ma Run didn’t respond. Alarmed, Zhou Miao quickly helped him up; his face was unnaturally flushed, his forehead burning hot—he had clearly caught a fever from the rain.

Last night, Ma Run had spent too much time in the rain, searching for shelter and covering the others with leaves. Despite his physical resilience, he couldn’t withstand it.

Seeing this, Zhou Miao quickly carried him out, finding the production crew cleaning up the aftermath. “Ma Run has a fever, please help him quickly.”

The director nodded, “His fever is quite serious; the medical team must intervene. He’s out of the challenge now. From here on, you two are on your own.”

Zhou Miao nodded, watching the medical team carry off the delirious Ma Run on a stretcher. He sighed helplessly. The game was only halfway through, and their strongest member had fallen.

The remaining two returned to the camp, disheartened. The site looked as if a typhoon had swept through, debris everywhere.

Zhao Jingya knelt, crying in despair. She was exhausted, and wanted nothing more than to quit. Why had she foolishly listened to her agent’s nonsense, spending ten million to suffer here?

Zhou Miao ignored her; the guidance phase was over, and this game was only just beginning.

Rebuilding the camp was not the priority now; they needed to replenish their energy after last night’s ordeal.

Unfortunately, the fire had been extinguished, and it was impossible to find dry kindling for now.

Luckily, breadfruit could be eaten raw. Zhou Miao dug some out from the wreckage, tossed one to Zhao Jingya, and began eating himself.

“I don’t want to play anymore. I want to go home,” Zhao Jingya sobbed, refusing the breadfruit on the ground.

Zhou Miao paused, then continued eating. “Alright, then go.”

He had no intention of stopping her. He had already received the ten million and put her through enough; his goal was achieved.

“I’m leaving,” Zhao Jingya whispered, and when Zhou Miao didn’t respond, she stood and left.

Just yesterday, the three had been cheerful companions, now scattered by a sudden storm in a single night.

Apart from the cameras, the world seemed to contain only Zhou Miao. Familiar loneliness crept in, as if he’d returned to his previous life, to that home where he was always alone.

Even with no one left, Zhou Miao never considered quitting. A man should see things through to the end; since he’d chosen this reality show, he would finish it. Only then would he be true to the audience, the production team, and himself.

After finishing the breadfruit, Zhou Miao began rebuilding the camp. With experience from the first time, the second attempt was much faster. The frame had survived; the palm leaves that had blown away could be retrieved and reused.

As Zhou Miao struggled to lift the heavy thatch onto the frame, a slender arm appeared beside him, helping to hoist it up.

Zhou Miao paused, turning to see Zhao Jingya flashing him a broad smile.

“Why did you come back?” Zhou Miao asked in confusion.

“I thought about it. If I just left, netizens would scold me, and it would ruin my reputation. So I came back,” Zhao Jingya said with a smile.

Zhou Miao looked at her thoughtfully. “Don’t tell me…”

Zhao Jingya blushed. “I’m telling the truth, don’t overthink it.”

Although she said so, Zhou Miao still eyed her skeptically. “No, I’m not overthinking. I just think you want to create a couple’s storyline with me.”

Zhao Jingya was exasperated, rolled her eyes, and turned to organize the palm leaves.