Chapter 61 - 22: Plans
The pitch-black night welcomed the rain like galloping horses.
Raindrops, like a thousand arrows, hit the roof with a crackling sound.
Pushing open a crack in the wooden door by the fire, Chen Zhou surveyed the world outside the tent.
The drizzling rain came with a fierce momentum, instantly turning from threads into strands, and then into lines, weaving into a white sheet pouring down from above.
Water droplets splashed into the room, hitting the burning charcoal, emitting a soft hissing sound with a scent of evaporating water.
The rumble of thunder frightened Lai Fu into the corner between the bed and the wall, tail tucked, looking terrified.
Occasional lightning ripped through the dark sky, illuminating the forest as if it were daylight.
In just an instant, the soil on the woodland was submerged, fallen leaves and branches were swept up by the rushing streams, hurrying down the slope.
The newly laid ground inside the tent was not yet firm, scraped by the stream, falling apart like a flaky pastry.
While compacting the ground, Chen Zhou added charcoal to the fire; the bread porridge in the iron pot already emitted the fragrance of grains, making him salivate.
Meow~
The little grey cat leapt out of the wooden box, proudly raised its tail, and let out a slightly hoarse cry.
It walked to the low stool, tilted its head to rub against Chen Zhou’s leather boots, then sat gracefully by the fire, wrapping its tail around its front legs, squinting contentedly, enjoying the warmth.
The soil at the door’s edge had been churned into a muddy mess, wind and rain howling together, and occasionally, branches snapped in the forest with a crisp sound.
The wooden boards covering the tent also groaned painfully, making Chen Zhou worry about the quality of the Shelter.
"Should I go out and take a look?" he hesitated.
The wind and rain outside were so intense that such weather naturally created inertia, making one want to stay in the warm, dry indoors and not venture out.
But the anxiety in his heart grew stronger, so to set his mind at ease, Chen Zhou finally put on a thick coat, donned a wide-brimmed hat, wrapped himself tightly, and stepped out of the tent.
The moment he pushed the door open, the incoming gale dimmed the fire, the red charcoal sizzling, emitting blue smoke, nearly extinguished.
Chen Zhou quickly shut the door tightly.
The pounding rain made it hard for him to open his eyes, so he could only press the brim of his hat with one hand and shield his forehead with the other, advancing amidst the flowing water.
In the darkness, Chen Zhou could only see things more than a meter in front of him, while his field of vision was nothing but a curtain of rain.
Upon reaching the side of the tent and seeing the wall boards had not been lifted by the wind, he felt slightly relieved but did not immediately return to the tent. Instead, he braved the heavy rain to the other side, discovering a wall panel leaning sideways, and hurriedly straightened it up, thus nipping the crisis in the bud.
Back inside, the bread porridge had nearly boiled dry, giving off a burnt smell.
When Chen Zhou removed the iron pot to inspect, he found a layer of blackened bread crumbs stuck to the bottom, looking somewhat like an unfinished crust, tasting somewhat bitter with a hint of charcoal.
Luckily, he returned in time; otherwise, this whole pot of bread porridge would have turned to mush.
After tasting a few hasty mouthfuls, finding it too hot, Chen Zhou had to set the iron pot aside to cool.
It was still early, the rain continued, and he didn’t dare sleep. He moved the low stool to the end of the bed, leaned against the wooden box, and started reading a book by the fire.
The door remained ajar.
On one hand, Chen Zhou wanted to observe the intensity of the precipitation.
On the other hand, he worried about sealing the tent too well and poisoning himself with carbon monoxide from the burning charcoal, ending his life without even realizing it.
On a deserted island, there were no neighbors; severe oxygen deprivation would render him unconscious, leaving him without the ability to escape.
Alone, ignoring any detail could be deadly.
Moving the gunpowder barrel away from the camp was also because Chen Zhou feared unlikely events.
The slope was full of trees, and if the gunpowder barrel remained in the camp and was struck by lightning, the entire camp would be blown sky-high.
Placed at a distance, even in such an almost impossible coincidence, at most only a barrel of gunpowder would be lost.
With only one person, a few guns, 28 years wouldn’t consume much gunpowder; even if all of it exploded, it wouldn’t significantly affect his life.
Chen Zhou understood this well, which is why he was unwilling to take the risk.
Turning the pages, he read carefully, paragraph by paragraph, replenishing forgotten details.
As he read further, he discovered an unexpected memory error—a quake.
In Chen Zhou’s impression, shortly after Robinson landed on the island, there was a major earthquake that nearly buried Robinson alive in a cave he was digging.
That earthquake scared Robinson out of his wits, forcing him out of the cave and into a tent under the outer wall for several days.
Fearing insufficient time to dig a proper load-bearing cave dwelling destroyed by an earthquake, Chen Zhou subconsciously eliminated these two options when planning the new Shelter.
But upon looking now, the earthquake actually didn’t occur as he remembered it a month after landing on the island but on April 17 of the following year.
Even if Robinson’s recorded dates were inaccurate, he still had more than a quarter of a year to construct the Shelter and prepare.
Given such ample time, caves and semi-underground structures were the best choices, as long as load-bearing and earthquake preparations were made in advance.
If still worried, he could move out around April 10, and return to live after the earthquake.
Besides the earthquake, Chen Zhou discovered that the cannibalistic rituals of the natives were not without pattern but rather followed a traceable path.