Wilderness Survival: I've Got My Eye on the Old Lady's Dog

"Ten days? By then, the daylilies will have sprouted a second crop. I'm going to Los Angeles to rescue urgently needed talent, not to participate in wilderness survival in Alaska."

Margaret took his empty bowl away. "It's minus thirty degrees outside, and the snow on the road is over two meters deep. If you want to leave, I won't stop you."

"Provocation won't work on me."

Sing Sing wrapped himself tightly in the floral blanket and reached his hand towards the fireplace to warm it.

"As a section -Chief Section Level cadre, I am principled and have even stronger organizational discipline. I would never risk my life for a mere two meters of snow."

The window frame rattled in the wind, and a few snowflakes slipped in through the cracks and landed on his wet socks that he had just taken off.

Old Zhou looked up at the black landline telephone on the wall.

Can this thing make international calls?

The line went down a long time ago.

"Give it a try. What's the difference between a person without dreams and a salted fish?"

Margaret pushed the phone over.

Sing Sing picked up the receiver and put it to his ear, but there was no busy tone, only static.

He patted the receiver, then unplugged the telephone cord and touched the copper core with the tip of his tongue.

"No power, the blizzard broke the power lines."

"I already said that."

"You say it's based on verbal feedback from the public, but my personal inspection is a matter of on-site verification by officials; the work process cannot be skipped."

Sing Sing put the phone back, picked up his phone, opened the WeChat, and typed a location-based SOS message.

[Blue Elf, come pick me up in Alaska! Landing spot requirements aren't high, just don't teleport into a bear's belly, and I'll give you an extra fifty for milk tea.]

The send icon spun for ages, and then a red exclamation mark popped up next to the message.

He ordered it again.

The red exclamation mark is still there.

"A Chief Section Level cadre has gone missing in Alaska, and nobody in the work unit's group chat even noticed? These people are receiving state salaries, yet they don't even offer basic organizational care!"

"Auntie, you're in the middle of nowhere, you must have a router, right? Or some kind of satellite broadband? What's the password? I need to use your hotspot to let my boss know I'm safe, and also get a receipt for that potato meal I just had."

Sing Sing held the empty bowl and looked at Margaret with anticipation.

The old woman didn't even lift her eyelids, and her hand paused in the act of threading the needle.

"WiFi? Have you lost your mind from being hit by a snow bear outside?" She sneered. "I can't even find a complete power line in this dilapidated wooden hut. Where am I supposed to get you a base station? Do you want me to find you two pieces of wood, and you can carve an antenna yourself and hold it up on the roof?"

Sing Sing plopped back down on the small wooden stool next to the fireplace.

"What a tragedy!"

He covered his face with his hands and let out a painful wail.

"As a Chief Section Level cadre, every time I go on a business trip, I either get scammed or kidnapped. Last time I fell into the desert, this time I was thrown into the Arctic. Is this some kind of publicly funded vacation or a pilgrimage to the West? Are the eighty-one tribulations calculated per person?"

Earning this measly business trip allowance is more exhausting than the pilgrimage to the West.

No internet, no signal, can't even watch short videos, this is going to be the death of me.

Margaret glanced at him and put down the old gloves she was holding.

"Stop yelling, save your energy. There's not much food left in the house; those potatoes were our last ration."

"What?!" Sing Sing looked up, his eyes wide like saucers. "No food left? Ma'am, you can't joke like that. I get low blood sugar when I'm hungry, and when my blood sugar is low, I tend to lose my mind."

His gaze began to wander around the room, finally settling on the old Hound that was dozing by the fireplace.

"Auntie..." Sing Sing rubbed his hands together, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down.

"How many years have you had this dog? The meat looks... no, I mean, its fur looks pretty shiny. If we ever really run out of food, wouldn't this little guy be a good emergency food backup?"

The old Hound was sleeping soundly, but perhaps it sensed a malicious gaze.

It opened its eyes, its gray fur standing on end, and bared its teeth at Sing Sing Chow.

"Woof! Woof woof!"

"Oh my, you've got quite a temper." Sing Sing Chow chuckled, leaning forward slightly.

"It's no use screaming. In this snow-covered mountain area, the squeaking the meat is, the chewier it will be when it goes into the pot. You agree, little one?"

The old Hound whimpered in fright, tucked its tail between its legs, and scurried under Margaret's chair, refusing to show its face again.

"Stop looking like you're some kind of starving ghost." Margaret kicked away the chair leg that Sing Sing was leaning towards.

"Don't even think about taking Old Harry's supplies. Before the heavy snow blocked the mountain pass, my son called and said he'd be delivering some supplies along the way in the next couple of days. Judging by the schedule, it should be within the next day or two."

Sing Sing pursed his lips, looking completely disbelieving.

"Don't try to comfort me. It's minus thirty degrees outside, and the snow can bury a six-foot-tall man alive. What kind of decent person would choose to deliver food in this weather? Is your son an icebreaker or a Gundam pilot?"

"Believe it or not." Margaret ignored him.

As it turns out, Sing Sing's jinx has always been accurate, though his bad predictions never come true.

On the first day, Margaret found a small half-bag of old oats in a corner of the cellar. The two of them and the dog cooked it into a porridge, which was enough to barely fill their stomachs.

The oatmeal was gone by the second day.

Sing Sing tried to dig up some wild vegetables or catch a snow rabbit in the snow outside, but after struggling in the snow pit for half an hour, he didn't see a single blade of grass, only bringing back a shoe full of ice shards.

On the third day...

The wooden hut has completely run out of food.

The fire in the fireplace flickered, and the burning firewood made a soft crackling sound.

Sing Sing Chow lay sprawled on the floor like a sticker that had lost its dreams.

Although his bulletproof suit had a built-in temperature control system, it couldn't stop the throbbing hunger in his stomach.

"Auntie..." he groaned weakly.

"Is your son... really your biological son?... If he doesn't come soon, there will be two more starving corpses in your old house. No, one starving corpse and a pot of dog meat hotpot."

Old Harry, who was under the chair, shrank back warily.

Margaret leaned back in her rocking chair, her eyes closed, her breathing heavy, and she didn't reply.

The room was eerily quiet, with only the howling wind and snow outside the window breaking the silence.

Even ghosts wouldn't come in this awful weather.

Late at night.

The wind and snow intensified, and the entire wooden house creaked under the weight of the fierce wind.

Starving, Sing Sing was dreaming of a Manchu Han Imperial Feast.

In his dream, he was holding chopsticks, preparing to pick up a piece of glistening braised pork knuckle.

Just as the chopsticks were about to touch the meat.

Thump!

"Knock knock!"

A dull knock sounded on the door.

Sing Sing opened his eyes and scrambled to his feet.

Old Harry jumped out from under the chair and barked wildly at the door.

Margaret was also awakened. She grabbed the double-barreled shotgun on the wall, pulled the bolt, and pointed the muzzle at the door.

"Who?" the old woman demanded in a hoarse voice.

There was no answer from outside the door, only the howling of the wind and snow.

Thump! Thump! Thump!