Gray, barren hills, gray, lifeless water. Beside a dull gray rock crouched a drab gray figure, writing in the mud with a twig.
It was not that Liu Cheng did not want to run. With no one around him now, this seemed an excellent opportunity to escape. Besides, he had learned all the surrounding routes by now-but precisely because he knew them, escape was all the more impossible.
To the west, beyond this stagnant ditch, lay a vast forest full of wolves and bears, where the barbarians often hunted. Even if wild beasts did not eat him, even if he was lucky enough not to lose his way, the barbarians would still catch him and bring him back. In those wild woods, he could never outrun them.
The barbarian stockade lay to the east, guards stood watch to the north, and a sheer cliff rose to the south. Unless he could scale that smooth cliff, he had no way out.
At first, they had actually guarded him very closely. Later, however, the barbarians discovered there was little need. After two failed escape attempts that ended with him strung up and soundly beaten, no one bothered watching him anymore.
But as his earlier assessment had shown, he still could not do anything.
Strictly speaking, he had accomplished a few things. He had learned the routes, for instance. He had also secretly sharpened a bone awl and buried it beneath his straw mat. He had tested it; being stabbed with it hurt quite a bit. He had even established connections with a few important figures in the tribe, though he preferred not to discuss that part.
The main problem was that he could do nothing now except write.
"When Heaven is about to entrust a great task to a man, it must