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Chapter 53: The Poacher Who Got Teased
As soon as the rain stopped, the sun’s rays quickly warmed the forest floor. The water trapped in the decaying branches and leaves began to evaporate, turning the entire woods into a stifling sauna. It was maddeningly hot.
In a shallow pit about a meter deep beneath some tree roots, Tuka held his breath, enduring both the pain throbbing through his body and the suffocating heat. He peered cautiously at the soldiers combing the area nearby. His swollen hands clutched a modified rifle tightly against his chest, not daring to relax for even a moment.
The pit wasn’t large, forcing Tuka to crouch inside. A thick layer of rotting leaves covered the top, leaving only a narrow gap for him to observe the outside world and take in small breaths of air.
It was pure luck that brought him here.
When the beehive exploded above their heads, scattering everyone in different directions, the other three members of his group hadn’t been so fortunate. They’d all been chased down by the swarm and stung until their faces swelled like balloons. The poor freckled man, one of them, had even lost his life while running.
But Tuka? He hadn’t run far before tripping over this very pit—a burrow likely abandoned by some animal long ago. Over time, it had filled with dead branches, leaves, and rainwater, creating a muddy nest. In his panic, Tuka dove straight into the muck, narrowly escaping the bees’ wrath.
Falling can mean death for some, but for others, it might just lead to salvation. If the freckled man were watching from beyond, he’d probably be crying tears of frustration right now.
Of course, though Tuka fared better than his teammates, it didn’t mean he escaped unscathed. The first wave of bee attacks had been brutal, and none of them managed to avoid it entirely. After they scattered, the bees mostly pursued whoever carried the most honey on them. Fortunately for Tuka, Scarface had been speaking with him and two others away from the main group, so he hadn’t picked up much honey. Still, within minutes of being stung, Tuka felt as if he’d “gained weight,” his swollen body filling the tiny pit completely, flesh bulging out of every crevice.
No contact came from his teammates, nor did he hear any gunfire. Instead, he spotted soldiers searching through the forest. Tuka knew then—they were done for. The others must have met grim fates too.
He dared not move or make a sound. This time, things were different. Poaching usually meant confiscation of goods or perhaps a few years in jail. But this time? They had killed someone.
The world treated murderers harshly, no matter where you went. No one would care about human rights or humanitarian concerns when it came to murder—even attempted murder.
“Thankfully, this place is well-hidden,” Tuka thought bitterly. “For now, no one will find me. Once I get out of here, I’ll need to lay low for a while…”
A rustling sound came from behind him. Tuka froze again, holding his breath, muscles rigid, afraid to make the slightest movement.
Snap.
The sound of dry twigs breaking echoed near his ear. A shadow blocked the light, slowly creeping closer to Tuka’s hiding spot. Through the crack between the leaves, Tuka saw a honey badger standing upright on its hind legs, its front paws comically clasped together as it stared intently at him.
Honey badgers were common in Africa, especially despised by beekeepers. Many would hunt these creatures down around their apiaries and hang their corpses as warnings, lest they raid hives and steal precious honey.
“Did I accidentally take its den?” Tuka wondered anxiously. The honey badger had been staring at him for ages without budging. Normally, his hiding spot was secure; the soldiers weren’t accompanied by dogs, and as long as he stayed still, the chances of discovery were slim.
But if this honey badger didn’t leave, curiosity might draw the soldiers over. That would spell disaster.
“Hoo! Hooo!” Tuka growled softly, trying to scare the creature away.
“Heh, still playing possum, huh?” Wang Ping chuckled inwardly, gazing at the messy pile of leaves concealing Tuka. What an unexpected bonus before leaving—perfect timing to eliminate a potential threat to Rosette.
“Go ahead, keep calling. The more desperate you sound, the happier I am!”
As long as soldiers were still searching the forest, it meant Gu Lang and the others hadn’t left yet. With plenty of time to spare, Wang Ping decided to have a little fun. Crossing his arms, he sat down casually, feigning stupidity as he stared intently at Tuka’s hiding spot.
“Damn it!” Tuka seethed, wishing he could pull out his gun and shoot the annoying honey badger.
“Could it smell the residual honey on me?” Tuka speculated. Perhaps that explained why the creature refused to leave.
After listening carefully to the surrounding sounds and determining the soldiers had moved farther away, Tuka shifted slightly, reaching into the mud toward a dagger strapped to his calf. Experienced hunters often carried two sets of knives—one visible, one hidden—for emergencies. Some kept extras on their legs, others on their waists or arms.
As the saying goes, frequent river walkers eventually get wet shoes. Not every hunt ends successfully, and animals tend to hold grudges. If an escaped prey ever tracked you down, a backup knife could save your life.
Back in the 1980s in Northeast China, there was a similar incident involving a father-and-son duo hunting bears. After days of pursuit, their target vanished, forcing them to retreat. On their way back, the elder hunter handed his rifle and waist knife to his son, instructing him to go ahead while he relieved himself behind a tree. Suddenly, a bear ambushed them from behind. By the time the son returned, the father had been eviscerated—but not before using a concealed dagger on his arm to kill the bear, pinning it to the tree with a fatal stab to the neck.
Without that hidden blade, neither father nor son would have survived.
Though Tuka no longer considered himself a true hunter, the habit remained. Slowly, he groped through the cramped, muddy pit, inching the dagger free from his leg. Adjusting his breathing, he gauged the distance between himself and Wang Ping.
“Almost there…”
But Wang Ping seemed to anticipate Tuka’s plan. Just as Tuka prepared to lunge forward and strike, Wang Ping stood up, dusted off his rear, and scampered off into a nearby bush.
Tuka: “….”
His muscles tensed and relaxed abruptly, causing a cramp in his thigh. Gritting his teeth, he rubbed the sore muscle. Before he could catch his breath, the bushes rustled again. The honey badger reappeared, clutching a cluster of wild fruits it had gathered somewhere.
Tilting its head, Wang Ping calculated the distance to Tuka’s leaf-covered hideout. Then, sitting just within arm’s reach, it dropped the fruits and selected one that looked decent enough to munch on.
Ptooey!
After a couple of chews, Wang Ping spat it out immediately. It tasted absolutely terrible—sour, bitter, and astringent.
Spitting the mashed fruit directly onto Tuka’s face, Wang Ping scowled. Clearly displeased with the taste, it kicked at the remaining fruits on the ground.
One kick, two kicks…
The walnut-sized fruits pelted Tuka’s face, testing his patience.
“I can endure…”
Smack! One hit his eye socket.
“I’ll endure more…”
Smack! Another struck his nose, landing precisely where a bee sting had already inflamed the skin. The sharp pain nearly made him cry out.
“You damn little pest!”
Smack!
“Agh!”
Finally losing control, Tuka decided he couldn’t tolerate this anymore. There was no way he could stay hidden peacefully with this menace around. With a low growl, he flung off the covering of leaves and drew his dagger, ready to pounce. But just as he rose, something strange happened—the world seemed to pause. His body froze mid-motion, stuck fast. The shout he tried to release turned into a gurgling noise trapped in his throat.
(꒪ȏ꒪)… His body had swollen so much that he was wedged firmly in place.
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