An 80s female translator was spoiled rotten by a rough and jealous man.

What are the chances of getting Chapter 260?
Several blinding beams of white light pierced down from the cliff top, and pale blades of light cleaved the night from above, creating several hallucinations of a guillotine suddenly falling from the execution ground.

The beams of the flashlight swept back and forth across the rock face, sometimes spreading out in a fan shape, sometimes converging into a blinding spot of light.

The nearest beam of light shot straight toward Meng Youyou's location. The hazy spot of light paused for a moment two meters above her head before slowly moving down, illuminating a patch of weathered rock in her upper right corner.

Fine lime powder danced in the beam of light, like countless tiny fireflies.

Half a minute later, the beams of light all turned, and the footsteps, accompanied by a few indistinct Y-words, gradually faded into the distance.

Meng Youyou did not move.

She remained silent as a stone, slowly and gently restarting her breathing, as if she had become one with the rock wall.

In the shadows thirty meters away, Huo Qingshan's combat uniform was soaked through, cold sweat trickling down his spine. A night breeze blew, and the sticky uniform clung to his skin like a cold second layer.

When the wind picked up, the fabric clung to every inch of my back, and the chill crept up my spine inch by inch—a needle-like cold, as if tiny ice crystals were multiplying in my pores.

It gradually spread into a wet snake, slowly and silently tightening its grip on his body.

The man's gaze remained fixed on the rock face that had returned to darkness until he was certain that the last point of light had also disappeared at the top of the cliff. Only then did the tense muscles on his face relax slightly, and his Adam's apple bobbed with difficulty.

Meng Youyou knew that the patrol team had only just left, and it would be too risky to act rashly at this moment—but she also knew that time was running out.

The rock she was nestled on was barely two palms wide, its surface barely flat, yet so narrow that even turning around was difficult. She had to constantly tighten her core, bend her knees slightly, and press her body tightly against the rock face to ensure she wouldn't lose her balance during any movement. Her strength was dwindling with each passing second, and she had no better choice.

The radio backpack was slowly removed, Meng Youyou's every movement extremely quiet, as if afraid of disturbing something. Her fingertips hooked the backpack straps, pulling it out inch by inch, the rustling sound of the fabric rubbing against the rock surface constantly bothering her eardrums.

As she slowly dragged it, her gaze inadvertently drifted downwards—a hundred and fifty meters of empty space suddenly burst open beneath her feet.

The cliff face plunged vertically as if cut by a knife, and in the abyss where the moonlight couldn't reach, even the sound of the wind seemed exceptionally empty. In the distance, the treetops shrank into blurry ink dots. Her stomach suddenly spasmed, and her legs trembled uncontrollably.

I had deliberately avoided looking down while climbing, and I hadn't even thought about it when I was hiding close to the rock wall. But now, I couldn't help but glance down.

Such a scene was something she wouldn't have dared to imagine before; it was something she would dream about and wake up in the middle of the night in terror.

She was on a cliff face more than 150 meters high, without any safety measures.

Something that sounds like a fantasy actually happened to her.

Undoubtedly, this was the boldest decision Meng Youyou ever made in her life.

You can't watch this!
Meng Youyou bit her lower lip tightly and quickly looked away. The taste of blood spread on her tongue, but her hands dared not stop for a moment. The backpack was finally dragged in front of her. As she unfastened the buckle with one hand, her other hand was stuffed into the crevice of the rock, and her knuckles pressed out pale indentations.

She carefully removed the radio and placed it between her thigh and abdomen, the sharp metal edges digging painfully into her flesh through her training uniform. Meng Youyou's movements were extremely quiet, adjusting the antenna with minimal movement, her fingertips caressing the knob, calibrating the frequency little by little.

Throughout the process, she had to tense all her muscles to maintain her balance, her neck stiff and afraid to move. This posture made her shoulders ache as if they were filled with lead, and her abdominal muscles became increasingly sore.

It was even harder than walking a tightrope. At least those acrobats had a balancing pole, but all she could rely on was a rock about two palms wide under her knees and her legs that were on the verge of cramping.

Her fingertips continued to caress the tuning knob, and tactile memory guided her to the 152.3MHz mark she had just located.

Meng Youyou's cochlea was filled with a hissing sound of electricity.

The earmuffs tightly covered my ears, blocking out external ambient noise, leaving only the sound of my own uneven breathing inside the sealed cavity.

She remained absolutely still, her right hand resting on the record button, her index finger slightly bent, ready to press it at any moment.

The white noise in the headphones continued, and Meng Youyou was unsure whether it was just before the next communication or if she had just missed another one.

Suddenly—"click," a slight electronic pulse pierced my eardrums, as if someone had pressed a switch in the distance.

The static disappeared briefly for half a second, then returned to normal. Meng Youyou's breath hitched slightly. This was a signal, she knew it. Like a hunter waiting for a prey to hear the sound of a dry branch being broken. Meng Youyou's index finger instantly tensed.

"7-2-1-9." The mechanical counting rang out the instant her index finger precisely tapped the record button. The metal button clicked as it sank, perfectly synchronized with the Y Army's communication coming through her earpiece.

"The viper calls for the hanging coffin, the viper calls for the hanging coffin." The messenger's northern accent was tinged with a distinctive rolled "r".

In the background, the low hum of a turbine engine could be heard, interspersed with short, sharp "hissing" sounds of spraying water—the high-pressure pump from the disinfection truck was at work. "The decontamination work on the NH1937 to NH2011 section has been completed. Tests show that the residual concentration of *Pyrus pyrifolia* has dropped to 5%, below the safe threshold. However, a black spot positive reaction was found in the rock fissures at coordinate NH2003, suspected to be crystalline deposition of *Pyrus pyrifolia*."

Meng Youyou's thumb had already pressed the record button. She could feel the tape spinning, and the slight vibrations traveled through her thighs to her entire body.

"My vehicle has now reached coordinate point NH2025. I request that we continue to advance towards NH2043 and send an additional sampling team to re-examine the black spot area."

"The hanging coffins have been received; please grant approval."

The tape reached its end, and the recording abruptly stopped.

The headphones went back to their usual hissing white noise, as if nothing had ever happened.

……

For the seemingly endless fifteen minutes, Huo Qingshan's throat felt as if it were being tightly gripped by an invisible hand, with knuckles digging deep into his trachea, preventing even a wisp of air from entering.

His pupils reflected the small figure curled up on the protruding rock thirty meters away. With each second that passed, the invisible hand tightened its grip, and black mist even appeared before his eyes.

Only when he saw her slowly putting away the radio, as if she were about to turn back, did the hand that was choking him loosen its grip slightly. A wisp of cool air finally squeezed into his lungs, carrying the unique bloody smell of the cliff and the dampness of the night dew, but it was the first time he tasted the feeling of being resurrected from the dead.

Finally. It's finally coming to an end.

But just then, without warning, the clouds in the sky, like a quilted cotton blanket, gradually dispersed. A mercury-blue beam of light poured down from the gap, and the illumination on the cliff face continued to increase.

The man looked up at the sky, his brows furrowed.

The heavens, which had been behaving themselves all night, suddenly became temperamental.

Seeing the sky, Meng Youyou, who had just finished packing her backpack, was on high alert. She could even glimpse a silver edge suddenly appearing at the seam of her camouflage suit on her left shoulder.

Meng Youyou felt like a mouse suddenly thrown under a searchlight, with a real sense of being like fish on a chopping board, and the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end.

She dared not delay any longer, and her movements gradually quickened as Meng Youyou embarked on her journey back the way she came.

On the other side, Huo Qingshan was wrapping a rope around his waist; he couldn't wait any longer. The invisible hand tightened again, more ruthlessly and fiercely than before, leaving no room for maneuver between its fingers.

He was being driven almost insane.

The return journey was no easier than the way there; on the contrary, it was even more difficult. Exhausted, Meng Youyou found every step on the rock face extremely difficult.

Having traveled a third of the way, large beads of cold sweat poured from her forehead and streamed into her eyes, blurring her vision. Meng Youyou was acutely aware that her physical strength was completely insufficient to support her return to the starting point. Under the strain, her hands and feet were trembling violently, protesting as if she were going on strike.

Meng Youyou craned her neck and looked down at the bottom of the abyss. It was bottomless. When she packed her things earlier, she was careful not to put the tape recorder back in her backpack, but instead put it in the inner pocket of her shirt.

At this moment, Meng Youyou was carefully considering a serious question—if she fell from this height and landed with her arms around her stomach, what were the chances that the tape inside the tape recorder would not be damaged?
The moonlight grew brighter and brighter.

The man's hand had already reached over the edge of the cliff. Huo Qingshan stuck his head out and saw her figure swaying on the vertical cliff face, like a withered leaf hanging on a dead branch, which would be easily torn off by the night wind.

What's even more terrifying is her current posture—first she craned her neck to look at the bottom of the cliff, then she slowly moved her feet along the rock surface towards her abdomen.

This action made Huo Qingshan instantly understand what she was about to do, and a chill ran from the soles of his feet straight to the top of his head.