Apocalyptic Hoarding Diary

Is there anything wrong with "registering your tent"? Registering your tent is perfectly reasonable and irrefutable, as it's a way to avoid being robbed.

Sergeant Wu pondered for a moment, while Xu Xiaoyan waited patiently. Lan Yue stood beside her, her fingers in her pockets.

She looked slightly nervous, but she hid it well, so well that only Xu Xiaoyan, who was standing next to her, could see the barely perceptible tension from the corners of her slightly pursed lips.

Finally, Sergeant Wu nodded in agreement, "Okay, I'll register them. The location, color, and features of the tents, as well as all the names, will be recorded. In case of any disputes later, the registration will prevail."

He finished speaking in one breath, ignoring the complex expressions on the faces of those without tents. Perhaps, in his view, he was simply fulfilling his basic duty.

The idea that tents are private property and registration is a form of protection ran through his mind for less than three seconds before he reached the conclusion of "agreement."

Someone in the crowd let out a long sigh and quickened their pace toward their tent, as if afraid they wouldn't be able to register if they were a step too late.

Those without tents simply stood silently in place, their expressions numb.

Xu Xiaoyan didn't look at them, turned around and walked towards her tent, with Lan Yue following behind her, her steps lighter than when she came.

Sergeant Wu pulled a palm-sized black notebook from the inside pocket of his raincoat. The cover was wrinkled from being soaked in rainwater, and the corners were curled up.

He opened the notebook, pulled a ballpoint pen from the pocket of his military uniform jacket, bit the cap in his mouth, turned to a blank page, and began registering each household one by one.

Some people in the crowd spontaneously held umbrellas for him, and those with tents introduced themselves and the approximate location of their tents.

Sergeant Wu kept his head down as he took notes, occasionally looking up to check the orientation and drawing a simple sketch in his notebook.

He drew quickly, with rough lines but accurate placement, clearly marking which tree was next to which rock, how far away from the pine trees, with arrows and simple lines.

People without tents also lined up, but instead of asking for "tent locations," they asked, "Where do you plan to stay tonight?"

Someone pointed to a hollow at the base of a large tree not far away and said they would stay there tonight.

Someone pointed to the gap between the two rocks and said that it could block some of the wind.

Some people say they don't know, and will just take it one step at a time.

Sergeant Wu treated everyone equally, noting down each one's details in neat handwriting, just like those who had tents. He showed no perfunctoriness or disrespect.

He wrote words like "tree hole," "rock crevice," and "open air" in the "residence" column, and his expression didn't change when he closed the notebook after writing.

It was almost 5 p.m., and the sky was getting dark quickly. The wind was picking up, making the bare branches whistle.

Someone started a fire, but there was too much wet firewood, so only a thick white smoke came out, and the flames never ignited. The smoke was blown away by the wind and drifted everywhere, choking the people nearby who coughed.

Sergeant Wu put away his notebook, looked up, and scanned the faces of everyone present.

"You need to clock in at 7 a.m. and 6 p.m. every day. The location is—" He paused, then turned to look at the flat land to the southeast.

"From now on, we'll be at trading point number 23, which is where the six mountains meet. It'll be convenient for everyone to get there from their respective mountain peaks. If you're late, we'll deal with the rules."

Those present unanimously agreed.

The shift from the checkpoint to the trading point meant that those living on the mountaintop had to walk an extra distance each day.

But no one raised any objections, not because they had no ideas, but because everyone had just seen a glimpse of order emerging from the chaos, and no one wanted to be the one who "disagrees" at this time.

Sergeant Wu said, "Everyone has worked hard today. Get some rest and be at the trading point at 7 a.m. sharp tomorrow to sign in."

The way he said those words was unusual, almost gentle.

"I have compressed biscuits here now. If you need them, come and register to pick them up. Remember to use the logging fee to settle the account tomorrow."

He bent down and pulled a military green plastic bag from his backpack. The bag was bulging and contained stacks of compressed biscuits.

He used his other hand to open the bag, letting everyone see what was inside.

Most people rushed over to register and receive their prizes.

Someone pushed to the front and reached out to grab a cookie, but Sergeant Wu blocked them with his notebook, forcing them to step back and wait in line obediently.

Some people were standing in the middle of the line, tiptoeing to look ahead, muttering "Don't push, don't push," but they were also pushing forward themselves.

Someone at the very back of the line looked at the dense crowd in front of them, sighed, and lowered their head, lost in thought.

Compressed biscuits are not tasty; they are dry, hard, and tasteless, and chewing them feels like swallowing sand.

But it can fill your stomach, give you the strength to cut down trees tomorrow, and keep you from being so hungry tonight that you can't sleep.

On this mountain, a pack of compressed biscuits is all you need for a day.

Xu Xiaoyan and Lan Yue exchanged a glance.

They stood on the periphery of the crowd, at least a dozen meters away from Officer Wu, who was surrounded.

Everyone around them was pushing forward, but the two of them stood still.

Lan Yue turned her head first, turned her face to look at Xu Xiaoyan, raised her eyebrows slightly, and moved her lips, but did not make a sound.

That emoji means: Are you going or not?

Xu Xiaoyan didn't respond immediately. With her hands in her pockets, she looked over the heads of the crowd and landed on the plastic bag that was being snatched and was shaking slightly. Finally, she shook her head.

Upon seeing this, Lan Yue's lips twitched slightly. She raised her hand and patted the side pocket of her backpack, indicating that there was still stock inside.

Xu Xiaoyan didn't ask what it was, and Lan Yue didn't say either.

On this evening, when everyone was rushing to register and collect their packs of compressed biscuits, the two of them tacitly decided not to go.

After the two finished communicating, they returned to their own tents. The tent pegs were firmly in place, the outer tent was taut, and there were already traces of water flowing in the drainage ditch at the entrance.

She fastened the rain curtain from the inside, then crawled inside, took out a packet of instant noodles from her storage space, and ate it dry.

Outside the tent, the noise continued; some people were still queuing for cookies, and others were arguing about something, their voices growing louder and louder.

The tent of Blue Moon was lit by a faint light, whether it was a flashlight or a headlamp, the light shining through the tent fabric.

Xu Xiaoyan swallowed the last bit of instant noodles, unscrewed the bottle of mineral water and took a small sip, then pulled the sleeping bag up to her chin.

The orange light on the tent fabric had gone out at some point.

The surroundings quieted down, with only the occasional cough from nearby and intermittent voices in the distance, the hoarse voices saying something in a low voice, the content of which was completely inaudible.