Chapter Nineteen: Rescue and Temporary Shelter

Seeing that no one tried to stop him, Li Xingyu reached out and felt around the edge of the wound. The skin was hot, and when he pressed a bit more forcefully, thick black blood oozed out. Drawing upon his wilderness survival training, he immediately recognized the hallmark of a venomous snake bite.

He set his homemade suitcase on the ground, placed his backpack on top, and opened it to retrieve his first aid kit. From inside, he took out a disposable syringe and a vial of antivenom serum. Since he needed to inject the child with the serum and was afraid of being misunderstood, he raised the items in his hands, hoping to explain himself. But the language barrier left him at a loss. Very quickly, however, he realized his concerns were unnecessary. The people around him showed no surprise at the sight of his preparations; some even revealed expressions of hope.

This reaction puzzled Li Xingyu, but saving a life was urgent, so he didn't dwell on it. He drew serum into the syringe, lifted the child's arm, and administered the injection directly into a vein. Although the antivenom developed on Earth no longer caused allergic reactions in some people, he still used only half the normal dose, planning to observe for adverse effects and decide on further treatment accordingly.

About fifteen minutes after the injection, the child’s rapid breathing gradually steadied, and sensation began to return to his body. Even while still unconscious, he started to move slightly. Seeing this, Li Xingyu knew the antivenom was effective. He drew more serum and gave a second injection. Then, he took a scalpel from the kit, sterilized it, and gently incised the skin and superficial muscle around the wound. After putting on disposable gloves, he pressed around the opening, squeezing out the blackened blood. When the blood finally ran red, he applied anti-inflammatory and hemostatic powder, then bandaged the wound with gauze.

By the time he finished, the child was out of danger. His color and breathing had returned to normal. The man who had been crouching nearby—likely a healer—came to examine the child, spoke a few words to the father, and the man immediately rushed to Li Xingyu, expressing his gratitude with a special gesture. Understanding this was a local custom, Li Xingyu quickly helped the man to his feet. Not wishing to speak in a language they could not share, he simply pointed to the child and then to a nearby house.

The adults understood: the child was still weak and needed rest. The mother gave Li Xingyu a grateful look, scooped up her son, and carried him toward the wooden house. Others began to disperse as well, heading back. The man—presumably the boy’s father—grabbed Li Xingyu’s hand, gestured toward the house, and, seeing Li Xingyu nod, hurried after the woman.

Approaching the wooden house, Li Xingyu noticed there were now twelve huts in total. After the woman and child entered, Li Xingyu and the father followed. Most people had gone, but the apparent leader and the healer who’d examined the child entered as well. After checking on the boy, who was now lying in the inner room, they offered him a few comforting words and then withdrew.

Li Xingyu remained in the outer room, observing his surroundings. When the others came out, the boy’s father joined them, and after smiling at Li Xingyu, began chatting with the other two. They glanced at Li Xingyu from time to time, but he sensed no ill will, so he calmly continued his observations.

After the two left, the child’s father came to Li Xingyu. Unsure of how to communicate, he hesitated, then led Li Xingyu to another room, pointed to the bed, and made a series of gestures. Li Xingyu understood: he was being invited to stay for a few days, to help care for the child—the family was still worried for the boy’s safety. Li Xingyu nodded, walked to the wooden bed, and sat down, then pointed outside, indicating he wanted to rest. The man nodded and left, closing the door behind him.

Lying on the bed, Li Xingyu thought things over. Since these people bore no malice and seemed kind-hearted, he decided to stay for now. The first priority, however, was to learn their language; without communication, he would never truly understand this world.

Nearly four months slipped by. The air had grown cooler with the changing season. In that time, Li Xingyu studied the local language diligently, and the people, realizing his intent, did their best to help. He began by mimicking their pronunciation, and they patiently taught him. Before long, he could say the names of objects and some simple phrases. He used his MVP5 device to record their conversations as well as their instructions, capturing on video the actions that accompanied their words. The locals cooperated, often narrating their tasks as they performed them.

As his archive grew, Li Xingyu translated the vocabulary and phrases he learned into Chinese, entering them into the MVP5. With enough material, the intelligent system in his device could finally auto-translate both spoken and written language between Chinese and their tongue. At first, the locals found this device fascinating, but over time, it became part of daily life. Armed with this translation tool and his natural aptitude for learning, Li Xingyu soon mastered the language well enough for conversation, though with a trace of awkwardness.

Perhaps because he knew Li Xingyu had saved his life, the boy was especially attached to him. Li Xingyu grew fond of the clever, well-behaved child and even taught him the physical training and breath-control techniques his own father had passed down. As for teaching the boy cultivation methods, Li Xingyu decided against it—the child was still too young, and there was no way of knowing whether the techniques would suit him. He had learned that cultivation required compatible constitutions and attributes; otherwise, at best, progress would be slow or fruitless, and at worst, conflicting attributes could be dangerous—like a fire-type person cultivating water-based arts. He could not yet determine others’ attributes, nor was he certain of his own method’s properties, and it was simply too risky to share them. If other cultivators learned of his skills through the boy, he might attract dangerous attention, especially if his methods proved powerful—after all, in the world of cultivation, as in all worlds, “a man’s wealth is his own undoing.”

With his grasp of the language, Li Xingyu was able to piece together a general understanding of this planet. Its level of civilization matched his initial judgment. With autumn’s arrival, the grasslands were no longer fit for grazing, and the herders were beginning preparations to migrate. Li Xingyu knew his time to leave had come as well.

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