His body couldn’t move, but Henry Clark’s clever mind quickly determined his location based on the sun and the state of the plants.

The Chinese yew and the Chinese wingnut grew right at the foot of the mountain—these two plants were easy to identify, especially the yew, with its long, smooth leaves marked by two white stomatal lines, making it very distinctive. As for the wingnut, Henry Clark was all too familiar with it; his grandmother had diabetes, and he often picked wingnut leaves to brew tea for her.

As for determining latitude using the sun’s terminator, it was no challenge for Henry Clark; even with mental calculation, he could easily reach a conclusion.

It’s often said that learning to read is the beginning of confusion in life, and that’s absolutely true.

The yew and the wingnut both told Henry Clark that he was in the Qinling mountain range, and the roughly calculated latitude and longitude told him he was near Lishan.

He was very certain of this. The only thing that confused him was—when did yew and wingnut become so common that they grew freely on this little mountain?

Moreover, as a travel fanatic and a fierce carnivore from Guanzhong, where even the uninhabited areas of Mount Taibai are considered picnic spots, how could anyone have overlooked this picturesque little mountain? How could there possibly be scenes of wolves, leopards, and bears roaming everywhere?

Even if the people of Guanzhong were simple and uninterested in exploration, how could those government officials—who, in their pursuit of economic prosperity, would dig up their own ancestors’ graves to turn them into tourist attractions—possibly let this paradise slip by?

A wild notoginseng plant was growing right next to Henry Clark’s head, its cluster of small red flowers in full bloom.

Henry Clark knew exactly how precious this was—famous as “blood ginseng,” even in Yunnan, the home of wild notoginseng, it was rare to see a real wild one, yet here was a whole patch of them.

When knowledge clashes with reality, knowledge with an expiration date becomes laughable.

This was a major discovery—Henry Clark thought to himself.

With his scholarly curiosity awakened, Henry Clark no longer wanted to die for the time being. After all, Hawking lived cheerfully despite his condition; though he was a bit charred, as long as he made a great discovery, living wasn’t so bad. As long as he had some food, surviving wouldn’t be too difficult.

Being burned had its advantages: the high temperature, combined with his pitch-black, heat-absorbing skin, attracted a three-foot-long cauliflower snake. After testing a few times and seeing Henry Clark motionless, the snake lazily coiled itself on his face and began sunbathing.

Long afterward, Henry Clark would develop a fear of snakes, especially the feeling of one coiled around his neck, which could drive him mad.

Fortunately, the cold snake blood replenished his energy, and the snake meat beneath the skin, along with the skin itself, provided some protein, helping him survive another difficult night.

Hope always comes in the morning—these were his grandmother’s words. Whenever Henry Clark felt disappointed or discouraged, she would comfort him like this.

Grandmother was always right. At least, at the moment he was struck by dry lightning, he really was glowing, and the lingering smell of charcoal helped him a lot—last night, not even mosquitoes bothered him.

His limbs were still immobile, so Henry Clark’s plan to get some notoginseng tubers to replenish his blood fell through.

The wolf pack that had hurried away yesterday returned, including a snow-white she-wolf, tall and strong, with a row of swollen, red teats beneath her belly—clearly a mother with cubs.

After yesterday’s encounter, Henry Clark knew these wolves weren’t interested in his charred flesh. At this moment, he desperately wished the she-wolf would lie down on his face so he could have a chance to drink some wolf’s milk.

Of course, that was just wishful thinking. After waiting a full hour, the she-wolf showed no intention of approaching, instead hiding her body in a nearby patch of mugwort.

Henry Clark gave a bitter smile. The wolves’ real target was the wild boars that had appeared yesterday—he was just being used as bait for their hunt.

The sun soon tilted westward. The merry band of wild boars, covered in mud, emerged from the woods. The precious notoginseng plants were uprooted one by one by their tusks and big mouths, exposing the plump tubers underground.

A scarred, one-eyed adult boar was in charge of digging up the notoginseng tubers, while the piglets followed behind their father, scrambling to eat the tubers.

Henry Clark wanted to eat some too... The big boar seemed to sense Henry Clark’s desire and, with a snort, shoved Henry Clark, who was lying beneath a notoginseng plant, aside, then continued to dig up food for its young.

Henry Clark had wanted to warn the big boar, to tell it this was a trap, but the pain from being shoved aside was so intense it felt like being cut by knives, so he naturally gave up any intention of playing the good guy.

A flash of white lightning streaked past Henry Clark’s eyes, and those pairs of bright red teats told him the she-wolf had begun her attack.

Knocked from high ground to low, Henry Clark rolled several times, hearing the shrill squeals of pigs nearby, but his view was completely blocked by thick mugwort.

Wolves kept leaping over him, agile and swift, like cavalry launching a ferocious charge.