Yan Aixi's last memory was the sudden stop on the winding mountain road - in order to purchase limited edition mineral pigments for the studio in time for the construction period, the van she rented skidded on a rainy day. The purchasing box in the back compartment (filled with paints, drawing paper, and a portable account book she had just bought) smashed the window and rolled down the cliff with the person and the box.
When I opened my eyes again, it was not the white ceiling of the hospital, but the airtight cypress branches and leaves. There was harsh soil under me. All the bones in my body seemed to have been dismantled and reassembled, especially my right wrist (it was sprained when I was holding the handle of the shopping box just now). She struggled to sit up, and first touched her waist - her cell phone was gone, her wallet was gone, and she only held the half-broken shopping box tightly in her arms. Several paint tubes in the box were squeezed out, and the stone green and ocher colors stained the coarse cloth clothes (the clothes were not her jeans and T-shirts, but a gray cross-collar shorts, and the fabric was so rough that it rubbed against the skin).
"Is there anyone there?" She called out, her voice hoarse, and the only answers she received were the chirping of birds in the forest and the sound of distant water. Yan Aixi forced herself to calm down - she has been in procurement for three years, and what she is best at is "responding to emergencies". She first takes stock of existing resources:
