Prehistoric Fantasy Stories for Female Readers With No Romance

59 直 Livestream: What Should I Do About This Giant Panda That Won't Leave Me Alone? Let's Talk About the Records of the Grand HistorianUrban1.9M WordsCompleted 4.7kReads9.4Score462Shelves

Reader note

"The Lost Boat at the Bottom of Taibai Mountain" Jiang Feng poked the rusty hiking pole into the soil, and the mobile phone holder swayed loudly in the mountain wind. The number of viewers in the lower right corner of the screen stopped at single digits, and the only few fans in the barrage were saying "Come on, anchor", like pebbles thrown into a deep pool, without even a splash. "Today I will show you the wild roads in Taibai Mountain." He pulled at the frayed edges of his jacket, and his voice was a little hoarse than when he first entered the mountain three days ago. The camera swept across the lush broad-leaved forest, and was suddenly caught by a clump of bloody wild flowers - the wild poppies he had seen when he was collecting medicine with his grandfather when he was a child. They bloomed vigorously and lonely in the cracks of the strange rocks, very much like himself at the moment. A new barrage suddenly popped up in the live broadcast room: "Be careful, anchor! There was a mountain disaster in that forest ten years ago." His hand holding the hiking pole paused, his Adam's apple rolled and he swallowed. When the wind passed through the treetops, there was a faint sound of pine waves, mixed with the memory of my grandfather's cough: "Taibai Mountain has a stubborn temper. Only if you respect it three points will it take you to a safe place." When we reached the clouds and mist halfway up the mountain, the mobile phone signal was cut off. Jiang Feng squatted by the rock and ate compressed biscuits when he suddenly heard a rustling sound in the bushes. He tightened his grip on the trekking pole and took half a step back, only to see a little muntjac with shiny fur sticking its head out, its eyes as wet as if they were filled with mountain spring water. The little guy tilted his head and stared at the biscuits in his hand. Suddenly he stepped lightly with his front hooves, turned around and disappeared into the mist. When he followed the trail and climbed up an unexpected boulder, the sight in front of him made him hold his breath suddenly - the sea of ​​clouds rolled under his feet, the mountains in the distance were like green snails floating in the waves, and the little muntjac just now was standing on the opposite rock ridge, turning to look at him. Behind him was a winding path hidden in the ferns. The phone suddenly vibrated at this moment, and the live broadcast room that had been disconnected for half an hour came back on. He saw the barrage wall spinning like crazy: "This is the "Ling Tong Road" of Taibai Mountain! The elders say that only sincere people can see it!" "Host, follow me! I heard that you can see the "Mountain Soul" of Qinling Mountains after walking!" Jiang Feng's fingers were trembling, not sure whether it was because of the mountain wind or his heartbeat. He remembered the broken live broadcast equipment before departure, the eyes of his parents who hesitated to speak, and the deserted live broadcast in various city parks over the past month. At this moment, the clouds and mist have covered the knees, and the little muntjac's hoofprints are clearly visible on the moss, like steps that someone has quietly laid. "Family members," he took a deep breath and pointed the camera at the turbulent sea of clouds in front of him, with a trembling sound in his voice, "Today, let's walk this road that no one dares to take." (It can be expanded later: the trail leads to the hidden secrets of the Qinling Mountains. During the live broadcast, Jiang Feng encountered mysterious mountain guards, the ruins of a thousand-year-old temple, and even discovered the afterimage of the "mountain spirit" living in Taibai Mountain. As he went deeper into the danger, the popularity of the live broadcast room soared, and those moments about natural awe and survival philosophy gradually made him understand: the real "traffic code" has always been hidden in the world.)