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Survival in the Banna Rainforest, night of the ninth day.
Inside the shelter, faint snores arose.
On a nearby earthen mound, a huge dark shadow slowly protruded from the bushes, gazing at the shelter for several minutes before a soft rustling sound of digging reached the air.
The snoring stopped.
Bi Fang opened his eyes, stared blankly at the canopy above, sat up, scratched his hair, picked up a dry stick that had been whittled into a fish-scale shape ...
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