After nine o'clock in the morning, following the downpour and floods in the subtropical rainforest during the non-rainy season, the sun had risen high.
The air felt somewhat humid and muggy as Liu Zhizhong lay on the narrow small fishing boat, near the brink of death. Covered in blood and grimy odor, it was quite unpleasant.
His body was hardly cleaned, despite Ruan Yu's water and Weng Xingban's alcohol spray; of course, it couldn't wash him clean entirely. But for disinfection, it was somewhat beneficial.
The weight of three people left the small fishing boat with only seven to eight centimeters above water; if a wave hit, the boat could easily overturn.
Luckily, Ruan Yu and Weng Xingban grew up fishing in the rivers, so they were steady at both sitting and rowing boats. At this moment, the boat was going upstream, with the river being endlessly gentle, posing no danger.
