The tree wasn't particularly tall or short, and it took me about five or six minutes to climb up to the tree net I was weaving.

First, I placed the long stick I used for survival on my wire mesh bed, and then the equally important vine. After tying a knot, I secured it to my right big toe. The vine wasn't thick; it would even break with the slightest pull.

However, this is also the wonder of my impromptu design of this mechanism; soon its function will be irreplaceable.

After doing all that, I felt my physical strength had reached its limit. After eating a few more cups of wild fruit to replenish my energy, I fell into a deep sleep.

Perhaps because I was exhausted from a day's trek, I slept soundly as soon as I lay down. Even though the mosquitoes around me were buzzing in my ears like World War II bombers, it didn't disturb my peaceful dreams at all.

I slept peacefully on my self-woven wire mesh bed. Although wild animals roared throughout the first half of the night, nothing happened. They howled, I slept, and we didn't disturb each other.

But something went wrong in the latter half of the night. I dare say that while I was asleep, at least three different kinds of carnivores gathered under the tree, drooling and watching the delicious meal up there.

This is also the conclusion I drew after I climbed down the tree and found those different footprints.

Thinking about this makes me a little scared. I was too carefree. If anything had happened, I would have been devoured and there wouldn't even be any bone fragments left.

Just as I was lost in a sweet dream, engrossed in playing chess with the Duke of Zhou, the vine tied to my right big toe was suddenly pulled downwards and snapped with a snap.

This startled me so much that I broke out in a cold sweat and couldn't fall asleep at all. I knew my worst fears had come true; without a doubt, this time it was a leopard!

I grabbed the long stick in my hand and sat up, listening intently and alertly.

Just as the vine snapped, I heard a heavy thud. The leopard must have triggered the first alarm system.

I deliberately built the bird's nest higher than my head, about two meters off the ground. The advantage of doing this is that it helps to distinguish felines from other predators.

Aside from tigers and leopards, most other wild animals can't climb trees. The height of the bird's nest is practically unattainable for them, let alone allowing them to climb up.

Why am I so sure it's a leopard? Tigers can climb up just as easily, can't they?

This was a question I had already considered when choosing the tree. Why not a tiger? Because I deliberately chose a smaller tree.

For primates like humans, the greatest advantage is tree climbing. Regardless of the size of the tree, even a steel pipe, the human body is structurally suited for climbing, a feat that even the equally agile leopard cannot match.

There is only one mechanism by which wild animals climb trees: they use their sharp claws to grab the bark and climb upwards.

Within a suitable range, the larger the tree, the greater the contact area between the outstretched forelimbs and hindlimbs and the tree, and the more pronounced the force will be.

Human anatomy is the opposite; our ten fingers are more flexible and precise in grasping than the claws of wild animals. Therefore, within a suitable range, the smaller the tree, the faster we can climb by using the grasping ability of our fingers combined with the action of our feet.

This is something even felines can't do. If you don't believe me, try letting your cat climb a steel pipe that's only the diameter of a bottle cap. You'll find it can only awkwardly wander around under the pipe.

This is why a larger tiger can't climb it; the tree isn't within its suitable range, just like a cat isn't suited to climbing a steel pipe.

But leopards are an exception; they can use brute force to climb trees as thick as a bowl, even though they are relatively small.

That's why I chose a smaller tree instead of a big one. Who would choose to fight a much larger tiger head-on rather than deal with a weaker opponent? Take the story of Wu Song fighting the tiger with a grain of salt.

At that moment, I knew that a leopard had accidentally grabbed a bird's nest with its claws and was trying to use it to climb up.

To put it another way, I know that if a leopard were to come, it would definitely choose to grab the larger bird's nest as a fulcrum for leverage, since climbing such a tree would be a bit of a struggle for it.

But how could it know that this was just an alarm system connected to my toes? Now I could hear it getting up again from a meter above the ground.

At this point, you might ask, why place the spikes a meter away from the tree? If you put them under the tree, wouldn't the leopard be doomed?

All I can say about this is that it's to leave myself an escape route as much as possible. If the leopard manages to get up, it will be an inevitable fight, and it's hard to say who will fall down first.

If there are no spikes a meter below the tree, and I am lucky enough to win, I can safely walk down this path without worrying about being hurt by the spikes.

You see, I didn't know my physical condition after the fight. If I was injured, I might accidentally fall into my own trap while climbing down the tree, which would be a huge loss.

I was hoping the leopard would just use its paw to push off the tree as it landed, thus jumping right into the spike trap. If it were injured by even one of those spikes, it wouldn't be able to climb back up the tree, even if it didn't die.

But that's often how things are. This leopard was lucky; it must have landed between two bird nests, and before it could even push off the tree, it knocked the two nests down and fell vertically.

I heard a rustling sound from the tree bark, and my heart skipped a beat. This guy wasn't giving up; he climbed up again!

I gripped the long stick tightly in my hand, almost squeezing it dry. My eyes were fixed on the dark tree trunk below, but thankfully there was some moonlight today, so the outline of the trunk was still discernible.

Soon, I saw a dark shadow climbing up the tree trunk where I was, illuminated by the moonlight.

"Get down!"

I roared and started stabbing wildly at the dark figure below with the stick in my hand. At this moment, stabbing was more powerful than hitting, and if I was lucky enough to poke its eye, it would definitely not be able to get up today.

But this guy didn't follow the usual path. He clung to the tree trunk and circled around to avoid the stick I poked at him, all the while making low, menacing threats at me as he climbed.

Seeing this, I broke out in a cold sweat. It was the first time in my life I had encountered such a thing, and I had no idea it could be so agile in a tree.

But I kept reassuring myself that it was precisely at times like these that I needed to calm down. Wisdom was the chasm that distinguished us from wild beasts. I was sure I could kill this cunning beast. My sister was waiting for me to come back. I couldn't die!

I calmed down and stopped attacking continuously. I just watched the shadows darting left and right below, feeling like I was playing whack-a-mole. Just then, a term often used in games popped into my head.

Prediction!