Chapter 5
"Yes,"
The imminent crisis was completely averted, and Dashaeva developed a strong liking for this calm and reliable handsome young man, so she was happy to reveal some personal information to him.
"Although my father wasn't a big shot like General Yuri Pavlovich Grekov, he was still a minor figure in the Volga Military District who could get some help to rescue us... Oh, of course, he was a rather low-key person and always told me to keep a low profile, which was only natural, and I always followed his instructions..."
At this point, her mood sombered, but she remained cheerful. “Who knew the world would suddenly descend into chaos, my dear little gentleman? Even if you do nothing, misfortune will still befall you, because some need bread, some need shoes, some need a sickle… But when they focus their minds on how to get things without working, the suffering of others begins, a deeper suffering.”
"How I sincerely hope these days will pass quickly! Fortunately, the higher-ups have assured everyone that things will stabilize soon, both in terms of the ruble exchange rate and prices."
While Dashaeva was speaking, the other party remained focused and listened quietly, without showing any intention to interrupt or show any impatience.
This discovery immediately brightened her mood, which had just dropped.
Her father always looked down on the lower classes, saying that most of them were vulgar and despicable, and that even when on trial, they would still greedily spew out their grating noises. He said that they deserved no more sympathy except to be exiled to Siberia and the Far East for hard labor reform. Now, she could refute him with reason and evidence!
Look across from her, isn't that a handsome young man, elegant and polite, intelligent and composed? Even though he's still wearing that ill-fitting overcoat, she's confident she can say it's out of necessity. After all, a blizzard is raging outside the cabin, and without that thick coat, he definitely wouldn't have made it this far…
Look, he's covering his mouth and coughing softly! This poor little gentleman must have caught a chill and had a hard time bringing her here, and he did it all out of kindness.
Dashaeva was determined to repay him properly, at least by taking him away from this dilapidated and abandoned wooden house, and as far away from the Siberian region as possible; if he wanted to find a job, that was no problem either, she could even arrange an easy job for him that originally required a college student to be qualified for - the only requirement for him was that he could read.
Oh dear, she thought, why not just give them a large sum of money? She remembered that the other party wouldn't even reveal their name…
Looking at Dashaeva, who was lost in thought, Fyodor Mikhailovich Dostoevsky (hereinafter referred to as Dostoevsky), the true consciousness of this body, tilted his head slightly without making a sound, and did not specifically call out to bring her back to her senses.
After all, he knew exactly what the other party was planning to say and what they were thinking.
In fact, Tuosi felt that what he needed to sort out more was the series of experiences that had occurred in the short span of half a day.
His destination was Gusinger Prison, near the Norori River, while the prison in the far north was extremely strictly managed and built on a barren wasteland surrounded by permafrost.
The temperature there never exceeds minus five degrees Celsius throughout the year, and the snow that cannot be melted is almost waist-deep, easily covering all possible escape routes. The only entrance and exit is the snow track that the prison has cleared and maintained.
He clearly didn't have the physical strength to rival a polar bear, enough to ensure his safe trek through the blizzard, reach the prison's outer wall, then use his agility to scale the defensive perimeter secured by high-voltage electric fences and snipers, and finally fight his way in and out of the prison seven times until he reached his target.
This passage is probably describing mountain gorillas in the rainforest, but it has nothing to do with him personally.
He used the least costly and easiest method to infiltrate the system, disguising himself as a criminal who needed to serve his sentence.
To prevent the "Law on the Protection of Minors" from interfering, Tuosi deliberately increased the age on the fake ID.
The plan went smoothly. He was changed into prison clothes and hitched a ride to Gusinger Prison. He also forgave the mockery and provocation of the other prisoners on the bus, intending only to arrive at his destination quietly.
But now, after sunset, he sat in a moldy wooden cabin in the woods, his whole body aching as if he had been doing labor beyond his physical limits for a long time—he couldn't tell exactly which part of his body was sore, but he felt that all the muscles in his body had been severely strained.
A dull, throbbing pain, like being hit with a hammer, throbbed in his head. Some cheap-looking cloth was wrapped around his head, and Tuosi raised his hand to touch it; by the feel, it resembled…
Was his prison uniform missing a section? No wonder his waist and abdomen always seemed to lack an undergarment, with his bare skin directly pressed against this ill-fitting military overcoat.
Hmm, and this military overcoat—he easily recognized it as the jacket of the guard in the driver's seat, the one who had once worn it while brandishing a baton to herd criminals one by one onto the transport vehicle; and when he spoke in a harsh voice, he could smell the distinctive pungent odor of cheap alcohol.
The clothes he was wearing now completely covered his entire body.
It was heartwarming, but also something he couldn't understand.
Was there a car accident along the way? Dostoevsky could recall the scene at the time; the journey to Siberia had been uneventful, without any unexpected incidents.
The accident occurred when their armored vehicle collided head-on with a black van.
He happened to be thrown out of the broken window during the rollover and luckily landed on the relatively soft wasteland without any broken bones or sprains.
He then got up to check the scene of the car accident, searched for the key to unlock the shackles, and because it was too cold, he took the guard's winter coat... He then rescued the young, wealthy woman who had been kidnapped from another van.
They even went to great lengths to carry her, still unconscious, through a blizzard to this shelter nestled in the pine forest.
This is where Dostoevsky's most confusing point about his memory lies.
Even though his plans were disrupted by unforeseen circumstances, preventing him from reaching Gusinger Prison, it was still unusual for him to inexplicably and with great difficulty rescue a comatose stranger.
No wonder his whole body aches terribly now... He's never been a manual laborer.
Doss felt that his hands, which were covered by the sleeves of his coat, were still trembling slightly and unable to exert any strength.
If he were alone, he would never have been caught in this blizzard. He would have had enough time to return to the nearest town from the accident site and then take the free shuttle bus to Gusinger Prison after the blizzard subsided.
However, he and the woman who called herself Dashaeva are now trapped in a blizzard with no food and can only wait for her people to come and rescue them as soon as possible.
Calling the government rescue hotline is impractical; they won't be out in this dangerous weather, launching a costly, exhaustive search for some insignificant nobody—by the time they finally find him, the body will be more solid than a frozen fish in the market.
In other words, he needs Dashaeva's help to leave this place.
...even if it's outside of Siberia, to Volgograd, which is at least 600 kilometers away.
"Yes, I believe everything will get better."
Doss echoed her words, gently comforting her, "With a noble and kind-hearted lady like you thinking of them, I believe everything will be alright, just like this sudden blizzard, which will eventually stop quietly. Isn't that right?"
Hearing this, Dashaeva became very happy again.
"That's right, yes, that's what I think too."
She moved closer to him, both away from the fireplace. "Don't worry about your clothes. I'll explain your predicament to them. Just ask them to turn a blind eye."
Doss smiled and continued, “Yes, kind lady, I did have some reasons for doing this.”
“Would you like to sleep a little longer? I will keep watch for you,” he said. “I assure you, this warm fire will never go out.”
Moved by the kindness shown to her, Dashaeva resolved to repay this debt of gratitude.
According to Dashaeva's description of the surrounding area and its features, the cabin was found by people arranged by Dashaeva's father before the blizzard subsided.
After driving for four hours, they left Siberia, which was covered with a thick layer of snow, and arrived in the neighboring Ural region.
They were supposed to continue driving about 300 kilometers to Volgograd, but Dostoevsky insisted on leaving the convoy, leaving Dashaeva very disappointed.
The payment she had originally planned was also politely declined. The other party was like a humble ascetic, who only changed into clean new clothes before leaving and embarking on his journey alone once again.
In the end, she still couldn't learn his name from him.
…………
Before Ye Yihe even opened his eyes after regaining consciousness, he knew he was alive again.
He probably wasn't taken back to prison, was he? Although he didn't have any expectations of the original owner's skills, Russia is so big, there must be somewhere for him to hide...
Ye Yihe felt that there was no restraint on his wrists—his right hand seemed to be holding a smooth, wooden stick-like object—before he opened his eyes with peace of mind.
I'm not afraid of him even if he has to fight, as long as he doesn't end up behind bars.
"Thank you, kind monk."
An elderly woman, carrying a vegetable basket and with a cloth draped over her head, was thanking him with a bowl of thin porridge in her trembling hands.
Behind her was a long line, mostly people dressed in rags.
Monk?
Ye Yihe looked down at himself.
His identity this time is... a priest?
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