Colorful years

His hands were like two incredibly strong iron clamps, gripping the rough yet delicate sand with unimaginable strength, as if he would be swept away by the undercurrent at the bottom of the pool if he relaxed even slightly.

Then, he used all his strength, every muscle tensed, as if he wanted to gather all his power in his arms, and began to struggle to climb towards the edge of the pool.

The sand and gravel at the bottom of the pool were as fine as silk gliding over the skin, yet as hard as steel. This stark contrast stood in stark contrast to the sudden cramp in his leg.

Although the relatively high friction provided some assistance, preventing him from falling into complete despair, Congcong's leg cramps were so severe that the excruciating pain felt like a sharp knife.

It was relentlessly tearing his muscles apart inch by inch, leaving him almost unable to move. He could only rely on the tenacious strength of his hands to crawl forward little by little with great difficulty.

Every movement he made seemed like a race against death, and every drop of sweat was filled with his desire to survive and his indomitable struggle against adversity.

Time seemed to be under a spell, slowing down unusually at this moment, with each minute and second feeling like a year.

Congcong had no idea how long he had been climbing. All he could feel was that his strength was being quietly and gradually depleted, as if an invisible hand was constantly drawing away his power.

His once tender hands were now raw and bloody from being rubbed raw by the rough gravel, bright red blood dripping from his fingers. Even so, he had no intention of stopping his crawling, for stopping meant death.

The hope and perseverance that kept him going fueled his relentless crawl forward.

Finally, after endless darkness and exhaustion, a faint, blurry green appeared before Congcong's eyes. The clear yet unfamiliar color was the swaying water plants by the pool.

In an instant, an overwhelming joy surged within him, as if he had suddenly seen a bright lighthouse in the darkest night, and the light of hope for life was shining ahead.

He mustered the last of his strength and lunged forward like an arrow released from a bow, his hands gripping the delicate waterweed tightly like iron clamps.

With the help of the water plants, Congcong began to drag his heavy body toward the shore little by little, each inch of dragging seemed to consume all his energy.

Although his legs were still cramping uncontrollably, each spasm feeling like his muscles were being torn apart, he was completely oblivious to it at this point.

He desperately pulled forward, clinging to the life-saving waterweed, with only one unwavering goal in mind: to pull himself out of that terrible abyss of death, never looking back.

After a difficult struggle and effort, Congcong's mud-covered head finally emerged from the water. In that instant, he seemed to break free from the shackles that had bound him for so long, and felt a sense of relief at escaping death.

Due to prolonged oxygen deprivation in the brain and exhaustion of spiritual energy, Congcong fainted as soon as he reached the shore.

He had a strange dream. In the dream, he seemed to have entered the palace of the King of Hell and met the King of Hell, who was high above and incomparably majestic.

The King of Hell roared at the ground expressionlessly, "Little brat, get out of here! This is no place for you!"

Congcong suddenly woke up. He opened his eyes and saw several greyhounds strolling leisurely in the clear blue sky.

"Am I still alive?" It seems to be a question asked of both the earth and himself.

He greedily inhaled the fresh air, like a traveler on the verge of despair in the desert who suddenly found water and desperately wanted to breathe in all the air into his already oxygen-deprived lungs to prove that he was still alive and could continue to feel the beauty and warmth of this world.

Looking at the world around me, everything became so clear and beautiful.

He felt his heart pounding violently, as if it were about to leap out of his chest.

It feels so good to be alive!

He slowly turned his head, looked at his hands which were now bloody and mangled, and felt a wave of fear wash over him.

He knew that if he hadn't kept a clear head and fought hard to save himself, he might have really drowned in that pool.

He didn't rush to sit up, but lay down on the riverbank, enjoying the sunshine and the caress of the river breeze.

It took Congcong a while to come to his senses. He slowly stood up and limped home.