Chapter 12: Dollars Are the True Treasure

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The night gradually faded away.

A faint glimmer appeared on the eastern horizon.

Libya, situated on the edge of the desert and by the sea, nevertheless remained deeply rooted in its harsh desert climate.

On the coastal highway near the Gulf of Sirte, the long stretch of road was utterly deserted, not a soul in sight, though abandoned cars dotted the roadside here and there.

Struggling a little, Liu Bo set Meng Yao down on the ground. He unfastened a canteen from his waist, took a sip of water, then stood up and looked around before finally sitting down for a brief rest.

He had been carrying Meng Yao on his back for four or five hours now. If not for the fact that he was still alive, Liu Bo could hardly have imagined he possessed such perseverance.

Now, more than ever, he was convinced that only in the will to survive does a person unleash such incredible determination.

A low moan suddenly sounded at his ear.

Liu Bo immediately turned his head—Meng Yao was waking up.

“Ah, Brother Liu.”

“You’re awake, Meng Yao. Here, have some water.”

He brought the mouth of the canteen to Meng Yao’s lips and let her drink a few sips.

She coughed.

“How do you feel? Anywhere uncomfortable?”

Meng Yao shook her head.

When she opened her eyes, though the sky was still dim, she could already see a faint glow on the distant sea. She paused, gathering her muddled thoughts, and immediately realized she must have fainted.

“Brother Liu, where are we now?”

“I’m not sure. After we left the city, I carried you west along the coast, following the directions Changjiang gave me. I have no idea where we are now.”

A hint of bitterness crept into Liu Bo’s heart.

“Changjiang?” Meng Yao seemed uncertain.

“The man who saved us,” Liu Bo replied.

Remembering what Li Changjiang had said before leaving, Liu Bo paused, then fished out the silver coin strung on a red cord from his coat and handed it to Meng Yao.

“Here, he asked me to give this to you. He said it’s a token of apology.”

Apology?

Thinking of the man who had touched her chest earlier, Meng Yao’s cheeks flushed, and she felt a faint heat in her chest.

She took the red string from Liu Bo’s hand and gripped it tightly.

“Where did he go?” She asked, her heart tightening with a sliver of hope.

But when she saw Liu Bo’s face suddenly darken and fall silent, a sharp ache seized her heart, as if cramping painfully.

“Don’t worry, he might not have sacrificed himself,” Liu Bo reassured her.

Then he briefly recounted what had happened while she was unconscious. Learning that Li Changjiang had carried her out of the city, Meng Yao’s face turned even redder.

She couldn’t explain why, but she felt a gentle warmth inside her. There was no doubt that Li Changjiang had left an indelible impression on her.

She still remembered how her knees had gone weak the moment she heard his voice in the darkness.

It was trust—utter, unconditional trust.

Slowly, she slipped the red string around her neck. Liu Bo could tell that Meng Yao had developed feelings for Li Changjiang, though whether this was good or bad, he did not know.

After all, Li Changjiang had gone alone into the city, and it was quite possible he would never return. But no matter what, he was their savior—his brother.

Those who have not been through war can never understand the value of bonds forged in blood and fire.

“Fortune protects the worthy,” Liu Bo murmured.

He knew well how exceptional Meng Yao was.

As one of the nation’s top official media organizations, Huaxin News Agency only recruited interns from the most elite universities. Though Northern University was prestigious, it couldn’t compare with Capital University or Tsinghua.

Yet Meng Yao had managed to stand out among candidates from all the top schools and win the internship—she was truly outstanding, not to mention her remarkable beauty.

Even now, disheveled and haggard, her brilliance could not be concealed.

To fall for Li Changjiang—what would come of it? Liu Bo didn’t want to guess, nor did he wish to speculate about what the future might hold.

His only wish now was to carry out Li Changjiang’s instructions: bring Meng Yao safely back to their homeland. If Li Changjiang truly had fallen, perhaps this was his final wish.

At this thought, Liu Bo’s eyes grew moist.

He didn’t know why Li Changjiang had insisted on returning to the battlefield, but it certainly wasn’t just for the sake of saving those Chinese expatriates.

But that was enough.

Not everyone possesses such courage.

“We must keep moving. Dawn is near, and we must reach Tripoli before the rebels advance west.”

“Alright!”

After a brief rest, the two got up and continued on.

“Get down!”

Suddenly, with near-brutal force, Liu Bo pulled Meng Yao to the ground. They lay flat by the roadside, and in the next moment they heard the roar of an engine.

A vehicle!

Liu Bo cautiously raised his head and looked in the direction they had come from. A pickup truck sped toward them, its occupants unclear at first. Only when it drew near did he see the driver seemed to be a Libyan woman.

“Stay here and be silent. I’ll check it out. Whatever happens, don’t come out.”

Before Meng Yao could respond, Liu Bo darted out and ran to the middle of the road.

“Hey! Hey, stop! Hey!”

The shriek of brakes cut through the air, the screech so harsh it made Liu Bo’s heart race wildly.

But he didn’t back away.

The truck stopped.

Bang!

The door flew open.

As Liu Bo hesitated, he suddenly leaped aside.

Rat-tat-tat!

A burst of gunfire tore past him. Had he not dodged in time, he would have been hit. The Libyan woman, panic-stricken, raised her gun to fire again, but Liu Bo shouted in English.

“Stop shooting! Stop! I’m a refugee—a Chinese!”

She lowered her gun, half-convinced.

“You’re Chinese?”

“Yes, yes, I am Chinese. Look, I have no weapons.”

Realizing she understood English, Liu Bo felt a surge of relief. He gestured to show he was unarmed, and only then did the Libyan woman put away her gun and approach.

“Hello, I’m Liu Bo, from China.”

“Hello.”

“We… we’d like a ride. Is that alright? I can pay you. Do you take dollars?”

Liu Bo beckoned to the bushes, and Meng Yao emerged. The sight of another person made the Libyan woman raise her gun again, but Liu Bo quickly shook his head.

“No, no, she’s my companion—not an enemy.”

But it seemed he didn’t need to explain. When she saw the Chinese girl, the Libyan woman lowered her gun herself. Liu Bo had already pulled out a stack of US dollars from his pocket—the money Li Changjiang had given him earlier. He didn’t offer it all, just about a thousand dollars.

The Libyan woman’s circumstances didn’t seem great either. She took the money hesitantly, and Liu Bo smiled—Lin Tao had been right: dollars were indeed useful here.

He opened the door and climbed into the truck.

It was only then that Liu Bo and Meng Yao understood the Libyan woman’s wariness: in the back seat sat two children—a brother and sister, it seemed.

“Hello,” Liu Bo greeted them, but received no reply. Disappointed, he fell silent.

The engine started.

Before long, they were drawing ever closer to Tripoli.