I had no idea how long I had been asleep, but when I groggily opened my eyes, I realized the car had already left the town and was bumping along a rugged mountain road.
A jolt of unease surged through me, and I hurriedly turned to my friend, asking, "Where are we going?"
Qin Yao's expression remained calm, her voice composed as she offered a single word: "Hotel."
Still feeling a lingering doubt, I pressed further, "Not in the city?"
She maintained her unruffled demeanor, replying softly, "You'll see when we get there."
In my naïveté, I foolishly assumed that she had arranged some unique mountain retreat—perhaps a hotel nestled close to the temple, making our pilgrimage more convenient.
The car rumbled on, and soon, I caught sight of what looked like a small settlement ahead.
But as I squinted to get a clearer view, my heart sank. This wasn't a village at all! On raised wooden platforms stood armed soldiers, their rifles stark against the horizon.
A chill coursed through me—this was unmistakably the stronghold of Myanmar's local armed factions!
My gaze drifted further down the desolate stretch of road, and that's when I saw it: a freshly dug pit, yawning open in the barren earth.
Terror gripped me as a dreadful thought took hold—what was that pit for?
I wanted to confront my friend, to demand an explanation, but she ignored me entirely. Her attention was fixed on her conversation with the driver, her tone sharp and her expression unnervingly cold, a demeanor that sent shivers down my spine.