It was almost four o'clock by the time Zhao Jun returned to No. 78 Logging Camp. Before long, the sun would be up.
As soon as Zhao Jun entered the shack, he saw Yang Hong sitting on the heated brick platform, leaning against the wall and dozing off. Several thermoses were lined up on the floor.
Hearing the noise, Yang Hong opened his eyes. Seeing it was Zhao Jun, he got up and said, "Technician Zhao, you probably won't be getting any sleep. Why don't you wash up?"
"What's the point of washing?" Zhao Jun said with a wry smile, looking down at himself. He had killed some thirty wild boars earlier, and he was covered from head to toe in their blood.
He had scrubbed his face clean with snow, but the blood on his clothes and pants had already dried and stiffened.
