The next day, on the Ecuadorian side of the Putumayo River, at nine o'clock at night.
"Damn bugs!"
The cook stretched out his hand to pinch out an unidentifiable bug from his neck, crushed it into a pulp, and then looked at it under the moonlight.
It was all blood.
Clearly, the little creature had sucked quite a bit of his own blood.
"If you tuck in your scarf better, they'll have a harder time getting in," Song Heping whispered.
The cook readjusted the scarf wound around his neck and face, trying to improve the seal as much as possible.
In such a primitive jungle, concealment wasn't much of a problem; there were plants everywhere taller than a person.
It was just that there were too many insects.
So many that it was rather horrifying.
Although they had all applied camouflage oil with a scent to repel insects, it still couldn't completely deter some bugs that, upon smelling human blood, fearlessly burrowed into their necks.