Did This Game Hire a Paradox Game Dev?

A gun is always more persuasive than words. Like right now. Li did not take long to make his choice. He had no doubt that the people before him wouldn't even need a single charge to wipe them out. Even though the refugees behind him were unwilling, he still tried to persuade them. "We have no choice. They won't let us keep going forward, and we can't turn back." A tattered wasteland dweller couldn't help shouting, "What if they open fire on us the moment we hand over our weapons?" "And what if we don't?" Li looked at the man and said, "They wouldn't even need a single charge to wipe us out." The wasteland dweller had no rebuttal. There were over a hundred and eighty of them in total, more than half of whom were the elderly, the weak, women, and children. Able-bodied adult males who could put up a fight didn't even amount to seventy... and that was already counting boys between eight and fourteen. All their firearms added together barely amounted to twenty-odd pieces; the rest were bows, arrows, and spears. While such gear was enough to fend off equally pathetic marauders, they could only steer clear whenever they ran into hard targets. This was not the first time they had been driven off by other survivor settlements either. Practically no one would open their living room in the dead of winter. At the very least, these people hadn't fired on them despite having the strength to destroy them. That was already the greatest kindness they could hope for... Once the refugees laid down their arms, Chu Guang had Wrench send two men over to collect their weapons. True to his word, he also set up a giant cauldron in the clearing outside the east gate. Chu Guang couldn't possibly feed them as well as the players, but neither would he stand by and watch this group freeze and starve in the bitter wind. He posted a quest via the VM, sending Scrambled Eggs with Tomatoes to the warehouse to fetch fifty kilograms of green wheat and cook a pot of porridge for the refugees. At the same time, he had the man named Li lead the able-bodied laborers who could still work to establish a camp in the clearing fifty meters outside the east gate. The terrain here was undulating, with dead trees embedded in the snow everywhere, along with concrete rubble and scattered structural debris they could put to use. Building shacks was an essential skill for every wasteland wanderer, and these people were no exception. After being handed a few shovels, handcarts, and other tools, their work proceeded relatively smoothly. Meanwhile, the giant cauldron outside the east gate had been set up. As the water inside came to a boil, Brother Scrambled Eggs dumped all the green wheat into it. Wheat with an oxalic-acid sourness hardly stimulated the appetite; it had to simmer for quite some time to get rid of that astringent bite. At least, that was how it felt to the players. To the starving refugees on the brink of death, even a drop of murky broth was the ultimate delicacy. The white steam drifting from the cauldron set every refugee swallowing greedily, which only spurred them to build the camp even faster. Standing behind Chu Guang, several players were whispering quietly among themselves. "These folks look pretty pitiful." "Yeah, really pitiful. Even the kids are helping out." "Didn't expect people to show up so soon after this survivor settlement was built, though." "That was fast." Listening to the players' quiet chatter, Chu Guang felt puzzled as well. Even though he had ordered the smoke lit, he hadn't expected it to lure people over by the very next day. Why hadn't anyone shown up back when the Pioneer was still around? The smoke from the camp had been far heavier back then, with his little players up bright and early cooking breakfast for themselves. Yet they showed up right now of all times! Had these refugees arrived just two days earlier, their rations would have been leagues better than this. The crew aboard the Pioneer lacked neither food nor clothing, and they had even less tolerance for seeing people suffer than he did. Chu Guang was willing to bet that as long as he indicated a willingness to take these refugees in, they would have generously provided a shipment of supplies to back him up. As for right now, Chu Guang could only do his best. While the refugees were busy setting up their camp, Chu Guang had Old Luka take a census. There were 187 refugees in total, including 61 able-bodied males over the age of fourteen. The rest were the elderly, the weak, women, and children—including five infants under a year old and four pregnant women. Chu Guang estimated that at its peak, their convoy had probably numbered around three to four hundred people, meaning they had likely lost half their number along the journey. Even so, their situation was still far better than that of the nomads settled near Wetland Park. If he recalled correctly, brother Tie Fu had led his clan all the way south from northern River Valley Province, and by the time they reached this place, almost all their grown men had died off, to the point that they were even eyeing their own seeds. The guard corps finished confiscating the firearms, though knives, axes, bows, and arrows were permitted to be kept. According to Wrench's count, they surrendered a total of twenty-three pipe rifles of various calibers, among which were five old-fashioned smoothbore guns, which genuinely took Chu Guang by surprise. To think they had made it all the way here with this kind of gear. It was truly hard to imagine. "My Lord, while in their camp just now, I noticed someone has contracted typhoid fever," Luka reported upon returning from the refugee camp. Chu Guang asked, "Is it serious?" "I'm not certain. Most of them are in very poor physical shape. It could be starvation, or it could be real sickness... I can't tell the difference," Luka said cautiously. "I'm worried they might bring a plague. We have neither doctors nor enough medicine to handle such an outbreak." After pondering for a moment, Chu Guang nodded. "Understood. I'll figure something out." To tell the truth, Chu Guang didn't have any great solution either. Hygiene was never an issue for the players—at least not a core one. Even non-Constitution-type players, once they reached level seven or above, generally possessed around six to seven points in Constitution, which already gave them an immune system functioning at 120% to 140% of a normal adult's. As for Chu Guang himself, his Constitution was a staggering 14. His immune system functioned at nearly three times the efficiency of a normal person's. Common illnesses were completely useless against him, and he even had a degree of immunity against certain doses of poison and mild radiation. Seeing that the Administrator understood, Old Luka paused before continuing. "Also, there is the matter of grain..." "Go on." "Even if we provide relief by the barest minimum standards, over a hundred and eighty people will consume nearly fifty kilograms of food each day, amounting to fifteen hundred kilograms a month—and that's under ideal conditions. Although you traded for some food from the Pioneer, this harsh winter will likely last until the end of February next year, perhaps even early March... Our own food supply is already quite tight." There were now five hundred players at the outpost, consuming a staggering half a ton of food daily. Sometimes Old Luka genuinely felt those people were bottomless pits with not an ounce of frugality in them, eager to wolf down twice or even three times his own portion every day. Currently, the outpost's total grain reserves hovered just above thirty tons. The corn, rice, and potatoes bought from the Pioneer accounted for a third of that, while raw meat, dried jerky, and fish gathered from hunting made up another third. The remainder consisted of spoils taken from Bloodhand and Old Leech, plus a portion offered voluntarily as tribute by Brown Farm. By conservative estimates, continuing to burn through supplies at this rate meant the food would barely last until the end of the year. "Food truly is an issue," Chu Guang murmured thoughtfully. "I'll find a way." Just a month ago, the outpost hadn't even had enough food to keep a few dozen people fed for half a month. Worst-case scenario, he could simply ask the neighbors to borrow a bit more. *** Once the relief porridge was distributed, the clamor in the refugee camp gradually died down. Many of them had pushed past the limits of exhaustion on the road. Now that their bellies were filled with warm food, they curled up one after another inside sleeping bags beneath their lean-tos and drifted off to sleep. Even though they were asleep, Wrench didn't dare lower his guard. He posted men along the perimeter wall to keep watch, keeping a close eye on the refugee camp at all times. Chu Guang, on the other hand, wasn't particularly worried. He hadn't even feared the Bloodhand Clan, let alone a bunch of refugees. Inside a house near the east gate of Changjiu Farm, he granted an audience to the man named Li. This man was evidently the chosen representative—or rather, the leader—of these refugees. "Thank you for your generosity!" Upon entering the room, Li knelt on one knee and lowered his head. "If not for you, many of us likely would not have survived the night." "We don't do kneeling here. Stand up," Chu Guang said, watching the man rise. "We can offer you shelter, but you must recognize your place as guests under our roof, obeying our rules and customs. At the same time, you must understand that this is not charity." Li nodded. That was a reasonable demand. No one welcomed guests who broke the rules. Besides, before becoming refugees, they had once possessed a home of their own; they were well aware that the status of the "homeless" was never welcomed. "What do you require of us?" Chu Guang said, "Very simple. Work for us. We will pay you wages, and you may use those wages to purchase food, fuel, or anything else you need." Before B3 was unlocked, player capacity had hit a temporary bottleneck. With no new greenhorns to replenish their ranks, he needed more natives to replace the players who had leveled up, taking over low-end, low-value-added repetitive labor. Though he often joked that the players worked harder than draft animals, he couldn't treat them like beasts of burden forever. Moving bricks once in a while was experiencing life; moving bricks every single day was a job. Hearing the lord's words, Li's expression softened considerably, and a trace of joy even surfaced on his face. Originally, his highest expectation had merely been a bite to eat. In other survivor settlements, refugees held a status no higher than slaves; he hadn't dared to even dream of wages. "Thank you for giving us a chance to survive." "All we can give you is the chance. Whether you can seize it depends on yourselves." Chu Guang paused, studying him before continuing, "I heard from my men that you used to have your own settlement. In other words, you aren't nomads?" Li nodded hurriedly. "Yes, my Lord." Chu Guang asked, "Tell me what skills you possess." Li replied at once, "We can do many things, including hunting, farming, and braiding hemp ropes. We also have carpenters and blacksmiths... As long as you have need of it, we can do it for you." Watching Li's eager pitch, Chu Guang gave a faint nod of approval. Hunters, carpenters, and other craftsmen were precisely what he needed. As for the blacksmiths, a little training would allow them to be assigned to the steel mill. While these laborers weren't as exceptional as his players, they were still better than nomads. The only drawbacks were that these survivors were somewhat weaker physically and hadn't brought along the livestock Chu Guang was hoping for. "Get yourselves settled over the next two days." "In a couple of days, I will arrange work for you." "By the way, that name of yours isn't very auspicious, and it can easily cause confusion. How about you take a surname, or I give you a proper full name?" Bestowing a surname and a name was a sign of acceptance, as well as an acknowledgment of allegiance. Never expecting the local lord to be so generous, the man felt a surge of delight and said hurriedly, "Please bestow a name upon me, my Lord!" Chu Guang thought for a moment and said, "This place is called Changjiu Farm. Having 'Chang' as a surname wouldn't fit, so let's go with 'Jiu.' And we'll swap your 'Li' for the 'Li' that means dawn." "From this day forward, your name is Jiu Li." *** Official Website: [Announcement: A group of wanderers has arrived at Changjiu Farm (+50 Prosperity).] [Changjiu Farm gains the "Migration Wave" buff: Demand for food and furs increases; population inflow increases.] [Old Luka's Troubles: Our food supplies are limited, and we cannot support them indefinitely. It would be best if we could find work for them. (Hint: Among the refugees are many skilled hunters and craftsmen. Upon reaching a "Friendly" reputation level, players may operate local businesses and hire them to work.)] [Today's Recommended Recipes: Salt and Pepper Corn, Mapo Tofu (mild and non-spicy variants available)] [Tengteng Cottage: Tengteng Cottage has new arrivals! A large batch of silk textiles awaits you.] Tail: "!! New plot! What did you guys do behind Tail's back?!!! ∑(°Д°ノ)ノ" Jieyan: "Holy crap! New NPCs!? The devs are god-tier!" Mole on the Run from the Canyon: "Called it! Prosperity really is tied to NPC population! But this value doesn't seem to be calculated from population through a fixed formula; it's event-driven?" Night Ten: "I bet the publisher hired a Paradox game dev. Just waiting for 'Ancestral laws must not be changed' and 'A comet has been sighted'. (funny)" Elena: "Speaking of which, how did Tail and Sisi's split-claw crab hunt go? Did you bag it? (funny)" Sisi: "Sigh, don't even bring it up. Ah Wei sent me straight to the respawn screen first, and joined me down here a moment later." Tail: "Wait, can you blame Tail for that! There was something wrong with that rocket launcher—it couldn't hit anything! And it spewed fire out the back!" Xiao Xiao Xiao Bookworm: "How could a recoilless gun not have backblast...?" Tail: "But the one Mosquito sold didn't spew fire!" Xiao Xiao Xiao Bookworm: "That's because his contraption wasn't a recoilless gun at all! What kind of armor penetration did it have? It was just a flying trashcan mortar you hoisted onto your shoulder." Mosquito: "!!! How did I get dragged into this!" Yaya: "Hahahahaha! Noob! Hahahahaha! Trash! o(＊≧▽≦)ツ" Thanks to Tail and Sisi's heroic sacrifice, everyone had received a reminder: this tube wasn't a toy like Mosquito's firecrackers. Never point the rear at friendly personnel when firing. At any rate, the VM and gear had been retrieved. It was only a three-day spectating ban, nothing to sweat over. The arrival of the refugees stirred up plenty of chatter on the official forum, but it didn't become the focal point of player discussion the way past events had. After all, this wasn't the first time refugees had shown up, and too much had happened today for them to cover it all. Makka Pakka, having obtained seeds from the Administrator, was exchanging tips on corn farming with people on the forum. The Vault 117 quest tackled jointly by Brother Mole and Mosquito also drew considerable attention from players, as the mission seemed tied to the main storyline. Unfortunately, there had been no progress today. The conditions down beneath the subway entrance were exceedingly complicated. Just as Boss Xia had said, there were easily several hundred gnawers down there, not to mention Crawlers. A single "Black Swan" with limited ammunition simply wasn't enough. They needed more automatic weapons and throwables like Molotov cocktails and homemade grenades. Once the automatic rifles priced at 200 silver coins officially hit the shelves in a couple of days, things might improve. In contrast to the bad news of the stalled Vault 117 raid, the good news was that the second underground level of the greenhouse ruins had been successfully cleared by the Ox and Horse Squad. They had secured the blast doors between the second and third underground levels, freeing up the entire second underground floor of the greenhouse ruins. Incredibly, even after two centuries, the facilities there were still running slowly in power-saving mode. Many of the glowing light strips on the culture dishes were broken, but some remained lit. The indoor temperature hovered around twenty-five degrees Celsius, and the spirit leaves inside the dishes were growing well. Fang Chang had written a guide summarizing combat tactics against insect-type mutant nests. Yet rather than a guide they couldn't use just yet, the players on the forum were clearly far more interested in how much money the Ox and Horse Squad had hauled out of the second underground floor of the greenhouse ruins. Fang Chang hadn't disclosed it. However, Chu Guang, who was lurking on the forums, knew very well. After all, he had handed out the reward personally. Factoring in dungeon difficulty and earnings, they had received a total of 1,200 silver coins, split four ways to 300 silver coins each. As for the costs, Chu Guang hadn't calculated them, but he figured they had spent quite a bit on ammunition. If they had slowly chipped away using melee weapons, even with a suit of heavy armor to soak hits, it would have taken forever. They would also have needed to hire a massive amount of labor to brute-force it with sheer numbers. Once the earnings were split, it made far more sense to just burn some ammunition. After returning from Changjiu Farm, Chu Guang updated the announcement and sat before the computer in the resident hall, casually browsing the official website. Many players had already begun debating what work should be assigned to the refugees. Some suggested opening a textile mill, others suggested a cement plant, and ideas ran the whole gamut. Of course, starting with version 0.8, opening a workshop required regional reputation, needing a rating of Friendly (1,000) or higher. Completing quests to aid regional development increased regional reputation, or one could boost it quickly by directly donating supplies needed locally. Players were roasting the game, claiming this mechanic was ripped straight from Mount & Blade. May the bastard game devs live forever! Additionally, what caught Chu Guang's attention was that Commander Spring, accompanied by a Perception-type greenhorn, had discovered an abandoned military camp in a northern town. The camp was quite small, resembling a forward operating base located on the sports field of a community school. In the early years of the Wasteland Era, it seemed to have sheltered a group of refugees, but they had likely evacuated not long after, which was why it hadn't evolved into a survivor settlement like Bet Street. Spring had poked around the place but found nothing useful. The entire school had been picked clean; even the library bookshelves had been mostly dismantled, presumably burned for firewood by local survivors during the early days of the Wasteland Era. "...Very strange. That small town seems to be a ghost town, and the school is the same. There are no signs of survivor activity, nor have we spotted marauders—only rooms packed full of gnawers and foul-smelling basements... Our gear wasn't good enough, so we didn't dare explore deep inside the buildings." "I plan to head back tomorrow to search again. Maybe we'll turn up something." Chu Guang was also curious about what they might find there. Even though the area had probably been ransacked countless times over the past two centuries, his experience told him there was always something left behind. While Chu Guang was browsing the web inside the shelter, fifteen kilometers north of Changjiu Farm, several men carrying rifles and clad in heavy coats were meticulously searching the vicinity for something. "Those people couldn't have gone far," muttered a bearded man, tugging at the dog leash in his hand. The hound he was leading let out a low, hissing growl, sniffing the ground intently. Suddenly, the hound jerked its head up and barked wildly toward the south. The man leaned down, patted its head, and then swept an index finger across the ground. Beneath the snow lay the faint traces of footprints. He straightened up, narrowing his eyes as he gazed toward the south. "They run pretty fast."