Brown Farm! A New NPC Stronghold!

The construction of the outpost required tools. And quite a substantial amount, at that. For instance, tongs and hammers for forging, axes for felling trees, saws for cutting lumber, as well as smaller implements like screwdrivers, screws, nails, and wrenches. Without tools, many tasks were either impossible to carry out or terribly inefficient even if attempted. For example, the plastering trowels the players were currently using to repair the walls were crude wooden substitutes crafted by WC Really Has Mosquitoes. In truth, during the early years of the Wasteland Era, such tools could easily be scavenged from hardware stores, department stores, repair shops, and the like. Thanks to advanced pre-war materials technology, their quality was typically top-notch. Now, however, two centuries had elapsed. Easily looted places had long since been stripped bare. Resource-rich locations like supermarkets and auto repair shops had even served as bases for survivors in the early years; practically nothing was left behind. Still, nothing was absolute. Just as scavengers could still scrape up a meager trickle of supplies from the wasteland two hundred and eleven years later, there were always a few good items overlooked by careless hands. Such goods were usually brought by scavengers to nearby survivor settlements and displayed on shelves like junk, waiting for passing caravans to pick through them. Chu Guang's plan was simple. He intended to take two players with him, pose as a caravan, and head to nearby Brown Farm to trade for the supplies the outpost needed. Before setting off, they changed into scavenged civilian clothes. Taking Ye Shi and Fang Chang with him, Chu Guang departed from the south gate of Wetland Park, bypassed 76th Street, and advanced southeast along dilapidated back roads. Bet Street and Brown Farm were roughly equidistant from here, both about three kilometers away in a straight line on the map. The only difference was that one lay due south while the other lay to the southeast. As for why he chose Brown Farm, the reason was straightforward. First, nobody there knew him, let alone his background. Second, the route to Brown Farm was slightly easier to travel, passing through relatively fewer ruins. Even so, trekking across the wasteland meant the actual distance traveled far exceeded three kilometers. The group made frequent stops along the way, detouring around impassable rubble. They had to stay alert not only for mutants, but also against malicious survivors who might target them. At long last, shortly before nine in the morning, the group arrived in the vicinity of their destination. At the end of the muddy road stood a wide iron gate flanked by perimeter walls built from piled concrete rubble and stone blocks. The wall was not very high, measuring less than three meters tall. A row of aluminum awning panels and rebar rods was driven into the top, evidently serving as improvised height extensions made of industrial trash. Dense clusters of bullet holes pocking the surface and gallows hung with human skeletons outside the wall all made one thing abundantly clear: the people here were not to be trifled with. A roadside sign revealed that before the war, this place had been a pastoral-style agritourism resort. Various clues suggested that during the initial collapse of civilization, survivors fleeing the city had occupied the site. Unlike Bet Street, the farm's owner, Mr. Brown, was a landlord in the truest sense. Nor were there large numbers of freemen here like on Bet Street. People living here held only one of two identities: the landlord's enforcers, or his serfs. Chu Guang was not overly worried that they would harbor malicious intent, however. Factions that actually had fields to cultivate rarely attacked outsiders without provocation. After all, those with shoes on their feet had to consider whether bullying barefoot wanderers was worth the risk. Stopping about ten meters from the iron gate, Chu Guang raised his right fist, signaling the two players behind him to halt. Just as they came to a stop, a dark gun barrel poked out from between the aluminum sheets atop the wall. Showing weapons out in the open meant they weren't mounting an ambush. Chu Guang felt a slight sense of relief that the initial contact had gone smoothly. The man standing atop the wall shouted aggressively, "Hey, hey, hey! Stop right there! Who are you? What are you doing here?" "We mean no harm. We just want to trade for some supplies," Chu Guang said with an unruffled expression, motioning for the players behind him not to panic. "Trade?" The man cast a quick glance at the handcart behind the trio, his index finger remaining firmly on the trigger as he scrutinized Chu Guang with deep suspicion. "I've never seen you before. Where are you from?" Chu Guang brought out his prepared cover story. "From the wilderness. We migrated into this area recently." "Nomads?" the man asked hesitantly. Chu Guang shrugged, offering an ambiguous reply. "Depends on how you look at it." Nomads were by no means rare on the wasteland; in suburban regions, they were quite a common sight. Such people generally avoided entering city ruins, roaming primarily across the wilderness between settlements. They did not farm, sustaining themselves through herding and hunting. Following the trails of mutants and beast packs, they migrated from one region to another, occasionally engaging in commerce like traveling merchants to trade game and scavenged junk for daily necessities. Naturally, they were not above banditry when the opportunity arose. There were no absolute good or bad people on the wasteland; given the right circumstances and incentives, anyone could turn into a marauder. The man did not immediately trust the three people outside the gate, but the firearms in their hands deterred him from acting rashly—especially when he had no idea how large their "tribe" might be. "What goods do you have? And what do you want in return?" "Fifty kilograms of smoked jerky, twenty kilograms of smoked fish, and ten mutant hyena pelts... We need hardware tools and field-grown grain. I promise we'll leave the moment the trade is done, without lingering for a single second." Finally convinced that this group had come merely to trade, the man slowly drew his rifle barrel back behind cover and issued a warning: "Wait here. I'll go ask for instructions." "Take your time." After answering, Chu Guang stood quietly in place, waiting. Behind him, the two players whispered among themselves. "This survivor stronghold is pretty sick... I mean the architectural style. It's got that authentic post-apocalyptic flavor." "Totally. Looks like this update packed in a lot of content." "By the way, is that guy a new NPC?" "Probably. No idea what he was jabbering about, though." "Who knows? All I know is his expression looks pretty punchable..." "I think so too." Nobody liked having a gun pointed at them. Neither did Chu Guang. Still, since he couldn't respawn, he had to exercise restraint whenever he was out in the wasteland. They did not have to wait long before the iron gate swung open. A wooden trailer pulled by a serf in leg irons rolled out from behind the wall under the watchful eyes of two gunmen. The cart was piled with burlap sacks stuffed with grain and wooden crates packed with tools. The man who had shouted from the wall earlier also stepped through the gate, his sharp gaze fixed on Chu Guang. "Liu Zhengyue." "Chu Guang." The two exchanged a brief handshake and parted quickly. Looking at Chu Guang, Liu Zhengyue continued, "I need to know what kind of meat you've got on that cart." "The smoked jerky is all mutant hyena meat, and the smoked fish is catfish and crucian carp. Feel free to inspect them," Chu Guang said calmly. He knew what the man was worried about. Without wasting words, Liu Zhengyue stepped forward, lifted the plastic tarp covering the cart, and leaned in for a thorough inspection. The smoked meat received especially close attention. Drawing a small knife from his waist, he picked a decent-looking piece of jerky at random, sliced off a thumb-sized chunk, and tossed it to the serf pulling the cart. "Eat it." Not daring to resist, the serf hastily stuffed the dried meat into his mouth, terrified that any hesitation would bring a beating. After chewing for a moment, he said hurriedly, "It's mutant hyena meat. No salt, purely air-dried." A lack of salt was only natural this far inland. Liu Zhengyue said nothing more, closing his eyes slightly as he waited in silence. About ten minutes passed. Seeing that the serf showed no adverse reactions, his brow relaxed slightly. Turning back to Chu Guang, he gestured with his hands and stated, "One kilogram of smoked meat or fish for two kilograms of green wheat or two kilograms of ram horn potatoes. Pelts for tools: one pelt for one tool." Ram horn potatoes were a root crop that tasted somewhat like common potatoes and grew in the shape of goat horns. Because they were rich in carbohydrates and easy to store and cultivate, they served alongside green wheat as the primary staple food for survivors throughout the surrounding region. Back when he was staying on Bet Street, Chu Guang had seen survivors growing them outside their doors—such as the Yu family across the way. Chu Guang had once tried planting them himself, though he quickly abandoned the effort. It wasn't that they wouldn't grow, but rather that he had to go scavenging every day. With no one guarding his home, the first sprouts had barely emerged before some unknown neighbor pinched them... Buying some ram horn potatoes to plant back at the outpost might not be a bad idea. "One kilogram of smoked meat buys at least five kilograms of grain, half green wheat and half ram horn potatoes. Furthermore, these pelts are top grade; each one is worth at least three tools," Chu Guang said, shaking his head. "I've been to Bet Street. Don't think I don't know the going rates." He had thrown out that counteroffer merely to start bargaining. To Chu Guang's surprise, however, Liu Zhengyue did not haggle at all after hearing the terms. Instead, he stared back in sheer disbelief. *Did I quote too high?* Just as Chu Guang was debating whether to offer a concession, the man finally recovered his senses, giving Chu Guang a bizarre look before slowly nodding. "...Deal." *Do these people not even haggle when doing business?* Chu Guang froze for a second, but his past sales experience instantly made him realize what was going on, and he erupted in silent curses. *Fuck!* *That son of a bitch mayor!* *He even dared to mess with the grain prices like that!* The two players beside him were completely lost the entire time. Due to the language barrier, they couldn't understand a single word exchanged between the manager and this "native." Still, seeing the man nod... A deal had been struck? They just didn't understand why the esteemed manager looked so thoroughly displeased. Fifty kilograms of smoked jerky and twenty kilograms of smoked fish netted a total of 350 kilograms of green wheat and ram horn potatoes, filling over a dozen burlap sacks. The remaining ten pelts yielded thirty tools. When choosing the tools, Chu Guang picked the highest-quality ones, favoring pre-war alloy products whenever possible. Though these were relics from two centuries ago, their quality was leagues ahead of the crude iron or raw steel imitations forged by wasteland locals. Liu Zhengyue made no objection, not caring in the least about Chu Guang's picky selections. Evidently, the farm had heaps of these tools lying around, eighty percent of which had likely been sold by nearby scavengers and picked over by passing merchants. Once the grain was weighed, it was all loaded onto the handcart. Liu Zhengyue shook hands with Chu Guang, his face, previously taut with suspicion, finally cracking into a stiff smile. "You're welcome to return." "I will." "We also grow some mutated tobacco leaves here. Do you need any?" Liu Zhengyue pulled a small pinch of dried leaves from his pocket, pitching them to Chu Guang. "Relieves fatigue, and wrapping it around food adds flavor. Quite useful." "Next time. We have nothing left to trade." If possible, Chu Guang had originally wanted to buy a slave or two to put to work back at the base, but as he said, he had run out of trade goods. Perhaps next time? "No, no, no, my friend. This pouch is free of charge, a gift for you." Liu Zhengyue placed it into Chu Guang's hands with a smile, looking far more natural than before. Hearing that it was a gift, Chu Guang stopped refusing and accepted it decisively. Although he didn't smoke the stuff, selling it should still fetch a chip or two. Smoke it himself? Out of the question. With the transaction concluded at last, Chu Guang instructed Fang Chang to pull the cart onto the road, gave Liu Zhengyue one final handshake, and turned to follow along with Ye Shi. On the return journey, Chu Guang was in high spirits. This trade could truly be described as a bumper harvest. The two players accompanying him were in equally good moods, chatting excitedly as they walked. "Was this place called Brown Farm?" Fang Chang said, "Yeah, I remember that name too... If I had to guess, today's test is for the trading system and the new neutral faction stronghold! My theory is that they'll roll out a brand-new merchant gameplay loop next. Remember what that dog designer told us before? Wasteland OL's economic system will be modeled entirely on real supply-and-demand mechanics. Material exchanges with other survivor settlements are essential! I bet this content drops within the next two patches!" Ye Shi said, "Holy crap, hearing you say that makes me so hyped for open beta!" Fang Chang replied, "Open beta is probably still a long way off. This company has massive ambitions, and they likely have a ton of content left to test. But honestly, I feel like we won't even need to wait for open beta—the closed beta phase should already be packed with content!" Ye Shi chimed in, "Though speaking of which... are you sure Brother Guang can't hear you calling him a dog designer right here?" Fang Chang gasped sharply. "Hiss... Fuck, saying that gave me a heart attack. Brother Guang, I was wrong! You're my real dad!" Chu Guang was speechless. *Whatever.* *I'll just pretend I didn't hear that.* As a dutiful NPC, Chu Guang did not participate in the players' discussion. His gaze wandered naturally over their surroundings, seemingly casual, yet meticulously scanning every patch of shadow where danger might lurk. It was around ten in the morning, a relatively safe time of day. Even so, one could never let down their guard. On the wasteland, anything could happen. "Did you guys hear something?" Ye Shi, who had been shooting the breeze with Fang Chang, suddenly stopped and looked around with furrowed brows. "A sound?" Fang Chang paused, and though he heard nothing, he stopped in his tracks as well. Chu Guang's brow furrowed. Alert, he swept his eyes across the surroundings, his index finger subconsciously flipping off the rifle's safety. He heard it too... The snorting breath of a mutant! Chu Guang snapped his head up toward an ivy-covered roadside building to their front right. There, a hideous monster crouched against the wall, its grayish-black hide blending almost seamlessly with the concrete, crimson eyes locked unblinkingly onto the group. It possessed no legs. In their place were four elongated, powerfully built arms, their withered fingers gripping the concrete structure like hooks to anchor its body. Its chest heaved gently, its blood-smeared mouth clutching a human leg bone, its hissing breath thick with a thirst for fresh flesh. Chu Guang's pupils contracted sharply, shrinking almost to pinpricks. A Crawler!