Two hundred years ago.
To be precise, in the year 2125, a war erupted across this prosperous planet.
Both sides fought with the sole determination to utterly eradicate each other, exhausting nearly every weapon and tactic at their disposal.
The war lasted only three years.
Yet in those three short years, everything on the surface was wiped out.
A prolonged nuclear winter nearly snuffed out the embers of civilization. Both sides had succeeded in sending the other to hell—and in burying themselves in the process.
From then on began the Wasteland Era, a period far more desolate than any Great Depression.
Though two centuries had passed since that apocalyptic conflict and the nuclear winter had largely ended more than a century ago, humanity had not returned to the top of the food chain.
The unchecked proliferation of nuclear, biological, and genetic weapons had driven the entire planet's ecosystem along an extreme evolutionary path.
And those mutated creatures, known as "mutants," became the primary threat facing the survivors struggling among the ruins.
The two-headed hound Chu Guang had encountered when he first arrived in this world was one such creature.
Even among mutants, however, there were vast differences in strength.
Gamma-ray-induced "deformities" like two-headed hyenas were usually weak combatants. Barring a few fortunate anomalies, they were often weaker than their unmutated ancestors.
By contrast, bio-weapon abominations whose lineages could no longer be traced—such as Gnawers and Crawlers—were the true killing machines.
Their nervous systems were ravaged by mutated fungi. By day, they hid in ruins, sewers, subways, and other sunless recesses, venturing into the streets only when night fell to hunt for food.
Conditions in the outskirts were far better than in the city center.
Especially the outer suburbs.
Over the past five months, the most dangerous mutant Chu Guang had encountered was merely a mutated brown bear. It possessed terrifying strength, but its reflexes were comparatively sluggish.
He had carefully steered clear of it before it noticed him.
The pale dawn filtered through a fractured concrete wall, casting the shadows of scrap rebar across a street littered with rusted car wrecks and rubble.
It was eight in the morning.
Time here had roughly a twelve-hour difference compared to UTC+8 back home.
Watching two mutated hyenas prowling the street, Chu Guang tightened his grip on the sharpened metal pipe in his hand and carefully skirted behind a pile of ruins.
Though confident he could dispatch them, there was no point in courting unnecessary trouble.
Besides, these beasts were cunning enough to use their own kind as bait. There was no telling how many more lurked in the shadows of the nearby rubble.
He slipped along an alleyway through the ruined neighborhood.
When he spotted the sign for Bet Street Children's Park, Chu Guang finally breathed a sigh of relief.
Ahead lay "Bet Street"—a relatively large survivor settlement in the area, home to more than a hundred households.
Before the war, this place had been an amusement park, complete with rides and a sprawling lawn.
After the war, the military designated it as a temporary shelter, taking in a massive influx of civilians fleeing Qingquan City's urban core.
No one knew what became of those refugees, but more than two centuries later, the grounds had evolved into a "small town."
People cobbled together crude shanties on the bare dirt using discarded plastic sheets, tarps, wooden beams, and scrap metal frames.
They looked just like the ramshackle huts from those unruly-settler colony sims.
The park's perimeter wall served as a natural barrier. After some rough patchwork, it had been reinforced with barbed wire and nail-studded wooden planks.
At the center of the park stood a five-story storybook castle. Its paint had long since peeled away, and the wall facing downtown had mostly collapsed, leaving only the northern half and a teetering, lonely tower.
If it was a fairy tale, it was strictly a grim one.
Yet ruined as it was, the castle remained the most luxurious building on Bet Street.
It was also the town mayor's residence.
Despite living here for five months, Chu Guang had never laid eyes on the mayor. That esteemed figure was intensely secretive and rarely showed his face in public.
"Well now, back early, aren't you?"
Watching Chu Guang approach from the street corner, Old Walter squinted around the stem of his dry pipe, puffing a murky wisp of white smoke through his nostrils.
He held a double-barreled shotgun in his hands.
Though it looked ancient, no one doubted its stopping power.
Chu Guang had once seen the old man bring down a berserk mutated brown bear charging the gates of Bet Street with just two blasts.
Ever since, he had yearned to own one himself.
"Got held up outside for the night."
"Outside?"
The old man glanced at the sharpened metal pipe strapped to Chu Guang's back, a flicker of surprise raising his brow.
No one knew better than him how dangerous the night was.
Every time he pulled the night shift, his index finger never strayed from the trigger. The slightest rustle of wind would set every nerve in his body on edge.
While mutants in the outer suburbs were less lethal than those in the city, there were far too many marauders coveting this place.
Falling into their hands was hardly better than being devoured by mutants.
Old Walter found it hard to believe that this kid had managed to survive a night on the wasteland with nothing more than a steel pipe.
"Ran into a little snag."
Chu Guang offered no further explanation, merely giving Old Walter an exhausted look to interpret on his own before walking straight through the settlement's main gate.
Bet Street had only one scrap recycling depot, and it was easy to find, sitting right beside the main gate.
Beneath the roll-up door sat an old electronic scale that was never accurate, flanked by a wooden plaque that read: *Fair Prices, Honest Dealing.*
This shop belonged to the mayor and was the only place on Bet Street that bought scrap parts and mutated mole pelts.
To monopolize the salvaging trade, that tyrant had even decreed an arbitrary law:
No one was permitted to sell hunted game or scavenged junk directly to passing caravans.
The official justification was to guarantee that Bet Street's goods fetched a fair price, rather than being shamelessly squeezed by "cunning merchants."
That such an outrageous rule could pass was partly due to how ignorant the local survivors were.
Moreover, ordinary merchant caravans would never risk offending the tyrant just to buy the meager scraps scavengers brought in.
They only dealt in bulk.
And only with people they trusted.
"Selling or buying?"
The shopkeeper was a fifty-year-old man named Charlie. Word was that he had once been a resident of a shelter in another province, captured and enslaved until the mayor bought him from a slave driver and put him in charge of dealing with scavengers.
Most of the locals were native "wastelanders" with no education whatsoever. Their arithmetic was so abysmal they could easily botch addition and subtraction within a hundred.
Charlie was different.
He had come from a shelter.
Though no two shelters on this wasteland were identical, they shared one common trait:
Those admitted were without exception the elite of pre-war society. Their children not only inherited their sharp minds, but had also received a solid education from an early age.
Had the world not gone to hell, Charlie would likely have followed in his parents' footsteps to become an engineer, doctor, or scholar.
Instead of keeping ledgers here.
"Selling."
Wasting no words, Chu Guang pulled six spent batteries and five tubes of adhesive from his backpack and tossed them onto the tray of the electronic scale.
He had scavenged them from nearby ruined buildings before discovering Shelter 404.
Old Charlie picked up the dead batteries, casually checking their model and whether they were swollen or cracked, then tossed them onto the scale.
They were certainly dead beyond doubt, but salvaging the raw materials inside was still worth something.
"Decent quality. The junk around here should've been picked clean by now. Where'd you dig up good stuff like this?"
*This counts as good stuff?*
"Just got lucky."
"Heh, just asking. Mm, the batteries are fine, but the adhesive isn't great. The seals have been broken, so the inside's probably a mess. I can only give you half price for them… That's three chips in total."
Chu Guang didn't bother haggling and took the three white chips from his hand.
These metallic-feeling plastic coins were the "currency" issued by Boulder City, the largest survivor settlement in the Qingquan City area, and could be exchanged for food and supplies across most settlements in the region.
The face of each chip was stamped with its denomination, while the reverse bore a unique anti-counterfeit code and pattern that gave off a distinctive sheen in the sunlight.
They were heat-resistant, durable, easy to store, and instantly recognizable. Most importantly, reproducing them with post-war technology was virtually impossible.
Small-to-medium settlements like Bet Street, which lacked industrial capacity and had small populations, relied primarily on trade with Boulder City's caravans, swapping farm produce, game, and scavenged junk for essential supplies and weapons.
Naturally, the currency gained circulation throughout Bet Street as well.
Of course, it wasn't foolproof. If a caravan failed to show up for a month, prices throughout the entire settlement would plunge into chaos.
The mayor had previously tried to introduce Bet Street's own currency—a ledger-based paper scrip—but no one accepted it.
Even the survivors on Bet Street knew the paper was too stiff to wipe their backsides with, making it no better than trash.
"Looking to buy anything? The shop just got a fresh shipment from Boulder City."
Chu Guang, who had been about to leave, stopped and looked back.
"Got any guns?"
"Afraid not. Even if we did, you couldn't afford one."
Old Charlie gave a dry grin, watching Chu Guang turn to leave before continuing, "We do have some food and fuel, though. If I were you, I'd stock up before the prices climb."
Guns—even the cheapest ones—were practically impossible to buy in a place like Bet Street.
Even on the rare occasion an arms caravan passed through, the weapons went straight into the mayor's personal storehouse, never to be displayed on shelves for people to browse.
Besides, just as Old Charlie said, even if one were available, scavengers like him couldn't possibly afford it.
Chu Guang understood why Charlie was saying this.
As an educated shelter resident, Charlie couldn't fail to see that every survivor on Bet Street, whether scavenger or hunter, was being bled dry of their surplus value by the mayor's family.
Even if the mayor never directly reached into their pockets to take a single chip.
"Food and fuel prices are going up?"
Seeing the surprise on Chu Guang's face, Charlie gave a faint smile.
"Haven't you noticed? The temperature's been dropping lately, and the mutants outside are getting restless."
Chu Guang frowned in thought, then realized what was happening.
"Winter is coming?"
"I recall you only showed up about five months ago, so you probably haven't lived through one here. Usually, it starts cooling down gradually around this time. This year… looks like winter will arrive early. We might even get snow by October."
Charlie paused, his tone growing solemn.
"Winter is upon us.
"Man and mutant alike need to get ready in advance."
When Chu Guang first arrived at Bet Street, he was wearing a blue coat, so Charlie had instinctively assumed he came from a shelter and treated him relatively well.
Though that goodwill was never reflected in trade prices, the old man had offered Chu Guang practical advice.
Otherwise, Chu Guang wouldn't have adapted to wasteland life so quickly.
Chu Guang nodded earnestly.
"Understood. Thanks."
"Don't mention it," Charlie said with a faint smile. "Just try not to die."
It was already early September. If snow really started falling in October, Chu Guang had barely over a month to prepare.
For survivors living in this area, snowfall was nothing to celebrate. It meant that on top of food, they had to shoulder an extra expense for fuel.
The vast majority here survived by scavenging and hunting; nearby farms only hired hands during peak harvest periods.
Come winter, the difficulty of scavenging skyrocketed. No one could tell whether what lay buried under the snow was a salvageable part or the fangs of a mutated rat.
Game animals like deer and rabbits, which provided meat, would also cut back on their activity or hibernate in their dens altogether.
Worst of all, caravans stopped coming once winter set in. Any treasures scavenged would sit piled up at home until spring before they could be sold.
The only alternative was to risk a trek to Boulder City, ten kilometers away.
That was the largest survivor settlement in the Qingquan City area, and its markets stayed open even in winter.
However, it was situated along Qingquan City's Third Ring Road, right next to the city's northern district, with countless perils lurking along the way.
Attempting to walk there on two legs in the dead of winter, when temperatures could plunge to ten below zero, was practically suicide!
***
Leaving the recycling station, Chu Guang first headed back to his own dwelling.
Calling it a home was generous; it was little more than a shack that barely kept out the rain, lacking proper windows or a sturdy door.
Up until yesterday, he had planned to save up for materials like cement and PVC boards to seal the drafty walls before winter set in.
Now, that seemed entirely unnecessary.
Rummaging through his moldy sleeping bag, Chu Guang pulled out a rusted aluminum tin. Prying it open with effort, he dumped the plastic coins clattering onto his rickety wooden table.
A total of forty-seven white chips, each worth one point.
Adding the three in his pocket made exactly fifty points!
He had saved this money through sheer frugality, scraping it together coin by coin so that he could one day leave this wretched place and move to Boulder City, where conditions were far better.
Now, however…
He had new plans for this little fortune.
Why serve under another when he could be his own master?
*The sanatorium ruins above the shelter can be repurposed, and the perimeter walls around the compound are all reinforced concrete… With players to order around, gathering materials nearby shouldn't make repairs too difficult.*
*The area near the sanatorium is a wetland park. Scavenging scrap metal won't be easy, but the vegetation is lush enough that heating fuel shouldn't be scarce. Wood can also serve for repairs and crafting furniture… Axes! Right, I need to buy four axes.*
Grinding monsters to level up?
Not a chance!
He had promised a one-hundred-percent realistic, hardcore game, and in a hardcore game, you naturally had to start with the most basic manual labor!
"Can't forget shovels and saws, either!" Before the players had even logged in, Chu Guang had already planned out their chores.
Of course, alongside the tools, there was the most vital concern: rations.
Once activated, an incubation pod would immediately consume the active substance pre-stored inside to synthesize a clone body for a player.
And those clone bodies needed to eat!
While players were offline, their clones could lie inside the incubation pods and hibernate at a low metabolic rate, but they couldn't stay dormant forever.
Living people had to eat—that was an eternal truth!
*I need to stockpile at least enough food for five adults for a week… If they eat two meals a day, one wheat cake per meal, that's seventy cakes.*
Wheat cakes were the most common food on Bet Street, costing one chip each.
They were roughly palm-sized, baked with tree bark or other rough fibers. Biting into one was stiff and gritty, like eating sandy dirt, but they filled the stomach and provided a trace of salt.
Boiled in a pot, they could be made into porridge.
Buying seventy cakes would cost seventy chips. Even with aggressive bargaining, he couldn't get it under sixty. That would exceed his budget.
Chu Guang's brow furrowed, but soon relaxed.
He had overcomplicated the problem.
There was no need to feed those players so well.
If he swapped wheat cakes for their raw ingredient—the green wheat produced by nearby farms—three chips could buy an entire kilogram!
Stockpiling five kilograms would easily last them several days!
If worse came to worst, he could copy the local scavengers and mix in tree bark or plant roots.
As for the rest, he would figure it out when the time came.
"That should be enough to start with…"
Sweeping the allocated chips back into his backpack, Chu Guang slung it over his shoulders.
Though he hadn't slept all night, he was riding an immense high of adrenaline, as if he had rediscovered a sense of purpose. He felt no fatigue at all.
Pushing open the door, he stepped outside and noticed the girl from next door crouching by the entrance of her shack, peering curiously in his direction.
Chu Guang knew her name was Yu Xiaoyu, the youngest daughter of the Yu family.
Most wasteland survivors were gaunt and pale, and the Yu family's daughter was no exception. Her matchstick arms and legs made it hard to believe she had already reached marrying age.
Seeing Chu Guang notice her, she showed no shyness and stepped out of the shack.
"I heard noise from your place and came to check."
Every morning at dawn, the men of Bet Street headed out to scavenge or hunt, while the elderly, women, and children stayed behind to guard their shacks or take on odd jobs to earn a living.
Though everyone lived hand to mouth with no savings and nothing valuable to steal, no one wanted an opportunist sneaking into their shack to pilfer scraps while they were away.
This man named Chu Guang was an outsider. He kept early hours and returned late, rarely interacting with the neighbors in the settlement.
She didn't know much about him, only feeling that he didn't look like someone cut out for hard labor.
At first, everyone had been wary of him, and her mother had told her to keep an eye on this foreign stranger.
Still, Xiaoyu didn't think he was a bad person. Once, when he had stewed broth outside his door, he had shared a bowl with her.
"Thanks."
"You're welcome. While you're out, I can watch your shack for you," she said, blinking, and added cheerfully, "I've got nothing better to do anyway."
*Poor kid.*
In his old world, someone her age would still be in school.
Not wanting to offend her with pity, Chu Guang masked his sympathy, pulled a lollipop from his pocket with an impassive face, and pressed it into her hand.
"Take it."
"Don't tell anyone I gave it to you."
"Or there won't be any next time."
She had never seen food like this before.
Yu Xiaoyu took a bite of the wrapper, found she couldn't bite through, and only then realized the packaging had to be peeled away.
Her large, dark eyes stared at the little red orb fixed atop the plastic stick. Carefully, she poked out her tongue and took a gentle lick.
*Wh-what is this flavor?!*
*So sweet!*
With little stars sparkling in her eyes, she looked up in bliss, wanting to say thank you.
Yet the person who had given her the candy had already walked away.
Chapter 4