Chapter 7: The Benefit of Clean Water and Josh

The frigid night of the wasteland finally passed. Lead-gray daylight once again dripped sparingly over the ruins of “Hope Outpost.” The deep pit at the edge of the depression lay silent, save for the howling wind whipping up dust, quietly burying the blood and violence of the previous night.

Lin Mo awoke in the shack, every muscle aching, especially his throat and wounds, burning with pain. He struggled to sit up and saw Ali standing at the entrance, back turned to him, statue-like in her vigilance. Her cloak was soaked with dew and caked with dust—she had clearly not slept all night.

“Morning,” Lin Mo croaked.

Ali did not turn, only gave a slight nod. “Water.”

Clean water. The foundation of their survival, the bond of their alliance. Lin Mo moved at once. Carrying a metal bucket, he crept cautiously to the lowest point of the depression under Ali’s cover. There, indeed, lay a small patch of murky muddy water, reeking of decay.

He laboriously scooped half the bucket full of filthy wastewater, then hurried back to the relatively safer shack. Ali remained outside, her gaze sharp as she scanned the edges of the depression, especially toward the west—she dared not relax for a moment, fearing retaliation from “Bloodclaw.”

Lin Mo skillfully assembled the crude water purifier, inserting the intake tube into the wastewater bucket. As the murky flow passed through the filter layers, pure life-giving water began dripping, drop by drop, into the cracked bowl below. Watching those pure droplets, Lin Mo felt a deep sense of accomplishment and security. With this, they had the very basis to survive the wasteland!

He handed the first bowl of purified water to Ali outside. She took it, still facing away, lifted a corner of her veil, and drank swiftly and silently. Lin Mo drank a few sips himself—the cool, sweet water moistened his parched throat and weary body, as if infusing him with new vitality.

With relatively sufficient water, the pressure of survival eased slightly. Lin Mo began pondering how to reinforce the crude “Hope Outpost.” He used rags scavenged from raiders and some tough metal wires he found to patch the tattered canvas flap at the shack’s entrance, making it tighter to block wind and dust. He dragged over some relatively flat concrete slabs and metal plates, building a more stable small platform inside the shack to hold the precious purifier and water buckets.

Ali watched Lin Mo’s clumsy but earnest labor without stopping him, occasionally pointing out a weak defensive spot or reminding him of a blind spot in a certain direction. Her wasteland survival expertise showed in every detail.

Near noon, the silence of the depression was shattered by a rhythmic, metallic tapping—“tap… tap…”—growing closer, slow yet piercingly clear.

Ali instantly tensed, raising her short crossbow toward the sound’s source—a narrow path half-buried by ruins on the eastern edge of the depression.

Lin Mo gripped his rusted knife tightly.

Soon, a figure appeared at the path’s end. An old man, wearing a greasy leather apron, with thin, graying hair, leaning on a metal cane. He looked over sixty, his face deeply lined, his left leg below the knee a crude metal prosthesis that clacked with each step. He carried a bulging backpack stitched from scraps of cloth and leather, and held a filthy cloth sack. His cloudy eyes darted back and forth, sizing up the shack and the two men before it.

“Oh! New faces?” The old man halted, plastering on a shrewd, false smile, his voice overly enthusiastic. “Who’d have thought anyone could settle here? Hmph, not easy at all! I’m Old Karl, the traveling merchant of this region—specializing in providing… hmm, essential aid to brave pioneers like you!” He deliberately jiggled the sack in his hand, the metallic clatter inside echoing.

Traveling merchant? Old Karl? Lin Mo’s mind stirred. The manual mentioned such itinerant traders existed in the wasteland, moving between survivor outposts and ruins, bartering goods, well-informed—but also notoriously cunning.

Ali’s crossbow remained leveled at Old Karl, her gaze icy, unwavering. “Go.”

“Hey, hey, don’t be so cold-hearted, girl!” Old Karl didn’t flinch; instead, he leaned on his cane and shuffled two steps closer, his cloudy eyes greedily sweeping the interior of the shack—especially lingering for several seconds on the purifier Lin Mo had just assembled, now dripping water. A flicker of sharp calculation glinted deep in his pupils. “Old man here comes with sincerity! Look—premium compressed rations! A bit hard, but filling! And precious antibiotic powder! This stuff saves lives in the wasteland! And tools! Just look at these treasures—screws and nuts!” He flung open the sack, revealing several blackened “biscuits,” two small bottles with faded labels, and a pile of rusted metal parts.

Lin Mo’s eyes locked onto those screws and nuts instantly! These were exactly what he needed! With enough parts, he might repair something—or even… build tools? And the antibiotic powder—vital for his wounds!

“What do you want?” Lin Mo couldn’t help asking, his voice edged with urgency.

Old Karl’s smile widened, like a withered chrysanthemum. “Heh, boy’s got taste! Old man loves straightforward folks!” He rubbed his hands, his gaze sliding back to the purifier. “What’s this place most lacking? Water! Clean water! I see… you’ve got some method?” His eyes probed, brimming with greed.

Lin Mo’s heart tightened. This old fox had spotted the purifier!

“We have no extra water,” Ali cut in coldly, her tone absolute.

“Ah, don’t rush to refuse!” Old Karl waved his hands, lowering his voice into a persuasive tone. “I know the rules! Clean water’s hard currency! Here’s the deal: one bottle of water—for one bottle of water! In exchange, I’ll give you this sack of parts, plus one compressed ration and a packet of antibiotic powder! Fair enough? You’re new here—you need these to survive!”

One bottle for so much? It sounded tempting. But Lin Mo knew the purifier produced water slowly—every drop was precious. And Old Karl’s shifty eyes made him uneasy.

“Half a bottle,” Ali replied, voice icy and final. “Only parts and medicine. No rations.”

Old Karl’s face fell instantly, as if robbed. “Half a bottle? Girl, you’re ruthless! These are top-quality items! Look at these screws—standard M6! Hard to find anywhere in these ruins! This powder? Genuine pre-Collapse goods…”

“Trade or not?” Ali raised her crossbow slightly; the faint blue glow on the bolt seemed to brighten. The threat was unmistakable.

Old Karl flinched under the cold kill intent, his cloudy eyes darting as he weighed his options. Finally, he gritted his teeth, forcing a pained expression. “Fine! Fine! Old man’s doing a good deed today! Half a bottle, then! But… it must be real clean water! No tricks!”

Ali glanced at Lin Mo and nodded.

Lin Mo carefully filled a relatively clean broken bottle with half a bottle of filtered water and handed it to Old Karl. Old Karl snatched it, twisted off the cap, and greedily sniffed it, then took a tiny sip—his face instantly lit up with ecstasy and triumph! He shoved the sack of parts and medicine into Lin Mo’s hands, then clutched the water bottle to his chest like a treasure.

“Heh, good business! Good business!” Old Karl grinned, teeth showing. “Need anything later? Just find Old Karl! I live near the ‘Gear Cemetery’ to the east—I come around every so often!” He leaned on his cane, clacking rapidly away from the depression, as if afraid they’d change their minds.

Watching Old Karl vanish into the ruins, Lin Mo exhaled, yet felt uneasy. “That guy… can we trust him?”

“Merchant. One-time deal only,” Ali said, lowering her crossbow, voice flat. “His eyes see only water and profit. He’ll sell your info to others.”

Lin Mo’s heart sank. Old Karl now knew they had a water method! A serious threat. But holding the heavy sack of screws and precious antibiotic powder, the risk seemed unavoidable. He carefully applied the powder to his wounds—a cool sensation spread, easing the pain and swelling.

With the parts, Lin Mo’s “infrastructure obsession” ignited. Using the screws, nuts, and metal sheets he found, he clumsily reinforced the shack’s door frame and tattered canvas flap, trying to make it sturdier and easier to open and close. He also tried fashioning a simple alarm device from metal wire and a spring, hanging it near the entrance.

Ali watched Lin Mo intently fiddling with the parts, a barely perceptible flicker crossing her eyes. Quietly, she picked up Lin Mo’s rusted knife, walked to the edge of the depression, and began cutting tough, thorny shrubs. Her movements were practiced; soon she gathered a large bundle.

“Wrap it,” she said, dragging the thorns around the shack. “For beasts. And for men.”

Lin Mo instantly understood. Together, they loosely arranged the thorny branches in a ring around the shack. It was crude, but at least formed a psychological and physical barrier.

Hope Outpost, through their efforts, was slowly becoming a “home.” They had water, basic defense, and precious parts and medicine.

Yet when Lin Mo stood at the shack’s entrance, gazing toward the hazy, vulture-cliff to the west, Old Karl’s greedy gaze and Ali’s chilling mention of “Limp Wolf” loomed like dark clouds over his heart. The threat of Bloodclaw had not vanished with the death of the three thugs—it had grown more urgent, now that their water secret was exposed.

Ali silently sheathed her sharpened dagger back into her thigh sheath, picked up her crossbow, and began her routine patrol. Her figure, against the desolate ruins, looked solitary yet unyielding.

Lin Mo clenched his fists. He had to grow stronger faster. He looked toward his system space—the bag of [Radiation-Resistant Potato Seeds] and the bottle of [Primary Soil Enhancer]. Food—another massive survival challenge. Perhaps… it was time to try farming?