Chapter 9

Xiang Lingna’s arrival infused the lifeless “Hope Outpost” with a faint spark of life—and new variables.

Ali’s warning hung like a sword above their heads—“No work, no food.” Xiang Lingna was clearly terrified, filled with fear of this cold-eyed, terrifying sister. She spent most of her time huddled in the corner of the shack, clutching her ragdoll and the precious packet of seeds. Only when Lin Mo went to tend the potato field did she dare to follow cautiously behind, her large, still-frightened eyes watching with curiosity and awe the freshly turned soil, now sprinkled with the soil improver.

Lin Mo’s “radiation-resistant potatoes” did not disappoint. Days later, faint, trembling sprouts of the palest green finally pushed through the blackened soil! Though no larger than a fingernail and frail as if about to wither, this green, against the desolate wasteland, was profoundly moving—a testament to tenacious life.

“They’re alive! They’re alive!” Lin Mo nearly jumped with excitement, gently caressing the tender green shoots as if guarding a priceless treasure.

Xiang Lingna crept closer, crouching beside the field. For the first time, her dirty little face wore an expression of focused attention—she even forgot to be afraid. She extended her slender finger and touched the tiny leaf with the utmost gentleness. In her eyes glimmered a light Lin Mo could not understand—like nostalgia, or perhaps some… instinct?

“Sister…” Xiang Lingna whispered, voice barely audible, “...this soil… is too thin… lacks water… and… it’s still a little hot…” She pointed at the earth.

Hot? Lin Mo froze, reached out to touch the soil. Aside from being warmed by the sun, it felt normal. True, it lacked water—clean water was too precious to waste.

“How do you know?” Lin Mo asked, curious.

Xiang Lingna lowered her head, twisting her hem. “...I feel it… Mother taught me… touch it… and you know…”

Feel it? Lin Mo was skeptical. But seeing her earnest little face, he decided to try. “Then… what should we do?”

Xiang Lingna glanced at the field, then at the murky puddle in the depression, and whispered, “...Water… must soak deep… but not every day… the soil below… is still dry… need to… loosen the earth… and…” She hesitated, then pointed to a small pile of half-dried, thorny shrub branches and leaves—leftover from Ali’s clearing of thorns—“...that… burn it to ash… mix a little… into the soil… stops it from being hot…”

Wood ash as fertilizer? Lin Mo knew this! His eyes lit up! The wasteland had no chemical fertilizer—wood ash was rich in potassium, a natural nutrient! This little girl truly understood something!

“Good! I’ll follow your advice!” Lin Mo acted immediately. He gathered dry thorn branches, lit a small fire far from the shack and the field, and carefully burned them to ash. Xiang Lingna picked up the metal scraper Lin Mo used for tilling and began, with extreme care and gentleness, loosening the soil along the narrow ridges. Her movements were clumsy yet carried an odd rhythm.

Ali leaned against a concrete ruin, short crossbow in hand, watching the two work coldly. She did not stop Xiang Lingna’s “advice,” but her suspicion remained—especially when Xiang Lingna handled the mysterious seed packet, her gaze sharpened.

With Xiang Lingna’s “feelings” guiding him, Lin Mo’s planting improved. He watered the field thoroughly only every other day and mixed in a small amount of wood ash. Over several days, the weak potato sprouts seemed to perk up slightly—their leaves unfurled a bit more. Though still frail, that stubborn green brought tangible hope to the small outpost.

Xiang Lingna grew less fearful, especially after the potato sprouts showed positive change. She remained quiet, mostly just watching the field or helping gather dry thorns for fuel. Only when handling her seed packet did she show a near-reverent focus. She carefully selected a few plump, round black seeds, placed them in a small broken bowl with a little clean water Lin Mo gave her, and soaked them. She would occasionally pull them out to inspect, her face filled with anticipation.

“What kind of seeds are those?” Lin Mo couldn’t help asking.

Xiang Lingna shook her head. “...Don’t know… Mother left them… said… they’re good… they’ll live…”

Lin Mo did not press further. On the wasteland, who didn’t have secrets? As long as she stayed quiet and helped grow the potatoes, that was enough.

Days passed in quiet routine. Lin Mo used the salvaged parts to fashion a crude but functional lid for the metal barrel, greatly reducing evaporation and contamination. He also tried assembling a simple alarm from found springs and metal scraps—a device that emitted a “click” sound—hung at the entrance of the thorn fence. Hope Outpost was slowly becoming more like a home.

That evening, Ali returned later than usual. She brought back a mutated creature, slightly larger than a rabbit, resembling a lizard with a hard shell—and bad news.

“West,” Ali said, efficiently stripping the creature’s shell, “smoke. Toward Bald Eagle Cliff. More than one source.”

Smoke? Lin Mo’s heart tightened. Bald Eagle Cliff was where the bald man had said the “Blood Claws” set up their temporary camp. Multiple smoke sources meant either a large camp—or they were doing something.

“Cooking smoke? Or…” Lin Mo asked, tense.

“Burning. Large scale.” Ali’s voice was cold. On the wasteland, burning meant clearing battlefields, disposing of corpses—or… smelting something? Given the Blood Claws’ nature as raiders, this was no good omen.

A shadow instantly fell over Lin Mo’s heart. The Blood Claws had not forgotten them! That “Cripple Wolf” was likely at Bald Eagle Cliff! What were they burning?

“Also,” Ali finished processing the meat, tossed a few relatively clean pieces to Lin Mo, and her gaze swept over Xiang Lingna, who was timidly nibbling a lizard leg, then settled on Lin Mo’s face, “East—Gear Graveyard. Fresh tire tracks. More than one vehicle.”

Gear Graveyard? Old Karl’s place! Fresh tracks? More than one? Lin Mo’s heart sank. Old Karl was untrustworthy—he must have sold the news of clean water! Who bought it? The Blood Claws? Or another faction?

Dual threats! The Blood Claws’ main force from the west, and an unknown force from the east, eyeing the secret of clean water! Hope Outpost, like a tiny boat in a storm, was instantly thrust into the eye of the tempest!

“What do we do?” Lin Mo felt suffocating pressure. Had the fledgling potato field, the newly built outpost, already reached its end?

Ali did not answer immediately. She walked to the shack’s entrance, picked up her crossbow, and scanned the area around the depression with hawk-like intensity—especially west and east. The setting sun stretched her shadow long, radiating the resolve of a lone wolf.

“Hold,” she said, voice cold and firm. “Reinforce. Prepare for battle.”

She walked to the sparse thorn fence and began hacking more thorny shrubs with her dagger, weaving them densely to form a thicker, sharper barrier. She ordered Lin Mo to drag more heavy concrete chunks and metal debris to pile at the shack’s entrance and other vulnerable directions, building crude fortifications.

Lin Mo instantly understood Ali’s intent. They had no retreat—only to hold. He suppressed his fear, forced himself calm, and joined Ali in frantic defense construction. Xiang Lingna, trembling with fear, summoned courage and helped carry small stones she could manage.

Night fell, and the depression was swallowed by darkness. Inside Hope Outpost, the atmosphere weighed like lead. The newly reinforced thorn fence loomed like a monstrous beast with outstretched claws. Behind the crude barricades, Ali stood like a stone statue fused with shadow, crossbow drawn, its blue-tipped arrowhead glowing faintly, lethally cold. Lin Mo gripped his rusted knife and a heavy metal pipe, guarding another direction, his heart pounding in his chest. Xiang Lingna huddled in the deepest corner of the shack, clutching her ragdoll and seed packet, her small body shaking uncontrollably with fear.

In the darkness, only the wind moaned, and the muffled breaths of the three.

Time crawled by. The silence was more torturous than direct combat. Lin Mo’s nerves stretched to breaking—every rustle made him flinch.

Suddenly!

“Crack!”

A faint sound—like a dry branch snapping—came from outside the thorn fence on the west side of the depression. Soft, yet piercingly clear in the dead night.

Lin Mo and Ali held their breath. Ali’s crossbow snapped up, silently aimed at the source. Lin Mo tightened his grip, palms slick with sweat.

Were they here? Blood Claw scouts?

Darkness fell silent again. As if the sound had been an illusion.

But Ali did not move. Her gaze remained locked on that spot. Lin Mo dared not relax.

Seconds later, another faint, rustling sound—something carefully parting the thorns.

Ali’s index finger lightly rested on the crossbow’s trigger…