Chapter 390: You guys really live in a dump

Half of the light tubes on the bar counter were broken, just enough to split the counter in half.

Xi Ren Sheng lay on that intermittently bright and dim dividing line, the pencil tip scraping over the kraft paper, producing a fine rustling sound.

He was currently drawing on the paper an evening gown, with a very wide neckline, a very narrow waist, and the hem inexplicably puffed out—a fishtail skirt that served as a textbook example, which he had practiced countless times before.

A sigh came from beside him, and Xi Ren Sheng lifted his eyelids and glanced at him.

The orange-haired man was tugging at his ears and scratching his cheeks over a stack of documents on the bar, the veins on his wheat‑colored arms bulging as if he wanted to brawl with those papers right there.

"Lao Bao," Xi Ren Sheng called out, his pen not stopping.

The man ignored him, continuing to wrestle with the documents in front of him.

After Xi Ren Sheng finished the final stroke of the skirt's outline, people in the wasteland world, having seen little of the world, treat exaggeration as fashion—the more exaggerated, the more fashionable.

In the real world, the things from textbooks, when copied over, constitute a crushing dominance over the wasteland's fashion scene.

"Um…" the orange‑haired man finally lifted his head from a pile of documents, his brows furrowed enough to crush a fly, "When exactly is Hua Jian Lei coming back?"

"He's said to be on his way back," Xi Ren Sheng added two strokes of pleats at the hem with his pencil, "It's probably just gone awry."

Before leaving, Hua Jian Lei had asked him for a card, but that card is now broken.

It's not "probably"; it's definitely gone wrong.

But what does that have to do with him?

Xi Ren Sheng changed the angle of his pencil and began to sketch the skirt's details.

Just as he couldn't fathom why Hua Jian Lei was dealing with those Undead—one or two would be fine, but he'd seen his compatriots: the weak stay weak, the mad stay mad, and few can survive in this world on their own.

Hua Jian Lei said they should gather intelligence in advance and borrow strength as needed, but what's the use of borrowing that kind of power?

A paper‑knife blows apart at the slightest gust.

Boring.

He put down his pencil, lay his whole body on the bar, turned his face to look at the design he'd copied over, and found the skirt increasingly dull.

He did study design, but that was ages ago—it feels like a past life.

All he needs to do is pull something from the textbook, tweak it a couple of strokes, and he's this world's "cutting‑edge designer"; Hua Jian Lei had him use that identity to sneak into the fashion show, saying there was some other arrangement.

Arrangement.

Xi Ren Sheng pressed down the corners of his mouth.

All the fun things have been arranged by Hua Jian Lei for others.

What about him? Lying here, drawing a dress that someone else had already sketched forty years ago, and after finishing he still has to pretend it's his own original work.

He tossed the pencil onto the table; it rolled twice and fell from the edge of the bar, landing on the floor with a faint sound.

Xi Ren Sheng didn't bother to pick it up; he turned his head to look at the orange‑haired man still wrestling with the documents nearby, the stack having been flipped back and forth until its edges were curled.

Xi Ren Sheng pushed himself up, placing his arm on the man's broad shoulders.

No matter which world, this guy's muscles are rock solid and feel great.

"Lao Bao~"

Hearing that strange, eerie sound, the man lifted his head, his face full of vigilance as he looked at Xi Ren Sheng.

Xi Ren Sheng gave him a smile, "How about we go out and find some fun?"

"... What are you up to now?" the man called Lao Bao looked at Xi Ren Sheng with eyes full of wariness.

Although the three of them don't know each other's backgrounds inside out, they've been acquainted for quite a while.

Unlike him and Hua Jian Lei, who were born in that chaotic zone, Xi Ren Sheng truly grew up in a peaceful society, yet he stubbornly threw himself into their lot, refusing to repent.

How did this kid originally put it, again?

Oh, that kid said he studied journalism, aspiring to be a war correspondent.

He had originally planned to protect the kid and find a chance to send him away, but instead the kid latched onto him—he couldn't shake him off, and the kid actually had real talent.

Moreover, only that kid he met online says things that Xi Ren Sheng actually listens to, and unfortunately that kid isn't in the Dome.

"Not doing anything special either," Xi Ren Sheng said, cheerfully patting the hand resting on his shoulder, "Just come with me to dye my hair."

Lao Bao's brows knit even tighter, his expression as if he'd just seen Hua Jian Lei suddenly announce he was going to do square dancing.

"Dye your hair?" He sized up Xi Ren Sheng's grass‑green locks from head to toe, "What's gotten into you? Why insist on doing this now?"

Xi Ren Sheng blinked, and before he could speak, Lao Bao continued, "Do you realize your face just got posted on the Dome's wanted list? You don't even know how big the bounty is—going out and flashing around, are you trying to get yourself killed?"

"Oh well," Xi Ren Sheng waved his hand, his tone a bit nonchalant, "This bounty of mine is nothing—my partner's the real badass."

"Besides, I need to change my hair color in real life too; this body's a bit more durable, so I'll try a few colors to see how they turn out, lest I mess it up back home and become a laughingstock."

Lao Bao's mouth twitched; he didn't understand.

He truly didn't understand.

Xi Ren Sheng had already lain back on the bar, his chin resting on his arms, his tone tinged with inexplicable grievance.

"Lao Bao, you don't get it—my partner's green‑haired head looks far classier than mine; clashing colors aren't scary, it's just a matter of who looks uglier and more embarrassed."

No matter how high‑end green gets, how high‑end can it really get?

Isn't it still just green?

Lao Bao obviously couldn't fathom how Xi Ren Sheng's brain is wired.

"Even if it's higher‑end… isn't it still just green?"

He simply cannot comprehend Xi Ren Sheng's pursuit of fashion.

Xi Ren Sheng suddenly turned his head, stared at the man blankly for a moment, then said, "Never mind, you don't understand aesthetics—I won't blame you. Come on, let's go pick a hair color~"

——————————————

At the same time, High‑level Ying Guang Lu was already standing at the bar's entrance, tilting his head to look at the crooked sign.

"Old Oak Tree Bar"—the name is actually quite normal, it's just that the "oak" character lost half of itself, leaving only the "wood" character standing there alone.

He then lowered his gaze to the slip of paper in his hand; Hua Jian Lei's handwriting was as messy as ghost‑drawn talismans, but the address was written clearly enough—this had to be the place.

Ying Duo folded the slip of paper and shoved it into his pocket, his gaze falling back onto the door before him.

This door...... how should I say it?

The lacquer coating had peeled off more than half, revealing the grimy material underneath; a crack ran diagonally upward from the door handle's position, looking quite artistic, as if someone had smashed it with something—or possibly kicked it.

The door handle is iron, rusted beyond recognition, with several loops of reinforcing wire wrapped around it.

Hua Jian Lei, Hua Jian Lei, how did you lot get so filthy after going through the Dome?