Chapter 162: The Wise Adapt to Circumstances

"Hah! Old village chief, how can you be so sure there's supplies in that truck? What if it's empty?"

Zhang Su spread his hands and smiled.

"Young man, since the disaster, everyone's been trying to flee north into the mountains. We've always charged like this—fair to young and old, profit or loss, we bear it ourselves. Don't worry about us. Hehe..."

Ma Changshou smiled shrewdly.

The people around Zhang Su felt strange: though they showed no obvious hostility, everyone carried rifles—how could the other side not see?

Under these circumstances, still daring to openly demand supplies—there were only two possibilities...

Either Xida Ying Village had a powerful backing capable of handling this situation, or these people in front of them were mentally deficient.

The second possibility was unlikely: in the post-apocalyptic world, there were fools, but none ever became leaders!

Zhang Su had considered these factors too. After a moment's thought, he said: "The truck does carry supplies, but they may not be what you need. Why not tell me what you're short on? We could make a more valuable exchange."

Upon hearing this, the people from Xida Ying Village immediately began whispering among themselves, clearly finding Zhang Su's suggestion quite appealing.

Seeing them discuss, Zhang Su didn't press. He quietly talked with a few of his sharp-minded companions about the situation, and they all agreed it was better to first probe the other side's position.

Zhang Su gave an awkward smile and asked, "Old village chief, you don't lack food or drink?"

"Old bastard..."

"Young man, you've never lived in the countryside, have you?"

"We have a little fuel. Old village chief, tell us how much you need."

Zhang Su didn't specify a quantity—he waited for them to name their price first.

The things they mentioned—aside from a bit of fuel—none of them had...

Zhang Su grabbed Lu Yubo, who was about to curse, and glared at him. Then he turned back to Ma Changshou: "Old village chief, you're joking, right? A thousand liters is nearly a ton! Not to mention whether you can even carry it—so much fuel on a vehicle? That's a moving bomb!"

Ma Changshou waved his hands rapidly—he represented not himself, but the interests of many behind him.

"Have all the people on your vehicle gotten out?"

"Sixty liters? No, no, way too little. Sixty liters would let only two of you pass. No, no."

"Alright, young man, you're the most level-headed person who's passed here in days—no shouting, no panic. I won't overcharge. You've got twenty people total—excluding that little dog—fifty liters each, exactly one thousand liters!"

After hearing their demand, Zhang Su silently rolled his eyes—he'd have been better off skipping this suggestion and just haggling outright.

Ma Changshou explained patiently: "Every household in the village has stored grain—enough to last until next spring without hunger. Water's no problem either—the well hasn't frozen. But the temperature's dropped too fast. Normally we buy coal in October, but this year? We can't get any. Everyone's freezing. Cutting down trees for warmth isn't sustainable."

Ma Changshou asked.

"Don't mess around!"

"Hahahaha..."

Zhang Su nodded. This was why people always said: minor disasters head for the city, major disasters head for the countryside. In this apocalypse, only rural areas with wide land and sparse population offered real chances of survival.

Zhang Su glanced back and nodded: "Everyone's here."

We underreported two barrels—keep them for later use.

After several minutes of discussion among the villagers, Ma Changshou looked at Zhang Su again: "Young man, your suggestion makes sense. We all agree. Just now we summarized—we're short on many things, but mostly coal, liquefied gas, fuel, diesel—preferably coal."

"Don't even say a thousand liters. To be honest, we only have two barrels—sixty liters total."

"Boss, on our way north, there are villages on both sides of the road. If they all block us like this, we can't take it. Let's just lay it all out!"

Lu Yubo leaned close to Zhang Su's ear and whispered.

"Young man, don't try to fool old farmer me with fake stuff—it won't work!"

Ma Changshou saw Lu Yubo touch his shoulder rifle and gave a smug, calm smile—his eyes full of disdain.

"Old village chief, how do you know we're carrying fakes?"

Zhang Su patted his rifle and asked with a smile.

Ma Changshou shook his head and chuckled: "Hey, young man, you're not the first group to show up with toy guns. We've met several others just like you—though none as exaggerated as you!"

Zheng Xinyu and the others finally understood why the other side was so unafraid—too clever by half.

"Oh?" Zhang Su found this interesting. "How are we exaggerated?"

Ma Changshou, seemingly fond of talking, showed no impatience and spoke slowly: "If you had real weapons, would you be haggling with old farmer me? Besides, you know our country's situation—gun control is extremely strict. Those neat, standard-issue rifles you're carrying? Ninety-nine percent are fakes. Only my pipe guns here are real!"

As he spoke, Ma Changshou lifted his shirt and pulled from his lower back a double-barreled gun about a foot long—hard to call it a pistol, a shotgun, or a double-barreled shotgun?

Overall, the craftsmanship was crude—clearly welded by some village craftsman.

Appeal.

A cold wind blew, rustling the hair of those on either side of the barricade. The atmosphere grew utterly silent.

"Hehehe..."

Zhang Su suddenly smiled. "Old village chief, has this crude gun brought you plenty of profit?"

"Of course! In today's world, whoever has a gun is a king of the wilderness. Young man, I advise you not to think of tricks—hand over the supplies, head north quickly, and listen to advice—you'll eat well!"

Ma Changshou leaned on his cane with his left hand, pointing at the earth, and raised his rifle with his right, pointing to the sky—his pose was grand and commanding.

"Hey, did you loot every toy store in the city?"

"I bet you did—look at how perfectly aligned all those rifles are! Hahaha!"

"Hey, you could cut fifty liters per person if you give us two rifles—kids in the village would love them!"

The villagers around Ma Changshou were completely relaxed, treating Zhang Su's group with utter disregard.

In weapons, they had more than just one musket; in numbers, they weren't outnumbered. If a fight broke out, they wouldn't flinch.

"Are our guns really fake?"

Zheng Xinyu asked Zhong Xiao Shan with a somewhat clueless expression.

Zhong Xiao Shan touched the cold barrel: "Not really. I feel it's got real weight."

"The villagers have never seen real weapons—they're adorably naive. Hehehe." Lü Lei, with his high-pitched voice, covered his mouth and laughed softly, making several nearby people break out in goosebumps.

Zhang Su stepped forward and shrugged helplessly: "We were going to pay you a little for clearing this area, but now you've drawn guns—how can we negotiate?"

Ma Changshou smiled: "Young man, I'm the one negotiating with you—not you with me. We're done negotiating. One thousand liters of fuel, or all the supplies on that big truck—choose one."

"You said earlier that if we had real weapons, you wouldn't be polite. That's wrong," Zhang Su shook his head. "I'm being polite with you precisely because I don't want to bully the weak! Old village chief, remember this: experience only deceives those who believe in it!"

Saying this, Zhang Su disengaged the safety, raised his rifle, aimed at the zombie on the barricade, and pulled the trigger.

Taptap, taptap, taptaptaptap.

A violent burst of gunfire echoed through the air—flames and white smoke erupted from the muzzle. Bullets struck the zombie corpses, turning fragile tissue into mush, spraying blood and splintering wood.

Thirty rounds were emptied in barely ten seconds. Empty casings clattered to the ground, crisp and pleasant.

The gunfire reverberated across the fields, striking the hearts of Ma Changshou and the villagers. All the villagers involuntarily stepped back—some covered their heads, others dropped flat to the ground, eyes wide with terror and disbelief.

The Corgi, Lucky, was also startled by the gunfire. He scurried over and crouched behind Zheng Xinyu, paws covering his head...

Click. Click-click!

Ejecting the magazine, inserting a spare, chambering a round—though not elegant, the movements were clean and precise!

He'd fired automatic rifles in games before, but this was his first time in real life. Zhang Su felt his arms and shoulders numb from recoil—he resolved to never spray again, only single shots.

Silence.

When the echoing gunfire faded, only silence remained in their ears. Far off, zombie figures appeared, shuffling slowly toward the road—no threat.

"Still want supplies?"

Zhang Su reloaded, raised his rifle in high alert, muzzle pointed directly at Ma Changshou's group.

With their leader taking a firm stance, the team members no longer hesitated—they all raised their rifles, the atmosphere instantly thick with deadly tension!

"No, no! Quickly, clear a path! Hurry!"

Ma Changshou licked his cracked lips, waving his arms to order villagers to move the barricades. Fear in his eyes was thick as ink, impossible to dispel.

Soon, the barricades on the bridge were cleared to the sides. Ma Changshou had already tucked away his broken musket. He walked up to Zhang Su with a beaming smile: "Master, you may go now."

"A moment ago I was a young man, now I'm 'Master'? That's a fast promotion!"

Zhang Su rubbed his ear—the gunfire had shaken loose earwax.

"We failed to recognize true power—so sorry, truly sorry. May we know your esteemed name?" Ma Changshou and the villagers bowed low, embodying the proverb: "The wise adapt to circumstances."

He still didn't believe all twenty of them carried real guns—but even one real weapon was enough to crush their village utterly.

Fighting a crude musket against an automatic rifle? That's not just losing—it's suicide.

"Zhang, don't call me 'Master'—it sounds awful! Since you're sorry, show some sincerity. I just fired thirty rounds. Ten pounds of rice and ten pounds of flour per bullet. Total?"

Zhang Su asked.

The villagers froze—wasn't this exactly the opposite of what they'd hoped for?

Bad luck!

Ma Changshou dared not refuse—he nodded frantically: "Yes, yes! Zhang... Boss Zhang wants six hundred pounds of rice and flour? Six hundred pounds it is! I'll have someone fetch it right away!"

"Boss..." Zhang Su found the title amusing—he'd once been a small-time businessman himself.

"Zhu, Jia Master, you two go with the villagers to collect the rice and flour. If anyone tries tricks, blow their head off—don't let corpses turn and cause trouble. We're all about service—we'll see you safely west!"

"No tricks, no tricks at all! Boss Zhang, we're honest folk—how could we ever cheat?"

Ma Changshou waved his hands wildly, face turning green—he couldn't imagine what it would look like if two automatic rifles opened fire in the village.

"Old village chief, if you want to keep doing this business, you must strengthen your arms—at least one crude gun per person. Today you met me, a kind and reasonable man. If you'd met someone hot-tempered, think how terrifying it would've been."

Zhang Su gave earnest advice.

Ma Changshou dared not contradict him—he nodded vigorously: "Yes, yes, Boss Zhang is right. We were too arrogant, too foolish."

(End of Chapter)