Before the sun went down, Bai Mu used weeds, palm leaves, and driftwood gathered from the beach to build himself a simple shelter.
It was a triangular thatched hut, resembling a primitive man's tent.
He spread dry fluff on the ground and found a suitably sized rock to use as a pillow.
Additionally, he collected wood suitable for burning—dry twigs and dead branches that could easily be found scattered across the ground.
Around the hut, he set up several simple tripwire traps and "alarms" made of vines, tree bark, and brittle branches. If anything approached, he would hear the noise.
He had strong practical skills. If he possessed the right tools, like an axe, a saw, and a shovel, he could build a single-person wooden cabin from scratch in three days, and even whip up a few stools and a table while he was at it.
He had renovated his grandmother's old house with his own two hands, modified combat vehicles, and could even tinker with wiring and Solar Panels. After all, during those ten years, the only person he could rely on was himself.
If he had not learned to do these things, a leaking roof would never have been patched, he would never have had electricity, and he would have had no combat vehicle to drive.
He had understood a fundamental truth very early on: the only person you could count on in this world was yourself, and you should absolutely never pin your hopes on others.
At dusk, Bai Mu finished what he considered to be his daily tasks and began to admire his afternoon's masterpiece.
[Name: Crude Thatched Tent]
[Type: Structure]
[Quality: Common]
[Note: If cavemen had learned to make thatched tents, perhaps they would have been renamed open-field tent men.]
Bai Mu was quite satisfied to have achieved this much in a single afternoon.
He sat down and used carefully selected dry branches to start a fire by friction. The tinder was the fluff from a dry coconut shell, which still contained a bit of coconut oil, making it perfect for catching a spark.
A moment later, the coconut fluff ignited.
With a tiny burst of sparks, the fluff first emitted a wisp of black smoke, followed by a bright flame.
Bai Mu added wood and smoothly built up a small fire.
The Guam Rail had finished bleeding out. Bai Mu dug a small pit beneath its head and used a forked branch stuck into the ground to hang the bird upside down.
While he was still in elementary school, his grandmother had taught him how to bleed a chicken. The key was to make a deep cut in the throat, right where the carotid artery was located, to allow the blood to drain efficiently.
Taking the Guam Rail down, Bai Mu used his small stone knife to slowly gut the bird, slicing down from its vent.
He had sharpened the stone knife earlier, so it was more than capable of slicing open the bird's belly. However, he carefully controlled his strength, making only a shallow slit to cut through the skin and peritoneum.
If he used too much force and sliced the intestines open as well, the resulting scene would be rather "picturesque."
After opening the belly, Bai Mu reached his right hand in through the cut at the neck and pulled out the organs in one piece, placing them on a nearby leaf.
Without a stable source of fresh water, cleaning the intestines was too much of a hassle. Therefore, he simply tossed them into the blood-soaked mud pit and buried them.
After a busy afternoon, he was starting to feel a little hungry. He rinsed the giblets with coconut water, quickly skewered and roasted them, and ate them to tide himself over.
Afterward, he wrapped the entire bird in moist mud and leaves, buried it in the fire pit, and covered the mud ball with embers and hot coals.
This was the traditional method for making Beggar's Chicken. He had neither a pot nor enough fresh water to scald the bird and pluck its feathers. By using this roasting technique, the feathers would stick to the baked mud and could be effortlessly peeled away.
After roasting for about another hour, the bird would be ready to eat.
In truth, Bai Mu could stomach eating it raw, but this island was just too peaceful—so peaceful that it made him want to prepare his food with a touch of refinement.
It had been a long time since he last tasted chicken. Having gone through the trouble of catching a wild one, he certainly did not want to waste it.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, Bai Mu sat in front of his thatched tent, waiting for his dinner to finish cooking.
The clouds and sky morphed into fiery hues. A gentle breeze blew past, carrying the cries of seagulls and the rhythmic sound of crashing waves.
Beneath the dusk, the ocean's surface mirrored a sheet of gold. Watching the sun sink into the water filled Bai Mu with a deep sense of inner peace.
There were no crawling, rotting Zombies. There were no unpredictably moving Mutants. Nor was there any shortage of food and water.
"Surviving in a place like this for thirty days is way too comfortable," Bai Mu remarked.
This "Endless Paradise" truly lived up to its name. It was a wonderful place, much like an actual paradise.
He relaxed slightly, let out a long breath, and lay down.
Night fell, and the brilliant Milky Way sprawled across the dark sky.
Bai Mu poked the charred mud ball out of the fire pit and smashed it open with a rock.
A mouthwatering aroma of roasted meat and rich fat wafted through the air. As he peeled back the hardened clay shell and tore off a drumstick, savory juices dripped onto the ground.
Because Bai Mu had washed the rail with coconut water, the meat also carried a faint, refreshing hint of coconut.
He impatiently took a massive bite. Even without any seasonings, it was incredibly delicious. The meat was tender and smooth, boasting a texture vastly different from domestic poultry.
He devoured the roasted bird, rapidly gnawing it down to the bone in no time at all.
Patting his stomach, Bai Mu still felt somewhat unsatisfied.
He could easily stomach another roasted bird, but the sky was already dark and his daily caloric intake had been met. There was no need to exert unnecessary effort.
After gazing at the night sky for a while, Bai Mu lay down to rest.
He did not fall completely asleep, instead maintaining a state of light slumber.
This was a survival skill he had honed in the post-apocalyptic world. At the slightest sound from outside, he would instantly snap awake.
This ability had saved his life before. Once, several Mutants that had evolved intelligence attempted to ambush him in the night, but both he and Big Yellow had managed to detect them.
The most dangerous encounter—and the one where his guard was lowest—saw him engage in brutal hand-to-hand combat with a Mutant. Thankfully, he had kept his weapons close. He kicked the creature away and blew its head off with a shotgun. Had he not, he very likely would have died that night.
Even on this tranquil Deserted Island that he had thoroughly scouted during the day, Bai Mu still slept hugging his stone spear. The rock beneath his head could also double as a weapon in a pinch.
He maintained the habitual vigilance he had practiced for years. The good news was that the night passed without incident. His worries seemed unnecessary; there were no sudden monster attacks or wild beast ambushes, and even the mosquitoes on the island were scarce.
He spent his first day in a manner resembling a leisurely camping trip.
On the second day, Bai Mu went to the beach.
He stripped off his clothes, grabbed a stone spear, and with a loud splash, dove sharply into the ocean, submerging himself underwater.
He hunted for fish in the shallows, swiftly and ruthlessly catching three saltwater fish and tossing them onto the shore.
Two mullets, plus a grouper caught near the reef.
[Name: Mullet]
[Type: Fish]
[Quality: Common]
[Note: A high-quality commercial fish found in the middle and upper layers of warm tropical shallow seas.]
...
[Name: Grouper]
[Type: Fish]
[Quality: Common]
[Note: A premium edible fish, low in fat and high in protein, often referred to as sea chicken.]
After sorting out his lunch, he further upgraded his shelter, continuously reinforcing it with stones and wood.
Aside from coconut water, he also discovered an alternative fresh water source. It was not difficult to find—simply following the Guam Rails led him straight to their watering hole.
In a small shrub thicket towards the north lay a tiny freshwater lake, fed by streams trickling down from a rocky hill. Along the way, he caught another rail to bring back. That noon, he dined on roasted fish, and for dinner, he had the rail.
On the third day, he evaporated seawater to produce coarse sea salt and managed to dig up some wild taro. He began curing fish and meat for himself, stockpiled more firewood, and, most surprisingly, stumbled upon a fair amount of ocean trash washed up on the eastern beach.
Several plastic bags and bottles served as excellent water storage containers.
By the fourth day, he already had his own pot. He had found a concave stone near the shore perfectly suited for the job.
On the evening of the fourth day, a fish-smoking rack stood in front of his reinforced tent, with six smoked fish hanging from it.
Near the beach by his tent, he constructed a fishing trap out of stones, plastic bags, and branches. It acted as a miniature fishing weir.
The pungent chicken giblets made for perfect bait. During high tide, ocean fish would swim into the weir to feed. When the tide receded, they would find themselves stranded on the shore, waiting for Bai Mu to harvest them.
The sunset on the fourth day was as beautiful as ever.
Five plastic bottles filled to the brim with fresh water were neatly arranged inside the tent. Furthermore, he had a collection of green coconuts, two bound rails he had yet to slaughter, a row of stone spears, and half a plastic bag of sea salt hanging from the wall.
"Is this really not a vacation?"
Sitting on the dry grass, Bai Mu voiced his thoughts once again as he boiled a stew of taro, fish, and chicken.
It felt as though he had run out of things to do. He had fully explored the Deserted Island, and it seemed he would be left with nothing to do but space out for the remaining twenty-six days.
That was not necessarily a bad thing. He had spent many years in the past living exactly like this.
He wondered what would happen once the thirty days were up.
Sipping on the savory fish, rail, and taro stew, he pondered the future.
He spent ten leisurely and peaceful days on the island, well-stocked with supplies and eating and drinking to his heart's content.
On the eleventh day, the sunny weather suddenly turned gloomy.
A torrential downpour swept in, forcing Bai Mu to hunker down in his tent with nothing to do.
The rain did not leak inside. He had chosen an excellent spot where water would not pool.
There was no need to brave the heavy rain to forage for food, either. The smoked fish he had prepared over the past ten days, along with the harvested coconuts and his stockpile of fresh water, were more than enough to sustain him for the rest of his time there.
The storm raged for four whole days. Dark clouds obscured the sky and the sea, accompanied by flashing lightning and the deafening rumble of booming thunder.
For Bai Mu, however, it had practically zero impact. He amused himself inside the tent by playing with his pet birds. He had kept one male and one female rail for entertainment, even preparing some grass and insect feed for them, storing it in plastic bottles.
On the twelfth day, the female rail even laid an egg.
Bai Mu did not fry the egg up for a snack. He reasoned that the Guam Rail was a protected species; eating them to extinction would be far too wasteful.
He would likely be leaving this island after thirty days anyway. Eating one or two to satisfy a craving was fine, but overindulging was completely unnecessary.
Having survived a decade in the apocalypse, he understood the precious value of life and diverse species better than anyone.
He genuinely liked living creatures. They were infinitely more endearing than rotting, hideous Zombies that wanted nothing more than to take a chunk out of him.
He did not want to see this island reduced to a desolate, ruined wasteland. It was a beautiful place, he was fond of it, and he was hardly lacking in food.
By the fifteenth day, the storm finally subsided, and the skies cleared.
Bai Mu stepped outside his tent for the first time in days and stretched lazily.
Suddenly, his hands froze mid-stretch. An unexpected sight had entered his field of vision.
If his eyes were not playing tricks on him, it was a stranded small cruise ship.
It was the exact same one he had spotted at the very beginning. It appeared to have washed ashore, lying silently on the sandy beach.