Chapter 6: "This Isn't Charity. It's an Investment."
Chen Fan narrowed his eyes, quietly surveying the scene before him. Ever since unlocking the “Eternal Night Lord” panel, he’d gained access to blueprints for five Basic buildings and one Special building.
Among them, the “Beast Trap” stood out as the Special building.
A beast trap in itself was nothing extraordinary—but only one crafted by a Builder possessed the unique properties of a Special building, capable of truly injuring Ghostbeasts.
The five Basic buildings were: Walls, Farmland, Arrow Tower, Wooden Cabin, and Sacrificial Tower.
After observing for some time, Chen Fan slipped away, making his way back to camp.
...
As he approached, he spotted Crippled Monkey seated on the ground, weaving a long rope from hemp, all the while casting wary glances at their surroundings.
Noticing Chen Fan’s return, Crippled Monkey scrambled upright and hurried over.
“Young Master!”
“I managed to weave a rope about three meters long, but the conditions aren’t ideal. There’s no limewater, and it hasn’t dried properly. This dead grass is even worse than hemp stalks—it won’t last long.”
“That’s good enough,” Chen Fan said, shaking his head. “As long as it’s usable, it doesn’t have to be perfect.”
“Have you eaten?”
“Not yet.”
“Eat some rations,” Chen Fan instructed.
Crippled Monkey hesitated, glancing at their dwindling supplies. “We don’t have much left, Young Master. I can skip a few meals. I’m used to hunger.”
“No need,” Chen Fan replied, turning his gaze toward the depths of the Wasteland, his brow furrowed. “We’ll be busy tonight. You’ll need your strength. Don’t worry about food—I’ll find a way.”
The Chen Clan had abandoned him at this Waystation, with no intention of letting him return alive. Naturally, they’d left almost no rations. The nearest market, Jiangbei Market, was still a long journey away.
But the other Waystations nearby were unlikely to be short on food or water.
Given the Chen Clan’s reputation, perhaps he could trade Ghoststones for supplies.
At that moment—
Two figures appeared atop a distant slope, striding purposefully toward the camp. As they drew near, the man in front—a middle-aged fellow—paused, his expression inscrutable as he cupped his fists in greeting.
“You must be the station master of Waystation No. 37, of the Jiangbei Chen Clan?”
“I am,” Chen Fan replied, returning the gesture with a calm smile. “Chen Fan, at your service.”
He recognized the pair—they were from the Waystation he’d just scouted. But what brought them here?
The man introduced himself with a wary cough. “I’m Wang Kui, station master of Waystation No. 17, Qiuhe Wang Clan.”
Chen Fan smiled and cupped his fists again. “A pleasure, Station Master Wang. Chen Fan.”
Wang Kui ventured, “As I recall, your Chen Clan’s No. 37 Waystation has been abandoned for over a month. Why reopen it now?”
“This stretch of road doesn’t see much traffic, and there’s little profit to be made. Did you hear something I didn’t?”
He hesitated, then added, “Look, our clans may not be close, but out here, even rivals must stand together. If a Ghost Tide erupts, none of us will survive alone.”
“Honor belongs to the clan, but our lives are our own. Don’t you agree?”
Chen Fan didn’t answer immediately. He could see what Wang Kui was getting at—the man was clearly overthinking things.
Before he could respond, the subordinate behind Wang Kui spoke up, surprise in his voice. “You’re Chen Fan? That bastard son of the Jiangbei Chen Clan?”
...
Chen Fan’s face remained impassive as he nodded. “That’s me.”
“Watch your mouth,” Wang Kui snapped, shooting his subordinate a glare before forcing a rueful smile at Chen Fan. “Forgive him—he doesn’t know any better. I’ve been out in the Wasteland so long, I’m out of touch with clan gossip.”
“I still have business at my own station, so I’ll take my leave.”
With that, he turned and departed with his subordinate.
...
Out in the Wasteland.
Wang Kui strode across the cracked earth beside his man, frowning. “What’s the story with this Chen Fan? Tell me everything you know.”
He’d worked for the Wang Clan for thirteen years, posted to a different outpost each year. Gossip wasn’t his strong suit.
“This one’s fairly well known,” the bronze-skinned man said, scratching at the dry flakes on his face with a grin. “Here’s how it goes: Back when the Chen Clan’s old man inherited the family head position, the clan wasn’t as powerful as it is now. The main reason? No Builder in the family.”
“But get this—”
“The old man was quite the looker in his youth. He pursued a female cultivator—a Level 4 Builder, no less. She had no background, just a wandering rogue. After much persistence, he won her over, and they had a son—Chen Fan.”
“With that Level 4 Builder, the Chen Clan finally secured their position in Jiangbei.”
“But when Chen Fan was still a child, his mother died. The old man then married into the Ping Tian Chamber of Commerce and had two sons and a daughter with his new wife. The dowry included a Level 5 Builder as a retainer.”
“The Chen Clan’s current Builder retainer came from the Ping Tian Chamber of Commerce.”
“Think about it: with a Builder backing her, the new wife naturally wanted her own sons to inherit the clan. Chen Fan’s status just kept slipping. The old man still held out hope—maybe, since Chen Fan’s mother was a Builder, Chen Fan would awaken as one too.”
“Having a Builder in the family is far more secure than relying on a retainer.”
“But, as you can guess, Chen Fan failed to awaken. He lost all favor. Sending him here isn’t about some secret opportunity—they’re just sending him to die.”
...
Wang Kui frowned. “How’s that a bastard son? I thought it was some affair with a maid. He’s clearly the legitimate eldest son.”
“Sure, if his Level 4 Builder mother were still alive, he’d be the rightful heir. But she’s gone. Now, he’s just the outcast.”
“Fair enough.”
Wang Kui let out a long sigh. “These big clans and their dirty secrets... always the same mess.”
He fell silent for a moment, then spoke again.
“If they sent him here to die, he probably has no Ghoststones or food left. Go back and bring them some rations and water from our camp. And... give them five Ghoststones.”
“What?”
The bronze-skinned man stared in disbelief. “Boss, the clan’s coming to settle accounts in half a month. If you give away five Ghoststones, the books won’t add up.”
“I’ll pay out of my own pocket. It won’t go on the station’s books.”
“Oh, that’s fine, then. But why the sudden charity? Those two are as good as dead. Even with five Ghoststones, they won’t last more than a few days.”
“This isn’t charity,” Wang Kui said, shaking his head. “It’s an investment.”
“The kid’s in dire straits, but when we met, neither he nor that cripple showed any sign of fear or despair—only vigilance and caution.”
“What does that tell you?”
“It tells me that maybe... they’re not as desperate as they look.”