Chapter 6: Securing Water

**December 4th**
**Temperature: 22°C**

The final day before the disaster.

Time was tight, and Chen Zhuo had risen early—before the sun even thought about showing its face.

He ran a quick mental checklist of what needed doing today.

*First: water.* The shelter’s back mountain held a small stream just beyond the ridge. He had to go there today—no excuses.

*Second: building materials.* Wood and stone were running dangerously low.

After yesterday’s upgrades and the construction of the drainage ditch, most of it had been burned through. His backpack now held only 48 wooden planks and a meager 7 stones left.

Then there was yesterday’s trading spree. He’d only sent friend requests to people whose items seemed genuinely useful in his current situation. Three others hadn’t responded.

He opened the chat app again—this time, all three requests had been accepted.

“Hey,” he typed, “I’m interested in your trade goods. Can we talk price?”

But he couldn’t afford to waste daylight on lengthy negotiations. Instead, he drafted three identical messages and sent them off to each of the three with a single tap. Then he shoved his backpack on, stepped outside, and set out for today’s supply run.

The sky above looked heavy—dark clouds pressing down like a wet blanket. But Chen Zhuo knew better.

Those weren’t clouds.

They were dust.

Thick, swirling particles suspended thousands of meters high—something that had been drifting into the atmosphere since the moment he’d arrived in this world. And they were getting denser by the day.

He’d finally pieced it together: *this was the cause of the acid rain.*

“Like volcanic ash? But there’s no volcano around here…”

He shook off the thought. No time for theories. He pulled up the map and started walking toward the back mountain.

The stream was close on paper—straight line from point A to B. But reality was different.

The actual path twisted and turned like a drunkard’s route. It took him longer than the entire journey from the spawn point to the shelter.

No trails. No paths. Just jagged slopes, crumbling rock, and steep drops where one wrong step could send him tumbling into oblivion.

Thankfully, it wasn’t a real mountain—just a hill barely over two hundred meters tall. If it had been a thousand-meter peak, he’d still be halfway there after ten days.

He moved slowly, testing every foothold before committing his weight. One eye on the ground, the other scanning the underbrush. Not just for balance—but for danger. Snakes. Spiders. Venomous insects. All lurking in the shadows.

Miraculously, nothing attacked. No sudden strikes, no ambushes. Just a few angry mosquito bites blooming across his arms and legs.

But none of that mattered.

After three hours of climbing, sweating, cursing, and nearly falling twice, he finally saw it—the shimmer of clear water cutting through the rocks.

A real, honest-to-goodness stream.

Before this, he’d been rationing instant noodles with half a bottle of water. Now, staring at the crystal-clear flow, his heart pounded with relief.

He scratched an itch on his arm, then summoned the system to check the water quality.

**[Clear stream. Formed by groundwater seeping from an unknown hillside spring. Safe to drink.]**

No hesitation. No second thoughts.

He dropped to his knees, plunged his face into the cold rush, and drank until his stomach groaned.

He couldn’t help it. For two days straight, he’d been parched. Five hundred milliliters of bottled water a day wasn’t enough for someone working nonstop.

And before he found this stream, he’d been too scared to waste a drop. The system store had plenty of futuristic gadgets—but not a single one offered food or water.

Even though he’d spotted the source on the map yesterday, he hadn’t dared drink the rest of his water until the system confirmed it was safe.

Now, finally, he could indulge.

The cool water washed down his throat like salvation. The dryness in his mouth vanished. His body sighed in relief.

He wiped his lips with the back of his hand, stood up, and grinned.

This was it. Time to maximize this resource.

Because once the acid rain hit—this place would be poisoned. Who knew when it’d ever be safe again?

He wanted to protect the source. But the truth was, he didn’t have time. The stream flowed downhill from the back mountain, and he couldn’t afford to go back there now. Plus, he had no idea how to stop acid rain from contaminating it.

So instead, he opened the crafting interface and converted every last scrap of wood into large wooden barrels.

His backpack emptied instantly. In its place sat 24 sturdy barrels, neatly stacked.

Each held fifty liters. It took him over ten minutes to fill them all. When he finished, he nodded in satisfaction.

One and a half tons of water—only taking up a single slot in his backpack.

The survival platform’s inventory had twenty slots total. Items of the same type seemed to stack infinitely—so far, he’d never seen a single item take up more than one space.

And everything inside stayed frozen in time. The wild boar he’d killed yesterday? Still fresh, blood glistening under the light.

That backpack was the platform’s greatest feature.

But now, with supplies piling up, space was running short.

Only five empty slots remained.

“Leave it for now,” he muttered. “If I really need room, I’ll offload the old stone axe and pickaxe—never used them anyway.”

With plans settled, he pulled out the last remaining bread, tore into it in three bites, and immediately started chopping trees.

He hadn’t forgotten—he was supposed to gather wood *and* stone.

But then he paused.

Wait. Stone? He could just dig it out of the mountain *after* the acid rain started. That way, he’d get both resources—and expand the shelter at the same time. Perfect win-win.

But tonight’s trade required stone. So he dug only ten chunks, called it good, and went back to work.

For the next few hours, all that remained by the stream was the rhythmic thud of an axe biting into bark—over and over, relentless.

By three in the afternoon, he finally stopped.

He dropped the iron axe. His arms hung limp at his sides, trembling from exhaustion. Sweat soaked through his clothes, and he collapsed onto the ground, breathing hard.

Five hours of continuous chopping had drained him completely.

It wasn’t strength—it was the damn iron axe.

The description said it boosted chopping efficiency. But in practice, it did more than that. It made each swing faster, smoother, and less tiring.

By the end, his inventory had exploded: 170 wooden planks, 23 stones.

After catching his breath, Chen Zhuo stood up, wiped sweat from his face with his forearm.

Before leaving, he stripped off his clothes and dove headfirst into the stream.

The icy water rushed over his skin, washing away grime, sweat, and fatigue. Water droplets streamed down his hair, his shoulders, his arms—each drop a tiny shock of clarity.

He closed his eyes.

For the first time in this wasteland, he was truly clean.

A cold shower in the middle of nowhere. Pure, simple, perfect.

After a few minutes, he climbed out, standing barefoot on the riverbank.

A breeze brushed over his damp skin—cool, refreshing, waking him up completely.

He looked at the sky.

Dark clouds gathered.

“Gotta make it back to the shelter before dark…”