Chapter 30: The First Bite of the Cold

【Stainless Steel – 15】

A gleaming silver water tower appeared in the storage chamber, perfectly filling the space with no room to spare.
Water flowed steadily and smoothly through the pipes, trickling gently into the silvery tank.
The sound of water filling the tower echoed softly through the chamber—soft *gurgle-gurgle* at first, growing deeper and more constant as the level rose.

Food and water were secured. Now, all that remained was sanitation: toilets and bathing facilities.
The latrine and shower area had been dug out—just hollow shells, empty and bare.
According to the system’s blueprint, what was still missing? Reinforced concrete components, plus a few iron or plastic drainage pipes.
All that was left was waiting for enough happiness points to accumulate.

Right now, he had zero happiness points. Probably wouldn’t get any for another few days.

“Lighting’s another thing we need to fix—fast.”

In his little shelter, light came only from a single campfire. During the day, the doorway let in enough glow to make do. At night? It was pitch black.
And this was just his makeshift bunker. Even in broad daylight, he had to carry a torch inside.

That was the least of it. Once he started planting crops, the shelter would need at least half a day of artificial light. Otherwise, how could plants survive without sunlight?

That’s why most other survivors hadn’t managed to grow anything yet.
No one’d be dumb enough to plant outside—too exposed, too risky. But bringing crops indoors meant lighting. And lighting meant power. And power? That was the bottleneck.

It had tripped up nearly everyone.

After a hearty meal, night fell. The time陈灼 loved most—his favorite pastime: spying on others.
Lying on his $30 happiness-point memory foam mattress, he effortlessly opened the chat channel.

Two recruitment posts popped up instantly.

**"Black Bear Shelter is hiring! Our cabin’s already Stone-Grade. All you brothers and sisters welcome!"**

**"Stone-Grade? Big deal. Everyone’s got a stone house,"** scoffed a user named Zhang Shengtai.

Then he dropped his own ad:
**"Don’t listen to the guy above. We’re the Hungry Wolves Shelter—we’ve got an Iron-Cabin. DM me if you’re a dirt-stone survivor looking to upgrade."**

**"Iron cabin? Show proof!"** snapped someone from Black Bear.

**"Hmph. You’re still stuck in the well. Think everyone’s as weak as you?"**

Then—proof. A photo appeared: a sleek, silver-gray cabin nestled in a dense forest.

Black Bear’s recruiters saw it. Said nothing. Slunk away like guilty cats.

Instantly, a flood of messages poured in—desperate, eager, loud.

**"I want in!"**
**"Count me in!"**
**"Get lost, Zhang Shengtai—let me join your shelter. I’ll bring 20 iron bars!"**
**"Kid, iron’s nothing. I can bring a Vitality Fruit into the shelter. Can you do that? No? Then shut up."**

Two survivors went head-to-head, voices rising, tempers flaring.

Then, Zhang Shengtai chuckled—calm, smug—posting:
**"Hehe, gentlemen, no need to rush. Both of you are serious. Why not join together? Let’s grow strong side by side."**

They didn’t know it, but Zhang Shengtai was grinning so wide his cheeks hurt.

The photo was real. The shelter was his. But the “iron cabin”? Only two walls were actually iron.
Full iron construction required fifty iron bars. He couldn’t afford that—not anytime soon.

He’d shown the picture just to lure in some allies.
Never expected to pull in so much raw material.

His private inbox lit up with offers: partnership plans, resource-sharing schemes, barter ideas.

**"Hah. So naive. Once you’re under my roof, you’ll do exactly as I say."**

He closed the chat.

So far, most survivors had found partners.
Those still alone? They’d better team up fast.
The 42-day Long Winter was coming—only two days left to form alliances.

**"Forty-two days of winter?"**

Chen Zhuo frowned. This disaster felt rushed. If they really couldn’t go outside for six weeks… nobody would survive.

Maybe the Long Winter wasn’t what it used to be.

...

Nothing more happened that night.

December 18. Temperature: 0–15°C.

**"What kind of temperature swing is this?"**

Lying in his warm memory foam bed, Chen Zhuo stared at the reading, eyes wide in disbelief.

By the time morning fog cleared, he remembered: today was the last day before the Long Winter began.

Shivering, he dragged himself off the bed. The room hovered around ten degrees.

The fire from last night had long since died. Ashes scattered across the floor.

Without sunlight and without heat, the shelter felt like a frozen tomb.

**"Once the ventilation system’s built, I’m installing a fireplace. No way I’m surviving winter wrapped in blankets alone."**

He pulled on an old winter cotton coat—once used as a mattress—and slowly pushed open the door.

Just a crack.

Instantly, a freezing gale surged inside, screaming through the gap like a banshee.

Even though the fire was gone, the shelter still held a faint warmth.
He guessed the outside was barely above seven degrees.
Instinctively, he tightened his coat and stepped out.

One night had transformed the world.

Yesterday’s bright sun was gone. Today, the sky hung low and gray, heavy with damp and cold.
Wind howled through the trees, whipping up dust and dead leaves.
Clouds piled thick and dark, pressing down like a weight on the earth. Sunlight couldn’t pierce the haze—everything looked drained of life.

The forest stood eerily silent under the storm’s breath. Branches swayed violently, rustling like whispers. Occasionally, a dry limb snapped—sharp, sudden—echoing through the woods.

A thin layer of frost coated every blade of grass, every twig.
Press your fingers to it, and you’d hear the faint *crack* of ice breaking.

Each breath he exhaled turned into a white plume—brief, then vanished in the biting wind.

With only three iron bars left, he forged a shovel.
Then, against the cold, he began walking—scouting, searching.

He wasn’t sightseeing.

From the unseen angle only the system could see, Chen Zhuo was scanning the land.

**[Barren Soil: Extremely low organic matter, lacking essential nutrients, poor soil structure, terrible water retention and aeration, extreme pH. Crop yield: negligible. Crop quality: abysmal.]**

Yes—he was selecting soil for planting.

Inside the shelter, there was nothing but rock. No way to grow anything.
So he had to haul soil back, piece by piece.

Why did it look like he was strolling through town?
Because the system’s analysis range was too limited. It couldn’t scan everything at once.
He had to move, pause, observe, step forward—slow, deliberate, methodical.