Chapter 31: Trading Soil

**Ordinary Soil:** Moderate organic matter, nutrients sufficient for most plants, average soil structure with decent water retention and aeration, pH near neutral.
**Farming Efficiency:** Medium.
**Crop Quality:** Good.

“Hmph. Close, but not quite.”

“Eh, whatever—might as well scoop some back.”

He dug with his iron shovel, pressing down on the handle with rubber-and-cloth-soled scavenger sneakers, shoveling dirt into his backpack in steady, rhythmic bursts.

*Whew!*

Once he’d gathered enough ordinary soil, Chen Zhuo straightened up, scanning the horizon for where richer earth might be hiding.

His eyes settled on the hillside where vegetation was thickest—lush, green, thriving.

Not *his* hill, of course. Rabbits don’t eat their own grass. He wasn’t that dumb.

He walked over in a few minutes.

**Fertile Soil:** High organic content, abundant nutrients, supports diverse plant growth; excellent soil structure with strong water retention and aeration; ideal pH for optimal root development and nutrient uptake.
**Farming Efficiency:** High.
**Crop Quality:** Excellent.

“Told ya—when the plants are this thick, the soil can’t be bad. Either there’s groundwater below or nature’s been extra generous.”

“But honestly, only a small patch qualifies as truly fertile. The surrounding areas? Just plain old average.”

“Screw it. Dig first, worry later.”

……

Two hours later, Chen Zhuo pushed himself out of the hole, hands on knees.

“Finally done. As for the pit… eh, who cares?”

He tossed a few leaves over the gaping hole. Not like it was *his* mountain. If he had to go back and fill it in, he’d rather burn the whole damn thing down.

With a grin, he zipped open his backpack to check the haul.

**Fertile Soil ×3 (tons)**
**Ordinary Soil ×6 (tons)**

“This… seriously? That’s it?”

“That’s barely enough to cover a 50-square-meter plot!”

His plan had called for at least twenty centimeters of topsoil—minimum—for every square meter of farmland. For two hundred square meters, he needed around fifty tons.

And here he was, after an entire morning of digging like a man possessed, hauling in less than ten.

“Too slow. Hand-digging is just stupid.”

“System,” he said, hands in pockets, voice sweet as honey, “you’re good at using happiness points to clear ventilation and water lines. Can’t you dig soil for me?”

【*Ping.* The system’s ‘digging’ function actually clears the area entirely—no resources recovered by the host.】

【Use 41 happiness points to excavate remaining soil?】

“Go play somewhere else, dummy. Don’t waste my feelings.”

The truth was, he was rushing because the deep freeze was coming fast. Originally, he’d planned to hunt more animals, stock up on food—just in case.

But stepping outside the shelter, he saw the barren, skeletal landscape stretching under a gray sky. No doubt about it: snow would start falling the moment winter hit.

If he waited until tomorrow, those precious topsoil layers could be buried under a foot of white silence. And then finding usable dirt? Forget it.

“No other options?” Chen Zhuo scratched his head.

“Wait…”

“Those traders at the market—they love tricking people into swapping sand or dirt for supplies. Always acting like they’re doing you a favor.”

“So today… I’ll be the sucker.”

He opened the trading interface.

Disappointment hit hard. Everything listed was stone for food, wood for rations—nothing new. Even worse, the rocks he once used to trade for blueprints were now practically worthless.

About thirty percent of survivors had already forged iron picks. Rocks weren’t rare anymore. They were everywhere.

Twenty stones for a white crate containing a no-rank loaf of bread? Plentiful. Overstocked.

Wood? Forget it. Couldn’t even buy a crumb with it.

Back at the market, no one was selling soil. So Chen Zhuo posted his own deal.

**Trader: Chen Zhuo**
**Offer: Rare-tier food ×1 (lb)**
**Wants: Fertile soil ×1 ton**

As soon as the listing went live, the chat exploded.

“Whoa—some legend just traded *food* for dirt? And it’s *rare-grade*?”

“Are you serious? Just dig it yourself. Why trade food for dirt?”

“Is this real or a prank?”

“Nah, I’ve seen this ID before. He traded rocks during the acid rain storm.”

“Doesn’t matter—first come, first served. I’m grabbing it!”

“Hey, listen up—don’t trade with Chen Zhuo. That guy’s a piece of trash. Last time I traded him plans for food, I got a pig intestine full of *shit*. Half a pound of it!”

A familiar username flashed in the chat—Yáng Wèi—spouting outrage.

Chen Zhuo glanced at the message, fingers scrolling through his friend list.

There it was—Yáng Wèi. Blocked. But he remembered him. First-ever trader he ever dealt with.

Back then, when he’d sold drainage plans, he’d felt ripped off. So he tried to screw the guy over. Never thought the guy would remember—and hold a grudge for years.

Now, in the chat, he typed:

“Yáng Wèi, buddy—this isn’t fair. When we traded, I *asked* you: ‘Is rare-tier food being a pig intestine okay?’ You said you *loved* the smell. So I *specifically* left half a pound of it in. Now you’re blocking me? What’s the deal?”

The crowd erupted.

“Hahaha! So you *wanted* to eat it yourself and blame the seller?”

“Classic scammer move—buy one, get half a pound of poop free!”

“Buy a pound, get a pound of *dirt*—you should be grateful!”

Chen Zhuo didn’t have fans. He didn’t know any of these people. Most were just here for the drama.

Meanwhile, Yáng Wèi watched the thread spiral out of control. His face turned purple. He’d been so sure this would go his way—finally getting revenge for that humiliating meal.

Back then, fresh in the wasteland, everyone was scrambling for survival. No running water. No soap. No way to clean a pig gut.

So he ate it raw—half the mess, all the flavor. It was the most degrading moment of his life.

And now, after years of carrying that shame, he finally had a chance to strike back—only to be laughed at by strangers.

In his shelter, Yáng Wèi clenched his teeth, eyes blazing. His fists balled so tight, blood welled from his knuckles. With a roar, he slammed his fist into the stone wall—ignoring the pain, ignoring the crimson streaks.

Humiliation. Rage. The crushing weight of the apocalypse—it all boiled into a single, dark thought: *Kill him.*

……

On the other side, Chen Zhuo knew he’d just made an enemy for life.

But honestly? He didn’t care.

When disaster strikes, order collapses. Everyone gets reset. If you stay soft, passive, a sheep waiting to be slaughtered—that’s not survival. That’s surrender.

He wouldn’t start fights. But if someone came at him? He wouldn’t blink.

【Soil for food—first come, first served. Selling stops after 50 lbs.】