Chapter 37: A New Light in the Wasteland

In the shelter, Chen Zhuo sat by the campfire, blowing warm breath onto his palms and rubbing his hands together.

Unlike normal weather patterns, temperatures had remained stubbornly constant since the disaster struck—stuck at a bone-chilling -20°C all day long. If not for his thick cotton coat, even someone with Chen Zhuo’s tough constitution would’ve been pushed to the limit.

He glanced at the message Du Xin had just sent:

【Trader: Du Xin
Item Offered: Fertile Soil ×1 (ton)
Required: Food ×1.5 (jin)】

Chen Zhuo tapped “Confirm” without hesitation, then shot off a cheeky reply:

【Chen Zhuo: Any photos left? Gotta make my day, you know?】

【Du Xin: Go screw yourself. Dream on.】
Followed by a sweating bean emoji.

Truth be told, Du Xin had regretted sending that message within minutes of hitting send.

She’d originally told herself she wouldn’t send anything extra—after all, Chen Zhuo said he didn’t need anything else. But still, she snapped a photo anyway, already mentally preparing to recall it.

Only problem? The survival platform’s chat system worked exactly like Earth’s old V app—once sent, it was gone forever.

So she just let it ride.

Then came his reply:
“Thanks. I’m good now.”

She blinked. What did *that* even mean?

After panicking for five minutes, she turned to her best friend, Xia Qianqian, for help.

Xia Qianqian, ever the expert in internet slang, gave her a full crash course in modern digital double meanings.

Turns out—she’d been played again.

“Seriously… I was wearing *so* tight…”
She groaned into her pillow.

---

Meanwhile, Chen Zhuo was already digging.

The plan was 200 square meters of farmland—but for now, he’d only managed to clear 50. He’d wait until the structure was reinforced before expanding further.

By afternoon, a clean, open patch lay before him.

To separate living space from farming area, he’d dug a thoughtful walkway—five meters long, wide enough for two people to pass side-by-side. At either end, he slapped down simple wooden doors.

The walkway wasn’t just practical—it was smart. In case of emergencies—leaks, floods, structural shifts—it created a buffer zone. That way, if something went wrong in the garden, the living quarters wouldn’t get hit right away.

Once the area was cleared, he dug another half-meter deep—perfect depth for planting.

Then came the soil. He’d collected over sixty tons of it, slowly filling the pit. As he dumped each load, he stamped it down firmly. When only twenty-five tons remained, the hole was completely filled.

And there it was—rich, dark brown earth, stretching out under the dim light.

For the first time since the disaster, Chen Zhuo’s shelter officially entered the agricultural era.

But celebration would have to wait.

Night had fallen.

Water. Land. Both secured.

Now came the real challenge—the one that mattered most, and the hardest to solve: **light**.

Solve this, and life in the shelter would skyrocket in comfort and efficiency.

Chen Zhuo *had* a generator. He’d known about it for weeks. But he kept putting off installing lights—not because he didn’t want them, but because happiness points were scarce.

Back in the early days, every point had to be spent wisely. He’d prioritized essentials: insulation, water filtration, basic tools.

And the market? Nothing useful. No wiring, no bulbs, nothing requiring energy.

Most available blueprints were low-tech: ladders, doors, animal traps—simple stuff, no power needed.

His only option? Buy directly from the System Mall using happiness points.

Maybe the next update would change that. But Chen Zhuo wasn’t waiting anymore.

Ten days without light? Enough.

This was the moment he reclaimed civilization.

He opened the System Mall.

Rows upon rows of goods shimmered on screen—tools, materials, gadgets. His eyes lit up.

But today, there was only one thing on his mind: **a light bulb**.

He typed in keywords. Instantly, dozens of lamps appeared—LEDs, halogens, solar-powered fixtures.

He stared at the list.

They looked small. But the prices? Insane.

Even the cheapest incandescent lamp cost **30 happiness points**.

The ideal choice? An LED plant growth light.

But at **80 points**, it made his stomach twist.

Still—price meant performance. This light covered the full spectrum plants needed, delivered strong, consistent illumination, and used less power than any other option.

For twelve hours of daily light—just half a kilowatt-hour per day.

He hesitated.

If he saved 50 points and went for the incandescent, he’d waste more electricity, strain the shelter’s limited power, and slow down crop growth.

Right now, he had 21 liters of diesel—roughly 10 kWh per liter. That meant **210 kWh total**.

With energy so tight, prudence was key. Sustainable progress beat short-term savings.

【Happiness Points –80】
【Purchase Successful: LED Plant Growth Light Acquired】

The lamp arrived—bigger than he expected. Even bulkier than a typical solar panel.

He spent two happiness points to install it on the ceiling above the newly dug field. It looked awkward, almost out of place.

“Just need wires now.”

Copper and plastic? Plentiful. Unused until now. Perfect.

The system’s crafting interface was genius—no blueprints required. Just materials, plus happiness points to cover the rest.

He grabbed copper wire and plastic casing. Let the system fill in the gaps.

A neat, 50-meter-long cable appeared in seconds.

He hauled out the dusty generator—long untouched, coated in gray dust—and assembled it quickly.

Carefully connected the new wire to the engine, checking every joint for tightness.

On the other end, he climbed a ladder, ran the wire along the shelter’s walls, and finally attached it to the ceiling fixture.

Then poured in diesel. Turned the switch.

Pulled the starter rope.

The engine coughed. Groaned. Then roared to life—a deep, steady growl that vibrated through the floor.

Diesel fumes filled the air, but they were drowned out by the machine’s powerful hum.

The sound echoed through the shelter—industrial, alive, *real*.

Chen Zhuo felt the tremor beneath his feet. Power. Real power.

He checked oil pressure and coolant temperature. All green.

Hands on hips, he stood back and waited.

Moments later, the engine’s rhythm steadied.

And then—light.

The LED growth lamp flared to life, bathing the entire field in a brilliant, intense violet glow.

It wasn’t just light. It was *life*.

The beam illuminated every inch of the soil, casting sharp shadows, painting the walls in electric hues.

This single source now powered the shelter’s only artificial light.

The spectrum was perfect. The intensity balanced. The coverage even.

No seeds yet. No crops. Just dirt.

But seeing that light—knowing it was *his*, built with his own hands—filled Chen Zhuo with a quiet, fierce pride.

【Ding...】