Chapter Ten: Exchange

The next day, July 4th.

After waking up, Fan Bei went to check the system log and found that nothing had changed, except that his precious reserve of mental energy had once again decreased, now reading “563.6.”

The rapidly dropping number felt like a countdown to death, leaving Fan Bei with a sense of having gotten in over his head, anxiety gnawing at him.

He stepped out of the bedroom and glanced into the living room. The big white dog was still curled up in its own bed, sleeping soundly and carelessly, completely oblivious to its master’s tense mood.

Seeing this, Fan Bei couldn’t help but worry: if, after five days, this dog still didn’t wake up, then his illusory White Tome would run out of its mental energy reserves. At that point, he would have no choice but to cut off the supply of mental energy powering the Celestial Dog System. The dog, which had only just obtained its system, would regress to its original state.

He believed he could go through with it. After all, in theory, there was no reason a father couldn’t stop supporting his child if he could no longer bear the burden; as the system’s creator, it was only natural for him to cut off its lifeblood.

But if it came to that, his first attempt at system creation would be a complete failure. Nine thousand points of mental energy—fifteen years of painstaking accumulation—would be gone in an instant. This loss was far more devastating than any failed investment in his previous life.

Frowning, he returned to his study and paced back and forth, an uneasy premonition lingering in his mind.

When a plan has too little margin for error and too few contingencies, it is doomed to fail. This is all too common—on the battlefield, the winner is often not the more brilliant mind, but the one who makes fewer mistakes and can better withstand the consequences.

So it was now. The system he had created was far too unforgiving, the daily depletion of a hundred points of mental energy like a curse tightening around his neck. Perhaps, in the late stages, this would seem a trivial cost, but in these early days, it was a crushing shackle.

Fan Bei frowned, thinking, The only solution is to make use of the evil spirits.

If there were a way to kill evil spirits and obtain their “Cores” without relying on the White Tome’s purifying ability, then there was hope he could keep going.

But with Big White in deep slumber, seemingly for eternity, it had no idea that time was running out and bankruptcy was imminent—it was only a dog, after all, incapable of sensing such urgency.

He couldn’t count on the creature for now, so he needed to prepare another fallback.

Suddenly, inspiration struck him. Since the “Father of Systems” tome could “manifest thoughts into reality,” could it not directly grant him the precious knowledge he needed?

No sooner had he thought of it than he acted. With a mental command, he summoned the illusory White Tome, which shimmered before his eyes, glowing with a soft, ethereal light.

He focused his mind on the thought: “Give me a way to destroy evil spirits.”

But nothing happened.

He shook his head. His understanding of the book was still superficial. As he had suspected before, wish fulfillment required more than just sufficient mental energy—there must be other constraints.

Thinking it over, another idea came to him. He went to the study and switched on the radio to tune in to the two channels he’d noted down yesterday.

Opening the blue-covered diary on his desk, he found the frequencies and listened for a while.

To his disappointment, it was the same repeated broadcasts, calling out for survivors.

He had hoped the broadcasts would be like the “Spirit Control Classroom” from ten years ago, sharing knowledge and skills for defeating evil spirits.

If that were the case, he could fend for himself, obtaining some “Evil Spirit Cores” as a stopgap.

But nothing useful was being taught; neither of the two accessible channels offered any relevant content.

Fan Bei reasoned that, since they had the confidence to send out rescue teams, they must have ways to fight or even destroy evil spirits. It was understandable, though, that they would not share such hard-won knowledge openly.

That was fine. Fan Bei also had something to offer in exchange.

Looking around, he reflected on his shelter. He had lived here for fifteen years. Though closed off from the world, it had kept him alive in this perilous world—a debt he did not take lightly.

Wasting no more time in thought, he began his preparations.

He would use the “Item Storage” function to prepare in advance, collecting everything he needed.

First, he went to the kitchen and, using a large plastic bucket, poured about five liters of boiled water from several thermoses.

With a thought, the contents of the bucket vanished.

“Items stored: 32.”

“Extraordinary items: 0.”

It had previously shown “32” and “1,” but after using the Evil Spirit Core, those numbers had dropped to “31” and “0.” Now, with the water added, it was back to 32, though with no extraordinary items.

Fan Bei kept gathering supplies: fresh water, food, medicine, tools, weapons… and most importantly, the golden armor.

When the number of stored items reached 122, he found that he could no longer store a watermelon—but a needle, yes, he still could.

He quickly grasped the limitation.

It seemed the restriction was based on total weight, not space. The “Father of Systems” tome might have unlimited space in theory, but currently it could only hold about a ton’s worth of material—the capacity of an ordinary white-grade tome.

To put it another way, the book’s storage was still quite basic; its spatial barrier was like a plastic bag—spacious, but weak, and could never hold a chunk of gold without bursting.

He reorganized the stored items, striving for the most efficient arrangement possible.

He stockpiled enough food and water to last a month. He removed unnecessary tools—those he could make by hand—and made sure to keep only the most critical supplies.

After organizing, he reviewed the list: a dense array of item names, each one a safeguard for his future survival, and the most valuable resources in the shelter.

Having made these preparations, Fan Bei’s anxiety eased somewhat.

Still, he didn’t immediately attempt a trade. Instead, he decided to wait—perhaps that silly dog would surprise him tomorrow?

But reality is always reality.

Three more days passed, and July 7th arrived. His reserve of mental energy had dropped to “276.2.”

During those three days, the ridiculous Big White did nothing but sleep, making Fan Bei suspect it wasn’t meditating at all, but simply being lazy.

Just two days remained. After that, he would be forced to cut off the supply of mental energy to the Celestial Dog System—he could not allow the “Father of Systems” tome to be entirely drained.

That would bring too many unpredictable consequences.

With this in mind, Fan Bei gritted his teeth. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. If Jin Dashan could develop, what was today’s loss in comparison?

With this resolve, he went to his bedroom and hauled out the well-maintained radio transmitter.

Yes, he had decided to actively call the two frequencies provided by the broadcasts, offering his shelter in exchange for precious knowledge.

But before that, he still had two more preparations to make.