Chapter Twenty-Two: Madness

“Remarkable! The companion you’ve made is quite impressive—not a friendship wasted. You two should get along well, and bring it with you in future battles,” Fan Bei exclaimed, delight written across his face.

Da Bai immediately barked proudly, as if to say, “My judgment in choosing friends is always flawless.”

“Alright, your master will go make dinner for you now. Rest for the night,” Fan Bei replied, heading to the main bathroom to bathe and cleanse himself thoroughly. He tossed his dirty clothes into the washing machine, adding disinfectant for an automatic wash.

Warm water cascaded from the showerhead, refreshing his body, and the rumble of the washing machine reassured him that he was still resiliently surviving alone.

Fan Bei rinsed himself in the warmth and began reflecting on this battle. Thankfully, he hadn’t worn the golden armor—otherwise, he wouldn’t have evaded that group attack, ending up like Da Bai.

He’d considered donning the golden armor while preparing, but dismissed the idea at the last moment. In modern warfare, why did armor become obsolete so quickly? No matter how thick, it couldn’t withstand the power of modern firearms. In such circumstances, agility was preferable—at least one could dodge more swiftly.

Yet, in contemporary times, bulletproof vests have emerged, their advanced materials resisting many small-caliber attacks, and even exoskeleton armor has been conceptualized.

The old version of golden armor he possessed was useless against the evil spirits haunting the food zone—fit only for weaker entities. He needed to study the books he’d purchased, to quickly absorb the latest knowledge on warding off evil. Previously, time was tight; he’d only learned “Wolf Might Exorcist Fist,” and merely glanced at the other books, never reading them carefully.

He should check if new golden armor had appeared, and add Da Bai’s armor issue to his plans. Perhaps if Da Bai had a sturdy set of dog armor, he wouldn’t have been injured this time.

After bathing, Fan Bei immediately went to cook dinner. Passing through the living room, he glanced at Da Bai, who was sprawling in front of his kennel, rolling about and whining.

“No, not now. After dinner. No, master said tomorrow,” Da Bai muttered.

It was obvious—the wooden-carved white dog was urging Da Bai to continue fighting and leveling up after treating him, but Da Bai, out of habit, procrastinated.

After all, he was just a dog, and with his master around, he could afford to be lazy. Fan Bei, on the other hand, had nothing to rely on—not even a gold mound, let alone a mountain.

Fan Bei busied himself in the kitchen. He’d made potato stew before; this time he’d switch it up—meat stewed with potatoes.

Meanwhile, in the living room, the wooden-carved puppy continued to “wash” Da Bai’s canine brain.

“Don’t be lazy. Did you see? I healed you instantly, yet your master merely exclaimed in surprise and did nothing more. Do you know why?”

“Because master trusts me.”

“Nonsense! He has bigger schemes. He’s plotting to seize your system, that’s why he doesn’t care about my abilities. Or maybe he wants to deal with us separately—take down you, the fool, first, then tackle me, the clever one.”

“Uh, Little Bai, I just remembered—master once said there’s an illness called persecution paranoia. The more I think, the more you fit the description. You need treatment.”

“...”

“Why aren’t you speaking?”

“Don’t talk to me. I want to be alone.”

“Yeah, you’re always the one seeking conversation, aren’t you? I’m just waiting for California beef.”

…

Northeast of Shelter 364, 143 kilometers away in a straight line, stood the Copper Fortress.

It was a fully enclosed copper structure, boasting soaring domes and thick poured copper foundations. Its area equaled a newly built district in a provincial capital during peacetime—its construction must have been tremendously difficult and costly.

Within this fortress, a brightly lit room lay. The floor was covered with carpets embroidered with enigmatic patterns, and paintings adorned the walls.

Most of the paintings depicted strange, indescribable things.

A small, thin man stood before a sandalwood desk, speaking to Lang Sheng, who sat reading behind him.

“Boss, do you really want to drop the rents in the fortress to just a tenth of the original price? Please reconsider—this way, our brothers’ food and drink will become a problem,” the thin man pleaded.

“Er Zi, you still have food and drink, but many in the fortress survive only on husks. As the leader of the Copper Fortress Chamber of Commerce, I feel guilty,” Lang Sheng shook his head, sighing as Er Zi looked at him in disbelief.

He waved his hand, “Go now. You’ll understand eventually.”

Er Zi scratched his head, sighed, and left.

After their visit to Shelter 364, everyone had been thrilled: worthless books exchanged for a hundred kilograms of gold—those people were real Indians.

Yet, what followed baffled him: first, the boss declared he’d play the good wolf-grandmother, insisting on fair trade, returning most of the gold and giving out the latest cultivation techniques; then, the deputy leader gathered loyalists, set a trap, and killed several brothers in a coup attempt.

The boss remained himself, crushing the rebellion with even harsher methods than before.

But on his return, he altered the chamber’s rules, declaring “benefit the people, rejoice with the people.”

Could it be the deputy rebelled in anticipation of this very day, acting early?

…

Watching Er Zi depart, Lang Sheng put down his book, resting his chin in thought.

His sudden transformation was too abrupt—if anyone suspected he’d acquired a golden finger, wouldn’t everyone come for it?

Yet, he couldn’t change slowly either. Following the old ways, he’d never activate the “Good Person System.” Gradual change would be too slow—he might miss the hidden activation window, just as those seventy thousand before him had missed their chance.

Having a system but failing to activate it was endlessly frustrating.

He slammed the book onto the desk and stood, gazing out the window.

This room hung from the fortress’s highest point, suspended from the dome at seventy meters.

Inside the fortress stood twenty apartment blocks, each with twenty-three floors, four units per floor, each unit housing ten people. Including other single-story buildings, the fortress could accommodate over twenty thousand people. More than ten thousand survivors now lived here—crowded, but safe.

This was his Copper Fortress Chamber of Commerce…

After leaving the leader’s office, Er Zi wandered through corridors, finally arriving at a basement of an apartment block.

Inside, the lighting was dim, the floor filthy, strewn with cigarette butts and haze, no windows, the air foul.

A number of people sat inside, some recently rescued by Lang Sheng.

When the thin man entered, the group gathered around him, anxious eyes fixed on him.

“Er Zi, what did the boss say? Is he still insisting on giving those paupers benefits?”

“The boss said he can’t bear to see the poor eating husks every day, so he’s determined to cut rents to a tenth of the original,” Er Zi sighed.

“What?” The crowd erupted in discontent.

“If they don’t eat husks, does he expect us—the ones risking our lives outside—to eat husks instead?”

“Exactly! The deputy leader had set the rules: daily rent ensures most of the poor’s wages return to us. Adding their meal costs, they work for us nearly for free, unable to complain. What a brilliant scheme!”

“Right! If rents fall to a tenth, those paupers will save money, and with savings, they can leave with outside caravans. How can we allow that?”

“Indeed, their income rises, ours falls—how can we support our women then? Should I dismiss my seven or eight concubines?”

“You’re exaggerating. Last time you complained of back pain and asked me for kidney-strengthening pills,” someone jeered.

But most grumbled, resentment thick in the air, eyes darting as if plotting.

After the commotion, someone mentioned the rebellion.

“No wonder the deputy wanted to rebel. I was too timid to join, but th