Taking Stock

Chapter Seven: Taking Stock

The system's exploration had come to an end, and Chen An now had a clear blueprint in his mind of the Small Courtyard's layout and potential value. But a blueprint needed tools and materials to bring it to life, and he had almost nothing. Standing in the middle of the courtyard, the initial excitement was replaced by an almost painfully awkward sense of being unable to cook without rice.

He had to know exactly what he possessed. It was time for a thorough, meticulous inventory. This was not merely for survival; it was more like a ritual—a ritual of reaffirming his existence and taking control of his meager fate in the depths of despair.

His eyes first fell on the main stone house, which he had already inspected twice. This time, his target was no longer its structure, but any valuable "remnants" he might have overlooked.

With almost an archaeologist's patience, he searched it again. His fingers brushed over every inch of the rough walls, hoping to find a hidden compartment. He tapped every section of the floor with the handle of his hatchet, listening for hollow sounds. He even broke apart the rotting wood fragments piece by piece to check whether anything was hidden inside.

The result was discouraging. Apart from dust, cobwebs, and several panicked woodlice scurrying away, he found nothing. The previous owner had indeed left behind "not even a single roof tile." In the end, beneath the thoroughly charred ashes of the firewood in the corner, his fingers touched something hard.

He carefully brushed away the ashes, and an object came into view. It was a piece of pottery, smaller than the broken jar he had found in the kitchen yesterday, roughly the size of a large bowl, though it was just as incomplete. Most of it had shattered, leaving only a curved base and a small section of rim, like a huge, crude fragment of a shell. Its texture was rough, its color dull gray, and its surface riddled with pores.

"A... broken crock's bottom?" Chen An picked up the shard and weighed it in his hand. It was heavy. What use could it have? Water would leak out, and anything placed inside would spill. He instinctively wanted to throw it away, but his hand stopped in midair.

In this Primordial Wilderness, any man-made object could be precious. He carefully examined the inside of the pottery shard and found that its curved inner wall was relatively smooth. It could not hold liquid, but perhaps it could serve as... a grinder? Or, if he found suitable materials in the future, he could try using it as part of a mold?

The idea of "making use of waste" began to take over. He carefully placed the broken pottery shard beside the broken jar in the kitchen. Perhaps he would find a use for it someday.

Next came the main event—his backpack, which had crossed over with him. It was his only material connection to the world of the past, as well as his most precious supply cache at that moment.

He solemnly carried the backpack into the main house and placed it on a relatively clean patch of empty ground. Then he took a deep breath and unzipped it as though he were opening a treasure chest.

The first things that caught his eye were several packets of vegetable seeds sealed in transparent plastic bags. He carefully took them out. There were four packets in total: one of Little White Cabbage, one of small radishes, one of lettuce, and one of mixed salad greens. The colorful printed designs on the packets looked completely out of place in this ancient courtyard of the Primordial World.

He gently rubbed the packets of seeds, as though he could feel the vitality contained within them. They represented hope for the future and a source of sustainable food. He had to make sure they successfully germinated and grew in the soil of the Primordial World. He placed the seed packets separately to one side and weighed them down with a flat stone so the wind would not blow them away.

Next came a plastic lighter. It was an ordinary convenience-store model, with more than half its fuel still left. Chen An picked it up, and complicated emotions surged through him. In modern society, it was the cheapest and most ordinary tool for making fire, but here, it was the key to controlling the great power known as "fire"! Without it, he could only attempt the most primitive method of drilling wood to make fire. The chances of success were pitifully low, and it would consume enormous amounts of time and energy.

He instinctively pressed the switch. With a sharp snap, a tiny orange-yellow flame sprang out and burned steadily. Its faint light and warmth seemed almost sacred at that moment. He quickly released the switch and carefully put it away. This was a strategic resource. He had to conserve it.

Then came half a bottle of mineral water. The plastic bottle was already somewhat crumpled. The water inside was worthless in the Primordial World, far inferior to the sweet, qi-rich well water. But the plastic bottle itself... Chen An stared at the transparent container as his mind raced. Could he use it as a measuring cup? Or, if he needed to distill something or collect dew in the future, might it come in handy? He unscrewed the cap, poured out the water, and carefully stored the empty bottle. Any modern industrial product could possess a unique, irreplaceable use here.

In the backpack's side compartment, there was also a nearly empty ballpoint pen and a palm-sized spiral notebook. Only a few pages of experimental data had been written in it. Paper and pen! Tools for recording! Chen An treasured them as if he had found a priceless gift. He could use them to record the weather and crop growth, and even draw rough maps of the surrounding terrain! Knowledge was power, and records were the vessel that carried knowledge. He put the pen and notebook away separately, deciding never to use them unless absolutely necessary.

Finally, there was the worn-covered, yellowed-page copy of the Tao Te Ching. He picked up the thin booklet, and his feelings grew even more complicated. He had bought it on a whim during his master's program to decorate his office, and had barely read it seriously. He had never expected it to become his only spiritual sustenance here.

He casually flipped it open to a familiar line: "The Way that can be spoken is not the constant Way; the name that can be named is not the constant name." Words he had once considered abstruse and mysterious seemed to take on a different meaning in these circumstances. In this Primordial World where the "Way" truly existed, could this classic... contain some kind of power beyond his understanding? Or could it at least offer a trace of spiritual comfort when he was lonely and desperate?

He carefully put the book away as well.

After taking stock of the backpack, he turned his attention to the "assets" already in the courtyard: the repaired hatchet, the hoe, and the heavy sandstone used to sharpen tools. There were also the sturdy vines growing naturally in the courtyard, which could be used to tie things together, as well as the wood that had not yet completely rotted and could serve as firewood.

All his possessions were laid out clearly.

Chen An sat on the ground and looked at the "entirety of his wealth" arranged before him by category. Instead of feeling dejected, he felt a strange sense of steadiness well up inside. Having fewer things meant having fewer choices, but it also meant having a clearer goal.

He began drawing up a priority list in his mind:

1. Highest priority (survival baseline): Water (the well had plenty; resolved). Food (rely on the remaining beast meat in the short term, and cultivation in the long term).

2. Urgent priority (improve living conditions): Repair the main house's roof (protection from rain and wind). Fully clear the garden and sow the seeds.

3. Important priority (improve efficiency and safety): Make more tools (such as water containers and sturdier handles). Try making traps (for possible explorations outside the Safe Zone in the future).

4. Long-term priority (development and exploration): Investigate the secrets of the well and the carvings on the courtyard wall. Try to understand the rules of this world.

Once his thoughts were clear, his course of action became clear as well. The most pressing matters were to solve the leaking roof over his shelter and secure a stable food supply.

He stood up and picked up the hatchet and hoe. The tools were crude, but they were all the capital he had to establish himself in this Primordial World. He walked toward the desolate garden. Today's goal was to clear at least half of the land.

Taking stock was not merely about knowing what he had. It was also about knowing what he had to do. Only when a person clearly understood both his lack and his possessions could he truly begin building his future, one step at a time.

Chen An raised the hoe and, for the first time, brought it down upon this Primordial World's soil with a clear goal and a faint hope.

(Chapter Seven Complete)