Taking Stock

Chapter 7: Taking Stock

The system's exploration had come to an end, and Chen An now held a clear blueprint of the courtyard's layout and potential value in his mind. But blueprints required tools and materials to realize, and right now he had almost nothing. Standing in the center of the yard, a sense of near-helplessness—like a skilled cook without ingredients—replaced his initial excitement.

He had to know exactly what he possessed. It was time for a thorough, meticulous inventory. This wasn't just about survival; it felt like a ritual, a way to reaffirm his own existence in this desperate situation and seize control of his meager fate.

He first turned his gaze to the main stone house, which he had already inspected twice. This time, his target wasn't the structure itself, but any overlooked, valuable "remnants."

With the patience of an archaeologist, he combed through it again. His fingers brushed every inch of the rough walls, hoping to find a hidden compartment; the handle of the chopping knife tapped each stone on the floor, listening for hollow echoes; he even pried apart the rotted wood debris, checking inside for anything concealed.

The results were disheartening. Nothing but dust, cobwebs, and a few panicked woodlice scurrying away. The previous owner had indeed left behind "not a single tile." Finally, beneath a pile of completely charred wood ash in the corner, his hand touched something hard.

He carefully brushed aside the ash, revealing an object—a pottery piece, smaller than the broken jar he'd found in the kitchen yesterday, about the size of a large bowl, but equally incomplete. Most of it had shattered, leaving only a curved base and a small section of rim, like a huge, rough shell fragment. The texture was coarse, the color dull gray, and the surface pitted with holes.

"The bottom of a broken clay pot?" Chen An picked up the shard, weighing it in his hand. It was heavy. What use was it? It would leak if filled with water, spill if used to hold things. He instinctively wanted to toss it, but his hand stopped mid-air.

In this Primordial World, any man-made object could be precious. He examined the inside of the shard closely, finding its curved inner wall relatively smooth. Though it couldn't hold liquid, perhaps it could serve as... a grinding tool? Or, if he found suitable materials later, he might try using it as part of a mold?

A mindset of "making use of waste" began to take hold. He carefully placed the broken pottery shard next to the broken jar in the kitchen. Maybe it would find a purpose in the future.

Next came the main event—his backpack, the one that had crossed over with him. This was his only material link to his past world, and his most valuable supply depot at this moment.

He solemnly carried the backpack to a relatively clean spot in the main house, took a deep breath, and unzipped it as if opening a treasure chest.

The first thing that caught his eye were the several packets of vegetable seeds sealed in transparent plastic bags. He carefully took them out—four packets in total: one of bok choy, one of small radishes, one of lettuce, and one of mixed salad greens. The bright, printed illustrations on the packaging clashed starkly with the ancient courtyard's atmosphere.

He gently rubbed the seeds, as if he could feel the life force within them. These were hope for the future, a source of sustainable food. He had to ensure they could sprout and grow in this Primordial World's soil. He set the seed packets aside, weighing them down with a flat stone to keep them from blowing away.

Next was a plastic lighter. An ordinary convenience store item, still about half full of fluid. Chen An picked it up, a complex emotion welling inside him. In modern society, this was the cheapest, most common fire-starting tool, but here, it was the key to mastering the great power of fire! Without it, he'd have to resort to the most primitive friction methods, with a pitifully low success rate and a massive drain on time and energy.

He instinctively pressed the trigger. A click sounded, and a small, orange-yellow flame leaped out, burning steadily. This faint light and heat felt sacred in this moment. He quickly released the trigger and carefully put it away. This was a strategic resource; he had to use it sparingly.

Then came the half-empty bottle of mineral water. The plastic bottle was already a bit crumpled. The water inside was worthless in this Primordial World, far inferior to the sweet, spirit-rich well water. But the plastic bottle itself... Chen An stared at the transparent container, his mind racing. Could he use it as a measuring cup? Or, if he needed to distill 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 have irreplaceable, unique uses here.

In the backpack's inner pocket, there was a nearly empty gel pen and a palm-sized coil notebook, with only a few pages of experimental data written in it. Paper and pen! Recording tools! Chen An felt like he'd found a treasure. He could use them to record the weather, crop growth, even sketch the surrounding terrain! Knowledge was power, and records were the vessel of knowledge. He set the pen and notebook aside separately, deciding not to use them lightly unless absolutely necessary.

Finally, there was the worn, yellowed copy of the Tao Te Ching. He picked up the thin booklet, his emotions even more tangled. He had bought it on a whim during his master's studies to decorate his shelf, barely reading it seriously. He never imagined it would become his only spiritual sustenance here.

He randomly flipped to a page, landing on the familiar line: "The Tao that can be told is not the eternal Tao; the name that can be named is not the eternal name." Words that had once seemed profoundly abstract now carried a different weight in this context. In this Primordial World, where "Tao" truly existed, could this classic... hold some power he couldn't comprehend? Or at least, in his loneliness and despair, offer a shred of comfort for his soul?

He put the book away solemnly as well.

After finishing the inventory of his backpack, he turned his gaze to the existing "assets" in the yard: the repaired chopping knife, the hoe, and the thick sandstone slab used for sharpening tools. There were also the tough vines growing naturally in the yard, useful for tying things, and the not-yet-fully-rotted wood that could serve as firewood.

All his possessions, laid out before him.

Chen An sat on the ground, looking at the "entire fortune" sorted into categories before him. Instead of discouragement, a strange sense of groundedness rose within him. Few possessions meant fewer choices, but it also meant clear goals.

He began to formulate a priority list in his mind:

1. Highest Priority (Survival Baseline): Water (well water was abundant, solved). Food (short-term relied on leftover beast meat, long-term on planting).

2. Urgent Priority (Improving Living Conditions): Repair the main house roof (against rain and wind). Thoroughly clear and till the garden, sow seeds.

3. Important Priority (Boosting Efficiency and Safety): Craft more tools (like water containers, more durable handles). Attempt to make traps (for potential future exploration outside the Safe Zone).

4. Long-Term Priority (Development and Exploration): Study the secrets of the well and the courtyard wall carvings. Try to understand the rules of this world.

With a clear mind, the direction for action became obvious. The most pressing tasks were fixing the leaky roof and securing a stable food source.

He stood up, grabbing the chopping knife and hoe. The tools were crude, but they were all he had to establish himself in this Primordial World. He walked toward the overgrown garden. Today's goal was to till at least half of the land.

Taking stock wasn't just about knowing what you had; it was about knowing what you needed to do. When a person clearly understood both his lack and his possessions, he could truly begin, step by step, to build his own future.

Chen An swung the hoe. For the first time, with a clear goal and a faint glimmer of hope, he struck the soil of this Primordial World.

(End of Chapter 7)