Chapter 60: Nowhere More Perfect Than This
“Heh heh...”
Standing in the rain, Chen Fan couldn’t help but grin from ear to ear. Whatever lingering regret he’d felt over losing his old camp had vanished completely. In fact, he suddenly realized he’d been looking at the Ghostbeasts all wrong.
Ghostbeasts were actually... surprisingly generous.
Their skulls concealed Ghoststones, their blood could nourish crops, their corpses served as both fertilizer and sacrificial offerings, and their skin and bones could be harvested for Ghost Materials. Sometimes, if fortune smiled, you might even find a Unique Treasure hidden within.
Weren’t they just walking treasure troves?
Calling them Ghostbeasts almost seemed unfair—they were more like wandering, living natural wonders.
Apart from their rampages during the Rainy Season, Ghostbeasts rarely attacked the Ghostfire otherwise.
His only real regret was this: the lives of the Mourning Ghosts were bound to their Leaders. When a Mourning Ghost Leader died, countless Mourning Ghosts still roaming outside the camp—those that hadn’t yet split—would perish instantly, never getting the chance to multiply.
A real shame, honestly.
“Young Master, you...”
Crippled Monkey stared at Chen Fan, bewildered. The Young Master’s camp was thriving more than ever, but his mental state seemed to grow stranger by the day. After all their painstaking work, the camp had been destroyed by Ghostbeasts, forcing them to relocate—so why was the Young Master grinning like a fool?
“I’m fine.”
Chen Fan chuckled, glancing at Crippled Monkey. “Go tell everyone to pack up and get ready to move. Load the remaining thirteen Mourning Ghost Leader corpses and twenty regular Ghostbeast corpses onto the carts. We’re taking them with us.”
...
An hour later.
Four newly assembled Trikes stood in neat formation outside the camp, each hitched to several flatbed carts.
The carts were heaped with everything worth salvaging—food, clothing, chests of spoils, rescued crops from the Farmland, and more.
If it could be carried, it was coming along.
Their convoy resembled a ramshackle train, stretching out across the Wasteland, ready to depart at a moment’s notice.
Their old Trike—the one that bore the Arrow Bastion—had been destroyed by Mourning Ghosts the previous night.
“Goodbye.”
Chen Fan stood on the Wasteland, gazing at the camp with a touch of nostalgia. “Waystation No. 37 of the Chen Clan.”
This was where his new life had begun.
To be precise, this was the first thing he’d seen after transmigrating. Places like Jiangbei City existed only in his memories; this was the only place he’d truly lived. Now, as he prepared to leave, he felt a pang of reluctance.
Before departing, he’d repaired every breach in the camp’s Wall, making sure the stonework was seamless. Two Level 4 Arrow Bastions and four Level 2 Arrow Towers stood watch atop the ramparts.
He left a hundred Ghoststones burning in the Ghostfire—enough to keep the Arrow Towers active and the flames bright.
A Level 4 Ghostfire was valuable, of course, but its loss was acceptable. The true regret was that this particular Ghostfire had undergone a Qualitative Shift along one of its Upgrade Paths...
“3: Qualitative Shift achieved. Each construction within the camp now costs 1 less Ghoststone per build. Effect usable up to 10,000 times per day, and only during the Rainy Season (Rare).”
That was something he couldn’t take with him.
But it was far too valuable to abandon. As long as the Ghostfire here continued to burn, he could still benefit from that effect—but only within the camp’s range. So, after establishing himself at the Rear Base, he’d have to hurry back and connect this place to the Rear Base with Copper Pipe. That way, he could tap into the effect remotely.
This would become his first Unmanned Waystation.
Good thing they were moving early.
The more assets he accumulated, the harder it would be to uproot. Staying here, surrounded on all sides, had never felt truly safe.
“Whew...”
Chen Fan let out a long breath, letting the cool rain soak his shoulders. He climbed atop a Trike, gripped the controls, Ghostskin Map in hand, and gazed into the thick mist ahead. A surge of exhilaration welled up within him—he raised a hand and laughed.
“Let’s go! On to our new home!”
“Got it!”
Crippled Monkey, standing behind Chen Fan, saw the Young Master’s high spirits and broke into a grin of his own. He quickly jabbed the Groundspike starter, and the battered Trike coughed to life, rumbling slowly into the depths of the fog.
The convoy was heavily loaded, so their pace was slow.
Four Trikes crawled forward side by side, a makeshift dragon winding across the Wasteland.
The steady rain turned the abandoned camp behind them into a blurred ink wash painting.
In the mist, the familiar silhouette of an Arrow Tower lingered—a silent old friend, bowing its head in farewell.
Their shadows gradually faded into the fog and rain.
Faintly, Zhou Mo’s voice drifted through the downpour, tinged with excitement and hope for the future.
“Station Master!”
“Since we’re moving to a new place, shouldn’t we give it a name? Calling it Waystation No. 37 makes it sound like it still belongs to the Chen Clan, not you.”
“You’ve got a point. What do you suggest?”
“How about Chen Clan Waystation No. 1?”
“That’s still the Chen Clan, isn’t it?” Wang Kui’s exasperated voice rang out.
“Come on, Station Master’s surname is Chen. Even if it’s the Chen Clan, so what? Can’t the Station Master start his own branch? The Wasteland Chen Clan’s gotta be tougher than the Jiangbei Chen Clan!”
“True. Is it too late for me to change my name? I think Chen Kui sounds better than Wang Kui.”
“Then I’ll be Chen Ma Zi.”
“I’ll be Chen Mo.”
Their voices faded into the rain, leaving only the steady patter of water on the Wasteland.
The once bustling camp, along with their lingering nostalgia and hopes for the future, slowly melted into the endless damp and silence.
In the end, only the rain remained.
...
After a day’s journey—
With just about a stick of incense’s time before Eternal Night fell, the convoy finally arrived at the village where Big Fish had once lived—a Natural Ghostfire Zone so remote it didn’t even appear on the Ghostskin Map. They had reached the northernmost edge of the Wasteland, right beside the Sea.
...
Chen Fan, holding the Green Lantern, leapt down from the Trike. Half an hour wasn’t nearly enough to build a full camp, so they’d have to settle for Basic buildings tonight. Their main defense would be the Green Lantern he carried.
When he first arrived in this world, he’d had no transport—so he’d cobbled together a Trike by hand.
It was a miserable ride, bone-jarring and rough, but soon he’d have proper military vehicles. No more hand-cranked Trikes for him.
Standing in the rain, he looked at the village ahead, now slowly being swallowed by night. He instinctively took a deep breath, awe flickering in his eyes.
This was a true marvel of the world.
He’d seen mountain villages before—once, on a trip through Yunnan and Sichuan, the endless ridges had left him breathless.
But this was different.
Here, there was only a single mountain, not four. At the very summit, the Creator had cleaved a deep well with a giant axe, and at the bottom of that well sat the village.
The mountain’s sides weren’t slopes, but sheer, vertical cliffs—almost perfectly straight.
The rock faces were so smooth they looked polished, gleaming a cold, iron gray in the rain.
Directly ahead was a narrow gorge, running straight from the outside world to the village.
Narrow, at least compared to the colossal mountain—it still spanned thirty to fifty meters across.
Through the gorge, he could glimpse the ruined houses and towering cliffs of the valley village below. The village itself was much wider than the mouth of the gorge.
If he had to describe it precisely—
It was like a three-dimensional “凹” character—a sunken basin.
He could still faintly hear, beneath the rain, the distant roar of waves pounding the stony shore.
The gorge faced the Sea head-on.
The mountain’s back pressed against the Wasteland.
They’d circled the mountain’s base before finding the gorge that opened toward the Sea.
...
A smile spread across Chen Fan’s face.
This would be the perfect base.
There was nowhere more perfect than this.
“Keep moving!”
The convoy rumbled on, heading through the gorge toward the village. The canyon stretched a full kilometer, arrow-straight, without a single bend.
If the sun had been shining, he thought, you’d see a perfect ribbon of sky overhead.