Chapter 1610 - 829: Oasis

At the break of dawn the next day, a man with a face full of wrinkles and sunspots, resembling an old herdsman, arrived on a tricycle. Speaking in a thick local dialect, he gestured until his intention was clear. He took a few carefully wrapped books from Correa's hand, glanced at them, muttered something softly, casually tossed them into the back of the vehicle, and turned to leave.

Clutching crumpled bills, he bought several packs of spices, two lambs, and a barrel of cheap alcohol at the market. Riding a tricycle, he disappeared into the wind and sand outside the city, ran for a day, and arrived at a desolate village.

"What is this?"

The villagers gathered around, opened the package, looked at the colorful patterns inside, and were greatly disappointed: "Not even a woman taking off her clothes, what did you buy this for?

Too hard even to wipe your ass with..."

The old man on the bicycle showed no expression as he snatched back the items: "What are you touching randomly? Don't get them dirty."

He raised his sleeve with some disdain and wiped the dirty handprints off it: "These are for the mountain."

Immediately, no one spoke.

The next day, an old farmer driving a mule huffed and puffed up the mountain, knocked on the broken door of the temple, and brought the grain and flour from the package inside.

A weathered monk lifted the pot, offering him a bowl of tea, chatting briefly about the recent conditions in the village, asking if there were any troubles, before the old farmer drove the now-empty mule down the mountain.

A few days later, at dawn, several bare-chested young monks carried heavy woven baskets down the mountain again, walked several miles, and loaded the woven baskets and packages onto a battered truck.

The items squeezed against cattle and sheep in the truck bed, shaking and rattling all the way, finally disappearing beneath clouds invisible even to satellites.

Only after passing through gorges and checkpoints did they arrive at a busy lakeside; amid the hustle and bustle of a construction site, dust flew everywhere.

Shouting in the local dialect, the driver jumped down and called others to unload the goods.

The woven baskets fell to the ground, the lid fell off, and golden bullets tumbled out, mixed with sheep dung, provoking a bout of cursing from the overseer.

The boxes filled with various gun parts were sorted and sent into a makeshift factory, where workers swiftly assembled them into complete weapons.

The books that fell into the mud puddle were also picked up, carefully wiped clean of stains.

A goatee-wearing middle-aged man in glasses flipped through them, couldn't help but smile broadly, and ran toward the repair shop with the books in his arms.

"Mr. Ji! Mr. Ji!"

He shouted, looking around: "The items you mentioned have been delivered."

From under the suspended car chassis, a young man with greasy hands stuck his head out, glanced at it, responded, and pointed to a marked crack:

"It's nothing serious. For this type of suspension, you can weld it back together by stacking steel plates. It's not a particularly complex issue.

In White Country's road conditions, even the best quality is consumable. Doing it yourself saves trouble; just keep an eye on it usually."

The accompanying mechanic nodded repeatedly, cautiously asked: "What about the engine?"

"The engine's no problem; just change the valve. Repairing a car isn't the same as building one. Take apart a few more cars and you'll see, the issues are mostly similar. Nothing new—be bold and repair it. If you can't fix it, it's just broken anyway; it was broken to begin with.

Later, I'll teach you a trick to weld chassis with steel pipes. It's simple, you just need hands!"

The man crawled out from under the car, wiped his hands, took the book the goateed man handed over, and flipped through, selecting a couple: "These books are good for beginners. For reading and writing, you translate; everyone combines theory with practice, and most of the problems in the camp can be solved."

"Mr. Ji, have some water."

"Mr. Ji, have some fruit."

"Mr. Ji, try this cigarette; it's strong..."

Enthusiastic locals endlessly crowded around, seizing the moment to ask questions, speaking one after another, completely unaware of the increasingly grim-faced leader at the door.

"A group of people, what are you doing with no regard for hierarchy?" Ni Lin scolded angrily, "Is this how you treat guests? I was only gone for a little while!"

In an instant, the workshop fell silent. In confusion, they seemed to finally realize who was buddying up with them now. It wasn't that they didn't know respect and admiration, but once they sat down and started talking, they just... naturally...

But Ji Jue was unfazed.

"Being idle is boring, so I just resumed my old trade."

Ji Jue grinned broadly, gesturing vividly at the car he had repaired in the afternoon: "Scrapping it too early; it can still run a few thousand kilometers, right?"

He banged on the rusty car shell, and immediately, a loud horn responded as if answering him.

"B-boss..."

Ni Lin's expression twitched, hesitated, unsure what to say, following Ji Jue closely. After a long pause, he could only sigh: "A person like you can achieve greatness no matter what you do; why waste time on things like this?"

"Isn't car repair also an accomplishment?"

Ji Jue nonchalantly shook his head: "I find it quite satisfying, at least it's stress-relieving. Picking and choosing in the junkyard, patching up old cars, no worry of messing up, no fear of making mistakes.