Famine 100: The Thief

Andersen was about to say something when a gust of sand swept up from the distance, and once more the storm rolled in.

The weather in the lava region was harsh and unpredictable. Andersen shook his head, gestured politely for everyone to take cover, and led the group to sit in a sheltered spot.

Wang Jianguo didn’t bother with any rope—he just held Qiu Youqing by the wrist, and that was enough to immobilize the little thief. When he finally let go, Qiu Youqing darted like a rabbit behind Old Shen.

The remaining children circled and sat around the group. Since the famine game began, it was rare to see so many young teenagers. The scouting team members found the sight both strange and novel.

“Your name?” Andersen inquired.

“Surname Shen—no need for courtesy. Shen Dongming. I truly owe you an apology, sirs—thank you for your generosity.”
Old Shen offered a bitter smile as he handed over the bundle.

Qiu Youqing sat cross-legged behind him, neck craned, eyes rimmed red, his soul glued to the bundle as if wanting to say something more.

Old Shen shot him a fierce glare, his raspy voice scolding, “Stop that! If you’d met a typical player, do you think you’d still be alive?”

“If these gentlemen weren’t good people, I wouldn’t even have time to bury you. They’ve shown mercy and tolerance—you’re lucky to meet such people. Now apologize, quickly!”

Qiu Youqing flinched, swallowing his bravado with clear reluctance, and muttered, “Sorry.”

Rather obedient, after all. Andersen couldn’t help but smile.

He took the bundle, weighed it, and passed it to Wang Jianguo, who scratched his head as he accepted it. Everyone was looking at the pack, perplexed.

Old Shen tensed up at once. “I—I never opened it! What did he steal from you?” @For the best novels, visit Jinjiang Literature City

To his surprise, Wang Jianguo was just as confused. “I have no clue.”
“We’ve checked all our supplies—nothing’s missing. We’ve been wondering ourselves: what’s in here?”

Before the onlookers, Wang Jianguo untied the knots in the bundle. Everyone crowded in for a look.

Instantly, all voices fell silent.

—Inside the bundle Qiu Youqing had guarded with such determination, all the way back, was nothing but stack upon stack of neatly cut, piled-up green rinds.

Watermelon skins.

The farm’s supplies were generous, and the scouting team had chewed through their watermelons less than thoroughly. Especially Wang Jianguo, a careless eater who left plenty of white flesh on the peels.

Qiu Youqing, of course, dared not get too close. He trailed them at a distance, and at night, crept into camp to collect all the discarded rinds and carefully cut them to size, treating them like treasures as he stacked them up. The outer layers already shriveled from dryness, but inside, a faint glistening of moisture remained.

All this way, however exhausted and thirsty, he had not allowed himself a single piece. Instead, he joyfully anticipated stealing back enough so everyone could have a share.

Wang Jianguo, being lazy, never bothered to toss the peels outside; they simply accumulated in camp. With water so scarce, it never crossed Qiu Youqing’s mind that these were merely their unwanted trash.

For a moment, there was total silence; only the howling of the famine’s end-times storm filled the air.

“…Sorry…” Qiu Youqing dug at the dirt with both hands, lips pressed tight, eyes blazing red. “The last two missions gave us neither water nor nutrient paste. If it keeps on like this, we’ll run out of strength, and won’t be able to beat the next mission boss…”

His thirsty throat came out as a rasp: “I just… I just wanted to get some extra moisture for Mama Lin…”

The “Mama Lin” of whom he spoke was Shen Dongming’s wife, Lin Yanqing.

Shen Dongming taught Chinese at the affiliated middle school; Lin Yanqing taught English at the affiliated elementary. When the famine game descended, the school was holding an event, and a group of teachers and students were swept here together.

The school became a sea of blood; youth fled in terror, only a fraction surviving.

Shen Dongming and Lin Yanqing were calm and careful, quick-witted and adaptable, soon adjusting to the new world. In the early game, intellect sufficed to survive tasks and save many children.

The principal had long vanished, most teachers opting to fend for themselves, forming cliques and leaving that land of death.

Some familiar colleagues offered an olive branch—suggesting the Shens abandon the children, “Join with us and leave; there’s barely enough food for ourselves. How can we take care of kids too?”

“Teachers are people too; you have a right to survive. No one will blame you for saving yourselves!”

Shen Dongming and Lin Yanqing wrestled with the decision through the night, unable to choose.

At daybreak, as they walked out onto the ruined campus, they saw the surviving children—two classes’ worth—gathered at the horizon, waving at them.

“Mama Lin, you two go!” called the naughtiest boy, Qiu Youqing, his face streaked with blood. “We’re going on an expedition!”

“Yeah—an expedition!”
“……”
“Just wait—we’ll be big shots soon and come back to look after you!”

The children bustled about, a noisy crowd. The older middle schoolers, more mature, were quietly reserved. The class monitor—a steady girl with a ponytail—called, “Mr. Shen, Mr. Zhao from Class Three has been waiting for you forever.”

Qiu Youqing, bouncing on his toes nearby, said, “I’m no worse than anyone else—don’t underestimate us. I’m going to earn our keep too.”

“I’ll take care of you!”

That line held a flash of childish bravado and defiance that vanished as soon as it appeared.
All that remained was the audacious courage and pure goodwill unique to children.

Those young, wild backs blazed beneath the blood-red sunrise, soon to melt away.

Shen Dongming’s lips trembled. He could not say a word.
Glancing at his wife, he saw the same shimmer of tears in her eyes as in his.

—There are no perfect moral saints; most choices come down to a moment’s difference.

Fortunately, the older children were capable; those who survived the first wave were clever and energetic.

At first, Shen Dongming saved sixty middle schoolers and Lin Yanqing saved forty-five elementary students. Over the years, some died, some left, new children joined. Seven years later, some fifty remained.

Seven years on, the middle school children were adults, the younger ones midway grown. Shen Dongming and Lin Yanqing planned and guarded, pulling them all through childhood. That small group grew from weak burdens into a mature, competent team.

They had reached a point where they could survive the tasks and maintain themselves. Life should have been easier.

But the end-times only grew harsher, round after round.

By the time they arrived here, only red sands and lava storms remained.

Not a drop of water.

Andersen was right: the Main God would provide no guaranteed environment.

Water and energy drinks were randomized as quest rewards—sometimes present, sometimes absent, odds not high. Universal nutrient paste helped a little, but as for how much you could secure, the Main God cared nothing for that.

In the lava region, players could only endure deadly heat and thirst, pushing themselves to complete more and more missions—twice- or threefold what they’d done before.

Only the strongest survived!

…Unfortunately, this time, they were not strong enough.

The group had been without water for two days.

Lin Yanqing, leading the children to clear a nearby threat, flagged badly from thirst, failed the mission, and was badly injured by a specter.

The children, desperate, struggled her back to camp—now she lay barely alive, whimpering for water in her sleep.

Cracked lips, blood licked dry, not a drop of saliva left.

Shen Dongming gathered the last of their water—half to moisten his wife’s lips, keeping her alive; half given to the fastest child in camp, Qiu Youqing, with a faint hope that he would find new sources outside.

A returning paper crane bore two messages: the hidden location of the precious bundle, and a wish that Old Shen and Mama Lin be well. In a shaky hand, Qiu Youqing wrote: “I finally managed to protect you after all, see? Awesome or not? Don’t miss me.”

Shen Dongming, paper bird trembling in hand, glanced behind to where Lin Yanqing, on the camp bed, slowly sat up.

“Old Shen…” Lin Yanqing’s voice rasped, raw and bloody. “Give that… ho—”

The middle-aged teacher could not finish, coughing, bowing her head to write elegantly just one line—

[Bring that child home.]

His life was still long; he should not end it as a thief, with a sorrowful, twisted, tragic finale.

…………
……

With the story finished, Shen Dongming pressed Qiu Youqing’s head in a deep, silent bow to Andersen and the others.

Andersen said nothing. Wang Jianguo remarked, “Say… why didn’t this kid just tell us sooner? A few slices of watermelon wouldn’t have mattered.”

Qiu Youqing pouted. The group exchanged bitter smiles—they all knew why.

They, more than anyone, understood: in this famine-wracked apocalypse, weakness usually brought not help but more robbery and deceit.

Andersen was about to reply when the Holy Grail at his waist, linked to the farm, gave a faint tremble.

Andersen: “The master is calling us.”

Shen Dongming stared in astonishment as this team of top-tier players, upon hearing this, at once sat straight-backed, faces growing solemn.

They immediately seated themselves, politely asking outsiders to give them space, then gathering to place a certain object in the center with utmost respect.

A wisp of pale mist rose from the object, wrapping them all round.

That such powerhouses were content to serve another—

What kind of figure could command such a group? What kinds of orders would he give?

Damn, maybe I’ve said too much. Hopefully they won’t cause any trouble… @For the best novels, visit Jinjiang Literature City
Shen Dongming tensed, herding the children to a distance, watching with nervous caution.

Before long, the mist dissipated and everything changed.

The entire team emerged looking uplifted, cheerful, and smiling.

Shen Dongming raised his head to see Andersen smiling as he extended a hand. “Congratulations.”

“…?”

Shen Dongming, bewildered, accepted the handshake.

“Our master heard your story and was genuinely moved. By coincidence, and also thinking of expanding business, the master has been planning to invest in a few small shops.”

“It’s already decided.”

“Unless you object, the first will be right here beside your settlement—a fruit ice and milk tea shop.”