Famine 213: The Grain Pit

That afternoon, the empty ruins of the amusement park rang once again with the sound of lively voices.

Within Candy Town, groups of diverse players gathered in fives and tens, treading nervously as they entered, following their maps to the storefronts they had rented.

Despite the park’s notoriety, people couldn’t afford to risk their lives and give up making a living.

Those who had answered Si Zhiyan’s call were not few in number. In just a few short hours, he had filled up more than twenty merchant slots and closed applications.

Si Zhiyan took a 5% daily cut from each shop’s takings as rent, with daily performance assessments. Qualified merchants would stay, while the unqualified would be dismissed.

With such an opportunity, everyone was giving their all, working with fiery enthusiasm.

Some players grabbed paint, giving their storefront statues and signs a fresh coat; a spellcaster was busy improving light effects, hunting down Christmas trees and covering them in lovely, glowing magical runes; most others were prepping ingredients and lighting, all busy making ready for the night’s business…

Everywhere, players discussed and made plans, their laughter and chatter bringing an unmistakable sense of humanity to the place.

A corner of the oppressive black-and-white cursed ruins had been torn open, and beneath, color began to return to the scene—slowly, but surely.

Standing on a fake rockery, Bian Xu looked out over the park, smiling. “It’s going even smoother than I’d hoped.” @Jinjiang Literature City

Si Zhiyan shook his head. “Not necessarily.”

……

…… @Jinjiang Literature City

Rong Bei stood atop a wooden crate, struggling to hoist a sign even bigger than himself, trying to hang it over his shopfront.

He broke a sweat from the work, and feeling hot, shrugged off his heavy woolen farm coat—his reward for meritorious service for the Farm—letting it hang over a chair.

Even now, his “lack of physical strength” continued to haunt him, worse than ever.

Small lightbulbs were strung across his sign, inscribed with five large characters: Pirate Banana Split.
It was a rush order, oversized and unwieldy; he’d tried to hang it many times but had yet to get it up securely.

Narrowing his eyes against the light, Rong Bei rose on tiptoe, focusing on the joint where he could make the sign fit…

Thunk!

Suddenly, a tremendous force slammed into his back, sending the sign tumbling from his hands.

With so heavy a sign, and his legs as unreliable as ever, Rong Bei staggered and fell, pitching forward off the crate.

He was heading straight for the fallen sign.

It landed against the wall, forming a ramp; so really, it wouldn’t hurt him.

But it was a custom rush order—if it broke now, there’d be no way to replace it before opening.

Quick as lightning, Rong Bei braced on the ground, shifting his body to the side. With a solid thud, he crashed against the wall.

The impact made a cacophony as things stacked against the wall came tumbling down.

“Ouch! Did I hit you? Oops, so sorry, so sorry~”
A mocking voice sounded behind him.

Blood streamed from Rong Bei’s brow, blurring his vision. Raising his eyes, he saw a brawny mercenary clutching a large crate, mouth twisted in a dismissive grin.

“Sorry about that. Didn’t expect to be seeing a grain pit here.”

“Didn’t mean to send you flying. Wanna try flying back?”

His companions gathered around, half a dozen in all, jeering.

“……”

Rong Bei gave him a single look—just one was enough to burn the face into his memory. Then he wiped the blood away, dragged himself upright on his injured leg, and ignored them as he righted his sign.

The group exchanged glances, all sharing a knowing smirk.

They set their things down and crowded into his shop, hemming him in.

One of the mercenaries made his intentions clear, going straight for Rong Bei’s crate.

Clack! The crate cracked open.

“Holy crap!” their leader exclaimed, eyes going wide.

Inside, layer upon layer, the crate was packed to the brim with fresh fruit!

The smooth, colorful peels glimmered under the light, nearly blinding the crowd.

Beneath those were jars of preserves, with golden slices visible within.

The mercenaries stared at each other in shock.

“How’d you wind up with so much stock in a grain pit? How did you even manage to get it?” someone gasped.
After all, they’d pleaded endlessly, but the logistics clerk would only grudgingly give them a bare fraction of what they’d ordered—never enough.

“Grain pit” was a term players outside the Farm used to refer to disabled players.

In the survival game, once you were maimed, you couldn’t earn any more points. But you still had to eat. If a team couldn’t afford three meals a day, at least one meal a day was needed—over time, you became a burden.

So, most called such players “grain pits,” with thinly veiled contempt.

All take and no give—a waste of precious provisions.

Every single grain of rice was precious; wasting food was simply intolerable.

…and there was barely any cost.

…and habits hadn’t changed.

Only today, facing this “grain pit,” did Rong Bei feel out of place.

…After living in the Farm so long, he was almost forgetting what the outside world was like.

Looking down, he smiled bitterly. In just some years… he was no longer used to the outside world’s ways.

But the mercenaries misread his look, and as they feasted their eyes on the fruit and preserves, their breathing grew rapid.

Each exchanged a glance, glimpsing excitement in each other’s eyes.

The muscular mercenary said, “Who knows how he got it? Maybe he traded for it… Anyway, it’s a waste to leave such stuff here…”

“What’s the big idea, fruit? Who’s stupid enough to buy this stuff? Whatever, it’ll do in a pinch.”

“……”

Not just these mercenaries—even other nearby shopkeepers eyed Rong Bei warily, gazes drawn with unease to his crates.

Bulk supplies were scarce on the farm—not everyone could requisition emergency inventory.

Many here had only gotten retail stock by paying extra from regular sellers; some hadn’t even managed that, and their ingredients were meager, clearly troubled by it.

Next door, a young woman with a ponytail frowned. “Are you new here? This is Farm turf—don’t go too far.”

Rong Bei looked up, vaguely recalling her—her name was Yi Zheng, from the Bone Ferry.

“Thank you,” Rong Bei said. “But protect yourself, too.”

Without a word, his hand closed on the short blade at his hip.

Crack! The beefy mercenary knocked it away with his chain flail, sneering, “What, you think you can use that?”

“……”

Off-balance, Rong Bei staggered back, bracing himself among the precious ingredients, eyes cold and steady.

If he’d been at his peak, dispatching these men would have taken less than ten seconds.

But now, even standing was a challenge.

Still, he did not yield an inch.

Just as the mercenary’s chain flail was about to lash down, a loud, clear shout rang out behind them:

“What do you think this place is?!”

Before the mercenary could turn, a vine thick as a grown man’s forearm whipped out, wrapping up the entire gang and flinging them forcefully out the door!

Thud!

The mercenaries landed in a heap, embedded in the street.

One tried to rise, but the muscular mercenary, sweat beading, slammed him back down and hissed, “Don’t provoke that guy—let’s go!”

“We need to get our stock anyway. Tonight’s our big payday—no point trading blows here!”

They glared fiercely at Rong Bei, said not a word more, and scrambled up, running off as fast as they could.

Rong Bei watched them go. Judging by the direction, they were probably other nearby merchants.

In the distance, a young man in a windbreaker strode over to Rong Bei. “Friend, you alright?”

Rong Bei nodded.

The young man had black hair and red eyes, an otherwise ordinary face, but his gaze was bright; wide shoulders and a trim waist filled out the windbreaker, lending him an athletic air. There was irritation in his voice—and also, habitually, a casual lightness.

He glanced at Rong Bei’s right hand, braced on the crate—paused, slapped his forehead, then burst out laughing. “Ah—sorry, seems I overreacted?”

Rong Bei smiled faintly and raised his hand; his palm concealed a couple of lethal poison darts.

“No need. Thank you. At most, I’d have taken two of them down.” There were six of them.

The young man asked, “And the last one?”

“I have teeth,” said Rong Bei.

The youth laughed aloud. “Better save them for a banana split!”

Several vines sprouted from behind him, coiling around and lifting the big “Pirate Banana Split” sign to hang it in place.

“Name?” asked Rong Bei. @Jinjiang Literature City

The young man smiled, waved a hand. “No need for that.”

He looked up at the sign, and asked, “Is it good?”

“It should be decent,” Rong Bei said objectively.

“Then, I’ll have one! How much?”

“My treat,” answered Rong Bei.

It was late, so he hurried along and soon cleaned up, preparing a banana split for the young man as darkness edged in.

“Oh! That looks great.” The young man took it with shining eyes, both hands full.

“Thanks a lot!” He clapped Rong Bei on the shoulder with a vine. He might not be much to look at, but his grin was bright and sincere as sunlight itself. “Tonight, I wish you the best of luck!”

Rong Bei nodded, lips curving slightly.

The young man waved and jogged off into the distance.

Rong Bei watched him go, standing in his shop, until he disappeared around the base of a fake mountain.

Clang—clang—clang—

In the distance, bells tolled.

Midnight had arrived.