It was the sixth day of their struggle for survival in the desert.
Ye Shu enjoyed a blissfully uneventful night. No noise, no monsters—truly a rarity!
Off they set for the north before sunrise, determined to travel while the world was still cool.
Though they had the right direction, Su Bai’s impulsive decision to kill Li Lao Jiu—before confirming the precise distance—nearly made them miss the tribe's supply station. Pure luck had them encounter a merchant caravan, and it was only by trading melted ice water that they secured a place atop camels.
A dozen or so people made up the caravan. Judging by their attire, all were locals, not a single player among them.
“We’ll reach the tribe soon. The fee you paid covers only today.”
“We’ll need to rest there for the night. Ye Shu Ada, if you intend to continue further north, that’ll cost extra.”
The caravan was led by a cautious middle-aged man named Atila. He took a tentative sip of water. For a second, it tasted almost refreshingly cool—like water straight from a cellar.
It was clear to Atila that this taciturn Ye Shu was the leader of the two.
What’s more, they carried nothing but two small bags—nowhere near enough room for all that cactus and water. One of them must, then, have some extraordinary ability—a legacy of the ancient scrolls, a Traveler blessed with a unique gift!
On this desolate planet, ‘Ada’ meant a beautiful girl. Ye Shu only learned of that from Su Bai; her only concern was providing water.
“If we wish to go to the oasis, what would the cost be?” Ye Shu asked from her camel, gnawing on a cactus tuber and spitting out coarse fibers, utterly ignoring the curious stares from the rest of the caravan.
Su Bai rode on the camel behind her, face swathed in white cloth. Their actions mirrored each other perfectly.
Atila raised his hand, showing a number in the air. Twenty jars of water. Ye Shu arched a brow, nodding, apparently in agreement. She’d expected some outlandish demand, but he proved surprisingly reasonable.
In truth, she could have simply stolen the merchants’ camels, but Ye Shu fancied herself a civilized person—far above the barbarism of murder and theft.
“Agreed,” Ye Shu said without hesitation.
Atila was caught off guard; Ye Shu Ada truly seemed to possess otherwordly power.
“Thank God! We’ve made it!” someone shouted.
“At least we avoided a sandstorm this time. If we’d been delayed, the goods would have spoiled…”
“Let’s hurry! No—wait, there’s a wind picking up! Run!”
“A storm? This season? Impossible!”
“It’s not even wind season!”
Before their anxious words were out, a small whirlwind kicked up before them, sand stinging the skin of every traveler.
Ye Shu: “…………”
So what else was new? Her cursed luck had followed her from the sea-bound survival game to this desert trial—it was only a matter of time before she’d upgrade her inventory and drag that ‘ugly monster’ along as well.
From their shocked voices, Ye Shu realized that sandstorms shouldn’t happen this time of year. This had to be another wrinkle added by the game, twisting this world as well!
A small settlement appeared not far ahead. Its tan, mud-brick buildings nearly blended into the stony desert. It was tiny—just a few dozen households. Each home had a canopy sheltering camels. Some families had as many as ten.
But survival left no room for luxury. Ye Shu followed the merchants, knocking on doors asking for refuge. The villagers would take them in—but not for free. Payment was required: gold beans or an equivalent value in food.
Atila haggled shrewdly with the house’s owner. They’d come on short notice, carrying only a month’s worth of provisions, the bulk of their camels’ load reserved for trade goods. If they dipped into that, their whole journey would be for naught.
“Amura, can’t we get a better deal? I’m sure we can find a compromise…”
Atila truly was an old fox among merchants—he bargained the price of five gold beans down by half, even trimming the water payment Ye Shu owed.
Ye Shu wasn’t worried; her ice powers meant storing water was child's play!
Still, it didn’t pay to flaunt wealth while traveling. Following her rule of frugality, Ye Shu and Su Bai shared a room.
The place was simple—just a narrow bed, barely a meter and a half long, its mattress stuffed with lumpy cotton. Yet to have even this safe haven in the desert was a blessing not to be questioned.
…………
The sky was choked with yellow sand, a locust plague sweeping over, the air heavy and oppressive to the point of suffocation.
Their mud-brick lodging had no window; only the howling wind outside gave any hint of the storm’s scale.
The door was tightly shut, the room shrouded in darkness. Only the wind and the steady breathing of the occupants broke the silence.
“Looks like this storm won’t end soon…” Atila—veteran of decades in the desert—had never before witnessed such a sandstorm in this season.
His seasoned crew betrayed a flicker of unease in their eyes. Ye Shu felt the same. Their food might suffice, but the rules of the game demanded they avoid the black sandstorms—survive twenty days. No one knew if the black wind would be as lethal as the mists at sea: touch it and die.
If so, a hundred lives wouldn’t be enough for Ye Shu’s luck.
Anxiety gnawed at everyone; silent dread filled the air.
Su Bai, meanwhile, chewed calmly on a wedge of cactus fruit. In her past life, her very first game had unfolded on this barren, sand-choked wasteland. Although she hadn’t yet met Ye Shu back then, she did know a thing or two about sandstorms.
No more than three days, she assured herself. After three days, the storm would pass.
That night, the two shared the narrow bed and slept safely through till morning.
On the seventh day, the storm hadn’t abated. If anything, it worsened. Su Bai’s confidence remained unshaken.
On the eighth day, the wind and sand howled fiercer still, undimmed through the night. Su Bai’s certainty began to crumble. Where had things gone wrong? Had her arrival brought about the butterfly effect, reshaping the very world of the game?
The camels were moved from the corrals into the house, making the already cramped space even tighter. The door was blocked by heaps of drifting sand; several strong men struggled and failed to force it open, until Ye Shu stepped in herself.
Masking her face, she cleared a path through the sand-choked doorway.
Ye Shu had never seen anything like this—yellow sand swirling so thick that even a meter away a person vanished from sight, each breath gritty in her throat.
Compared to the last sandstorm, this was a disaster of far greater scale. Outside, she could walk only by clinging to the walls; any misstep would find her toppled by the wind.
Plans to shop for supplies in the settlement quickly unraveled. With the sandstorm raging, not even the locals dared sell their goods; only Ye Shu, bartering water, could secure a couple of meager flatbreads.
The caravan’s days grew ever more austere: each person allotted no more than a slice of black beetle bread and half a bowl of water daily. They dreaded even a loosened belt lest their hunger worsen.
At last, in the dead of night, the wind’s roar faded. Silence settled outside.
On the ninth day, the clouds parted; the sky blazed blue and bright with two suns scorching the earth below.
Ye Shu traded away a great deal of water to acquire two camels, opting out of Atila’s outrageous prices—after all, she had no desire to wear out her own feet.