Industry began in 1937

Chapter 3 Clothing, Fuel, and Tools

"Clang... Crash..."

Just then, a sudden sound, belonging to human activity, mixed with the sound of the wind, faintly came from the other side of the mountain valley!

It sounded like metal clashing, or like something heavy being dragged along.

Chen Yuan felt a chill run down his spine.

He's not exactly timid, but he's not exceptionally brave either.

But in the darkness of the night, such a sound suddenly made him think of something.

Since we were able to get to 1937, who can guarantee that we could go to another eerie world?

He abruptly hid behind the massive metal body of the "Flint" platform, holding his breath as his heart pounded.

Is it a human? A ghost? Or... a native of this era?

He cautiously peeked out from the edge of the metal.

In the dim light filtering through the mountainside, about a hundred meters away, a hunched, dark figure was dragging something that looked like a dilapidated tin bucket, walking unsteadily in this direction.

The shadowy figure seemed exhausted, walking and stopping intermittently, accompanied by suppressed coughs.

It looks...like a person, not a ghost, an old man?

Chen Yuan struggled violently.

Go out and ask for help? The risks are unknown.

Hiding away? He might freeze or starve to death, and the platform needs materials; he simply cannot survive alone in these mountains.

In the few seconds he hesitated, the dark figure seemed to trip over a stone, staggered, and fell to the ground with a cry of "Ouch!" The broken bucket in its hand rolled away, making an even louder noise.

The cough turned into a painful groan.

Chen Yuan gritted his teeth.

I can't worry about that anymore.

He took a deep breath of the cold air and stepped out from behind the platform, trying to make his voice sound calm and harmless: "Hey...that person? Are you alright?"

The shadowy figure's groans abruptly ceased.

A rustling sound followed, and the dark figure quickly scrambled to its feet, seemingly grabbing a stick or something from the ground. It warily turned towards Chen Yuan, its voice aged and tense: "Who?! Who's there?!"

Chen Yuan's sudden appearance clearly scared everyone half to death.

"I...I'm not a bad person." Chen Yuan raised his hands and slowly took a few steps forward so that the other person could see him more clearly and understand him better.

"I'm lost, I'm in the mountains."

As the mountain light gradually brightened, Chen Yuan could see clearly that it was an old man wearing a bulky and tattered black cotton-padded jacket and trousers, with a headscarf of indistinct color wrapped around his head. His face was lined with deep wrinkles, and he was holding a wooden spear with a rusty iron plate tied to the end tightly in his hand, nervously pointing it at him.

Beside the old man's feet was a rusty, dented old tin bucket, which seemed to contain some dark, unsightly stuff.

The old man also looked at Chen Yuan by the starlight, and the wariness in his eyes was gradually replaced by astonishment.

The young man in front of me was wearing strangely styled, extremely thin "white clothes" (pajamas), barefoot, his face was blue from the cold, and he was shivering all over. He didn't look like a bandit from the mountains or... any other dangerous person at all.

This has already made him consider the possibility of ghosts.

But upon closer inspection, it doesn't seem like it.

He seemed more like a city boy who had accidentally wandered into the mountains and was completely at a loss.

That does look like it.

"You...you young man, why are you dressed like this in the mountains? Are you out of your mind?" The old man's accent was heavy, but Chen Yuan could barely understand him.

"I... encountered some accidents," Chen Yuan mumbled, slowly approaching, his gaze involuntarily falling on the broken tin bucket and the simple iron spear in the old man's hand.

Iron! That's iron!

The old man followed his gaze and looked at his bucket and spear. He seemed to understand something, and the wariness on his face eased slightly, but his doubts deepened.

"An accident? In this chaos of war... You fled from the north? How come you're all alone? And in this state?"

"I guess so..." Chen Yuan followed his words, his mind racing. "I got separated from my family, and I lost my luggage. Sir, where...where is this place? Are there any villages nearby?"

"This is Heifengyu. You have to climb two more hills to reach our Gouzi Village." The old man shook his head and sighed.

"It's the middle of the night, and you're all alone here. You're bound to freeze to death. Sigh, this world..."

He looked Chen Yuan up and down, who was trembling, hesitated for a moment, then took off a dirty, patched old satchel draped over his shoulder and pulled out a similarly worn but thicker dark brown coarse cloth jacket, which he handed over.

"Put this on first, look how cold you are. You need to wrap your feet too, the rocks and ridges in these mountains can be deadly." The old man's tone was filled with undeniable, simple concern.

Chen Yuan was stunned. Looking at the padded jacket that smelled of sweat and dust but represented incomparably precious warmth, his nose suddenly felt a little sore.

He took it; it was rough and heavy to the touch, still carrying a trace of the old man's warmth. "Thank... thank you, sir."

"No need to thank me, put it on. I'm a hunter from these mountains, my surname is Han, and everyone in the village calls me Old Han." Old Han waved his hand, coughed twice, and bent down to pick up his broken bucket.

"What are you planning to do? Come back to the village with me? It's pitch black here, there are wolves in the mountains, and... other unclean things." As he spoke, he glanced at the huge, silent shadow of the "Flint" platform behind Chen Yuan, a hint of awe and fear flashing in his eyes. Clearly, he had noticed this abrupt "big iron block" long ago, but hadn't mentioned it before.

Chen Yuan quickly put on his padded jacket; the rough fabric rubbed against his skin, yet brought a real warmth.

He struggled to roll up his overly long sleeves while thinking rapidly.

Go back to the village with Old Han? You could get temporary shelter, learn about the situation, and maybe even get help.

But what about the "Flint" platform? What about the risks of exposure?

This is my hope.

He glanced at the platform; its pale blue indicator light flickered weakly and stubbornly in the darkness. 72 hours.

"Uncle, I...I can't go back to the village with you for the time being." Chen Yuan made up his mind and pointed to the darkness behind him.

"I have some... things left around here, I need to find them. Also, I need to find something to eat and get some... materials." He emphasized the word "materials," his gaze once again drifting to the broken iron bucket and the iron spearhead.

Following his gaze, Old Han looked at his "fallen young master" appearance again, and his face showed a mixture of "I knew it" and "the young man is reckless".

He weighed the tattered bucket in his hand, making a clattering sound. "Looking for something? What are you looking for? This is the middle of nowhere, nothing but rocks and trees. Food? Wild fruits are long gone this season, and rabbits and pheasants are too clever for their own good! Materials? You mean... iron stuff?" He patted his bucket. "This piece of junk, I picked it up from the scraps abandoned by deserters, patched and patched. You want iron?"

"Yes, iron, copper, or other metals, and some sturdy wood..." Chen Yuan said eagerly. Seeing the old man's questioning look, he quickly added, "I... I have some skills. I want to try to make some tools for self-defense, or... see if I can make something to eat."

Old Han looked at him with suspicion, then at the silent "big iron block," and pondered for a moment.

Although this young man had a strange background and dressed oddly, his eyes were clear and bright, unlike a wicked person, and he was indeed freezing to death.

In this world, we should help each other out whenever we can.

"Sigh, I guess I was just being nosy." Old Han shook his head and put the broken bucket on the ground. "This bucket contains the coal nuggets and some charcoal I picked up over there on the other side of the mountain today. I was planning to take it back and burn it."

"Seeing you like this... I'll lend it to you for now. Find a sheltered spot and build a fire, so you can at least get through the night. As for the iron... I can give you this spear, but what will I use it for? These days, iron is incredibly precious!"

This was mainly for his wild animals.

He paused, then pointed in the direction they had come from: "Go that way, there's a small, sheltered cave. It's not big, but you can manage. Tomorrow at dawn, if you haven't frozen to death or been carried off by wolves, walk east along that dry riverbed. It'll be about half a day's walk, and you'll see our village. In the village... well, there's nothing good there, but it's better than being fed to the wolves."

After saying that, he shoved the wooden stick with the rusty spearhead attached into Chen Yuan's hand and pointed to the broken bucket on the ground.

"The flint and steel are in your satchel, take them yourself. Remember, don't wander off, it's dangerous in the mountains at night." Old Han gave him one last look, then glanced warily at the "big iron block" in the darkness, shook his head, tightened his tattered cotton-padded coat, turned around, and staggered away into the darkness in the direction he came from.

Chen Yuan gripped the wooden spear in his hand; it was rough to the touch, and the rust on the spearhead gleamed dark red in the starlight.

He looked at the broken iron bucket on the ground, which contained some black coal nuggets and charcoal fragments.

He glanced again in the direction where Old Han had disappeared, and finally, his gaze returned to the simple yet incredibly precious weapon and tools in his hand.

The first piece of clothing.

The first tool.

The first batch of fuel.

And... a vague direction.

He bent down and struggled to lift the heavy, broken bucket.

The friction of metal produced a harsh sound.

The first piece of iron was produced.

He turned to face the "Flint" platform, which stood silently like a mountain under the starlight.

The pale blue breathing light seemed to be in sync with his heartbeat.

0.7% energy, broken iron bucket, rusted spearhead, coarse cloth jacket.

1937, Taihang Mountains, a cold night.