Chapter Thirty-Eight: The Truth

“Ah, it’s true, Master, I’ll go greet them right away.” Da Bai hurried out.

“Wait, I’ll open the door for you remotely.”

About half an hour later, Da Bai returned to the main control room, full of joy, accompanied by one man and one sphere.

“Uncle He, where did you go at midday?” Fan Bei asked, puzzled.

“Oh, Mr. Fan, I just took my iron sphere master out for a walk. It seemed very happy,” Chef He replied in earnest, “Perhaps I don’t quite understand the rules here. If coming and going always requires your permission, I’ll be sure to apply in advance next time.”

Very good; none of them were fools.

Fan Bei chuckled inwardly. Anyone who had survived this long couldn’t possibly be a fool. And if there were any, they’d have to be fools with luck or powerful backing.

He smiled honestly. “Alright, just apply in advance next time. This place is quite dangerous, after all.”

“Thank you, I’ll get back to work.” Chef He breathed a secret sigh of relief as he set the iron sphere on the ground. Luckily, the master of this shelter seemed easy to hoodwink.

Da Bai had already leapt onto the iron sphere, licking and pawing at it, barking wildly.

“Xiao Bai, are you alright?”

“I’m exhausted. I don’t want to talk to a silly dog who can’t even guard a sphere.”

“I was wrong. It won’t happen again.”

“Da Bai, go eat. We still have to clean the residential district this afternoon,” Fan Bei called.

Chef He felt fortunate. Before leaving, he’d cooked another meal, hoping this would perfectly mask his escape.

A true fugitive would hardly have the mind to cook a final meal for his master.

After eating, Fan Bei and Da Bai took the iron sphere to clean the residential area, while Chef He continued with various chores, cleaning and tidying.

But halfway through mopping, he slumped against the wall, sitting weakly on the floor, clutching his head in despair.

Would telling the truth guarantee his freedom?

Impossible. The other party would only want an absolutely reliable servant—no, a puppet.

If he kept silent, the truth would eventually come out. It wasn’t a widespread secret, but anyone wealthy enough to hire a Silver Chamber servant knew.

Was turning himself into a beast the only way to regain a future?

In the wasteland, was mutual trust between people truly so difficult?

Was turning people into machines, puppets, the only way to ensure peace of mind?

Who could save him?

Suddenly, a glimmer of hope flashed in his eyes. Right, the iron sphere, the matter Xie Bo and the others had mentioned.

...

Shelter Residential District.

Inside a freshly cleaned room, Fan Bei was tuning a radio he’d moved from the control room, dialing in the frequencies noted down to contact the people at Copper Fortress.

There, he had someone he could trust completely—after all, that person was bound to the Good Person System.

His question wouldn’t touch upon the other’s interests, so the answer should be trustworthy.

After repeated adjustments, he finally connected to the other radio.

“This is Copper Fortress. Please state your identity.”

“This is Shelter 364. I request to speak with Chairman Lang Sheng.” Fan Bei replied earnestly.

“Please wait.”

Fan Bei waited patiently for half an hour until new signals came through.

“Hello, Mr. Fan, what can I do for you?”

“Hello, Chairman Lang Sheng. I have something important to consult with you about.”

“Oh, please ask. Helping others brings me joy.”

“You truly are a good man.”

“Hahaha, everyone’s been saying that lately…”

After a round of conversation, Fan Bei received frank and exhaustive answers.

“The Silver Chamber is deep and powerful. I wouldn’t dare offend them openly. But strangely, they are very particular about contracts and business rules. While they employ many tricks, on the surface, they leave you with nothing to complain about,” Lang Sheng warned at last.

“Thank you for your kindness, Chairman Lang.”

“It’s my pleasure. After all, I am a good man.”

“Yes, you really are. I’ve always trusted you completely,” Fan Bei admitted, pinching his nose.

The communication ended, and he sighed deeply. He’d learned a lot more.

No wonder Chef He wanted to escape. No wonder he’d said things like, “No lack of motivation? Impossible.”

Turns out, if one signed a real name or left a fingerprint on the employment contract, under the mysterious guarantor’s constraints, self-awareness would gradually be suppressed by the master, individuality erased, until eventually one became a puppet who only knew how to obey.

That’s what they meant by, “My master’s will is my will.”

Without self, absolute reliability was ensured—only obeying the master’s commands.

This was precisely what many in the wasteland needed now.

With order dissolved, scattered shelters and settlements built at great cost had become the private property of survivors.

Since no one claimed ownership anymore, as long as they weren’t robbed, survivors could freely dispose of these riches.

Just like Fan Bei now—he seemed to have only a dog and a sphere, but in reality, he was equivalent to a billionaire from his previous life!

To say nothing of the 80 kilos of gold on hand—a single gram was worth over three hundred in the past, so that was 24 million in liquid assets.

And those fixed assets: agricultural sector, generator rooms, fuel, rooms, gold-plated and silver-plated doors and walls.

Once Da Bai became strong enough, with further improvements and upgrades, this shelter could become another micro Copper Fortress.

Under these circumstances, as order returned and civilization rebuilt, who wouldn’t worry their wealth might be taken before dawn?

You had to remember, survivors like Fan Bei had endured ten, twenty, even thirty years!

They’d finally acquired this wealth—something most could never earn in a lifetime. Naturally, they guarded it fiercely.

No one would hire a servant they couldn’t absolutely trust.

And the Silver Chamber’s influence would grow, spreading through each shelter via these absolutely reliable servants.

Fan Bei had always been isolated from the outside, never seeing this issue clearly.

Now, after the Chef He incident and the Silver Chamber’s approach, he gained firsthand insight into the new world.

He looked around and suddenly laughed.

Fortunately, he’d obtained the System’s Father, could create the Good Person System to eliminate the threat of Copper Fortress, and had Da Bai as reliable muscle.

Otherwise, after fifteen years of struggle since rebirth, his billionaire status would be lost for nothing.

But were the Silver Chamber’s puppet-servants truly trustworthy?

He recalled a foreign film where a loyal servant gained the master’s trust, drove away the family, secured the will, then gradually killed the master and inherited everything.

Better to trust himself, and the System’s Father, than them.

It was time to create a third system, but this time, he would distribute it remotely.

Fan Bei’s lips twitched as he gazed at the illusory white book glowing before him.

“Da Bai, time to work. Today we must finish the residential district, then Uncle He can cook you something delicious,” he called to Da Bai, who was playing with the sphere at the door.

“Uh, Master, Xiao Bai said that the meal cooked this morning was probably problematic. That’s why we both slept like the dead until noon. Don’t let him cook anymore. Let him stick to chores,” Da Bai barked.

“Could it really be? We ate lunch too. Was there something wrong with that?” Fan Bei replied, pained. “Ah, in this wasteland, why is trust between people so difficult? I was planning to treat him like family, even give him a bonus.”

“Master, you are so kind,” Da Bai pressed his head over, comforting him.

“Yes, I’m too kind. After being alone too long, cut off from society, it’s easy to become naive, too trusting,” Fan Bei admitted.

Da Bai barked quickly, “Don’t worry, Master. Xiao Bai is cunning enough. With it around, we won’t suffer too much.”

The iron sphere, rolling along, suddenly changed direction—aiming for Da Bai’s tail and rolling right over it…