Old Ma, the commune production head, stood frozen, the chalk in his hand a white stub against the darkening slate. The other villagers, who had collectively inhaled when Zhou Hanchen dropped his load of mud, now let it out in a stunned, drawn-out murmur. No one spoke, only the buzzing of a fly on the chalkboard disturbed the thick silence. Zhou Hanchen stepped forward, his heavy mud-splashed boots thudding softly on the packed earth. He reached past the frozen cadre, snatched the chalk, and with swift, decisive strokes, crossed out his own name on the third line from the top. Then, with an audible *scrape* that made several people flinch, he drew a thick line, dividing his astronomical twenty-two daily credits in half. Eleven were scratched beside Fang Qinyu’s meager zero. A gasp rippled through the crowd. Fang Qinyu, still cradling Xiaobo, stared at the chalkboard as if it were a foreign language. Her ‘HP’ was no longer critical? This ‘Zhou Hanchen’ character was offering provisions? Was he a rare vendor? Or a high-level NPC offering a quest reward? “Hanchen! What do you think you’re doing?” Old Ma finally managed, his voice cracking like dry bamboo. “You can’t just reassign daily credits like… like they’re river pebbles! That’s half your tally! You’ll barely make a living yourself!” Zhou Hanchen’s gaze, sharp as winter ice, swung to the old man. “They’re my earnings, Old Ma. And I’m assigning them. My family can pick up the slack.” He glanced at Fang Rulan, who stood rigid, her carefully composed expression twisting into a mask of pure, unadulterated fury. The corners of her lips twitched, as if she tasted something sour. Before Rulan could even form a protest, Zhou Hanchen was already moving. He strode towards Qinyu, his shadow falling over her and Xiaobo. Qinyu stepped backward into the dust. This ‘vendor’ character seemed… aggressive. Was he going to demand payment? She instinctively pressed closer to Xiaobo, shielding him. “Xiaobo, go home,” Zhou Hanchen ordered, his voice brooking no argument. Xiaobo, bewildered but used to obeying the formidable Hanchen, nodded and scampered off. Hanchen then took Qinyu by the sleeve, his grip firm but not painful, and began tugging her towards the dusty, dilapidated tool shed at the edge of the threshing floor. It smelled of mildewed grain sacks and old tools. Qinyu stumbled, then dug her heels in. *No, no, no! Physical exertion! Stamina drain!* Her internal ‘system’ screamed warnings. “Wait! What are you doing? My energy levels are already low!” she protested, trying to wrench free. Zhou Hanchen ignored her. He dragged her across the packed earth, the eyes of the entire village burning into her back. He pushed open the creaky wooden door of the shed, ushering her inside. The dim light filtered through dusty cracks in the walls. He followed her in, slamming the door shut with a resounding thud that echoed through the small space, plunging them into near darkness. He pinned her against the rough plank wall beside the door, his broad shoulders blocking the last sliver of light. His face was a stern shadow, his eyes glinting. “Fang Qinyu,” he growled, his voice low and dangerous, “Are you truly going to let Rulan sell your brother away like an unwanted piglet?” Qinyu felt a prickle of genuine fear, quite separate from her ‘game’ delusion. He stood close enough that she smelled sweat, tobacco, and wet river silt. A physical struggle would deplete her ‘HP’ drastically, perhaps even lead to ‘elimination.’ Her brain, still half-delirious from the fever, presented an immediate, drastic solution. *Avoid conflict. Conserve energy.* She went completely, utterly limp. Her body sagged against the door, her head lolling to the side. Her eyes fluttered shut. “Oh, dear. My… my stamina is at zero. I’m almost… almost out of HP. I can’t… I can’t move. Must… must avoid further damage.” She let out a soft, dramatic groan. Zhou Hanchen stared down at her, dumbfounded. His grip loosened slightly. “What are you doing now?” he asked, a hint of exasperation in his tone. Qinyu opened one eye, peering up at him through her lashes. “I have to preserve my remaining life force,” she whispered, her voice weak and reedy. “If I engage in combat or strenuous activity, I’ll be eliminated. They’ll force me out of the game. And then… who will protect Xiaobo’s HP?” He watched her for a long moment, a strange mixture of frustration and something unreadable flickering in his dark eyes. Then, a slow flush began to creep up his neck, staining his ears a brilliant, fiery red. He cleared his throat, his gaze drifting from her face to her shoulders, then quickly away. He was usually so composed, so unyielding. This reaction was entirely new. “Fine,” he rasped, his voice a little thicker than before. “What do you want, then? How do I ‘protect your HP’?” Qinyu blinked. This was an unexpected opening. A ‘quest’ had presented itself. “You want to protect my HP? And Xiaobo’s?” she asked, a sliver of her cunning returning. “Then… marry me.” Zhou Hanchen stiffened, his gaze locking onto hers. “What?” “Marry me,” Qinyu repeated, her voice gaining strength. “But on one condition: I will not lift a single finger in the fields. Not one. No heavy baskets, no hoeing, no weeding. My HP cannot take the drain. You will provide all our sustenance. You will ensure our energy levels remain stable. Do you agree to these terms?” Her ‘survival rules’ were non-negotiable. Zhou Hanchen stared at her, his jaw slack, his ears burning crimson. The audacity. The sheer, unmitigated laziness of her demand. Yet, a strange, almost delighted spark ignited in his eyes. He opened his mouth, perhaps to argue, perhaps to laugh. Before he could utter a sound, the rickety door of the shed burst open with a crash, rattling on rusted hinges. Sunlight flooded the tiny space, silhouetting the indignant faces of Old Ma, the stern-faced Team Captain Liang, and several members of the grain committee. Captain Liang’s sharp glare took in Qinyu’s slumped form against the wall and Hanchen’s flushed face. A gasp went through the assembled villagers peering over their shoulders. “Zhou Hanchen! Fang Qinyu!” Captain Liang’s voice boomed, echoing through the shed. “What is the meaning of this indecent display? Inside a brigade shed, in broad daylight? Such scandalous behavior cannot be tolerated in Daze Commune! You will marry immediately, or face a public trial for moral impropriety!” Qinyu stared blankly. This ‘game’ was moving fast.

The Supply Shed Proposal