Wang Ping was relieved that Old Turtle hadn't noticed anything strange about his body. Of course, if he had seen Wang Ping's chest, he wouldn't have thought so. The shotgun blast had completely destroyed the fake muscles on Wang Ping's torso. Fortunately, the damage was hidden under his clothes; otherwise, anyone suddenly seeing the abnormal white chest armor beneath the damaged flesh would have been terrified.

As for Old Turtle, he was convinced that Wang Ping must have overdosed on drugs. Nowadays, drugs are made from all sorts of unknown substances and can easily make people sluggish, crazy, and so on. So when he saw Wang Ping's clumsy movements, Old Turtle didn't say much, just sighed inwardly. What a pity, such a strong and healthy young man, with fair and tender skin, is rare in the wasteland.

With the help of the iron shovel, the two finally managed to catch the two large rats and nearly thirty baby rats before sunset, a significant haul. During the digging, to avoid arousing Old Turtle's suspicion, Wang Ping went out to take care of his physiological needs. This body, apart from the poor handling of weight and volume, had very basic disguises—no tears, sweat, etc., just the ability to discharge a bit of clear water through a fake male organ. Wang Ping guessed that this somewhat unseemly design was not just for disguise but also had some other purpose, otherwise, why not include waste excretion functions? Unfortunately, there were no usage instructions in the auxiliary computer system, so Wang Ping had to use it as a form of physiological disguise.

Old Turtle insisted on cooking a big meal for Wang Ping, roasting two baby rats. Wang Ping couldn't refuse, so he forced himself to pretend to enjoy it, chewing and swallowing the meat, storing it in the internal storage space (the space freed up after clearing out the hidden weapons and equipment) and looking for an opportunity to dispose of it. Luckily, he had no saliva or other secretions; otherwise, the idea of having to remove the sticky substance from his stomach and clean the storage space would have been quite revolting.

In the days that followed, Wang Ping and Old Turtle wandered through the wasteland. Old Turtle occasionally brought unexpected surprises to Wang Ping, such as recognizing some characters, being familiar with the surroundings of the wasteland, and knowing some of its customs. Meanwhile, Wang Ping also noticed that Old Turtle knew nothing about the world outside the wasteland. Wang Ping gave Old Turtle a unique impression: he slept little, ate little, sometimes moved clumsily, but had abundant energy and rarely needed rest.

Occasionally, they would see remnants of asphalt roads or highway ruins in the wasteland. Wang Ping wondered if following these roads might lead to a major town. He also asked Old Turtle if he knew about the village where he had been asleep, and Old Turtle said he knew of it but had never been there. After a few days of conversation, Wang Ping estimated that Old Turtle's activity range was roughly five hundred kilometers east to west and three hundred kilometers north to south. According to Old Turtle, within this area, there was only the somewhat isolated village Wang Ping mentioned and the place where Old Turtle spent his winters.

Sometimes, Old Turtle pondered whether Wang Ping's ancestors, like his own, had some unique traits. Despite wandering together for many days, they maintained a tacit understanding: what the other did not say, they would not ask, to avoid unnecessary trouble.

Old Turtle eventually had his own explanation for Wang Ping's strange behavior: he was unfamiliar with the wasteland and often asked childish and ridiculous questions. He certainly didn't seem to be high on drugs. The most likely possibility was that he came from a town, the only places where someone like Wang Ping would exist.

Wang Ping woke up in autumn, and as time passed, the weather gradually turned colder. The two of them accumulated about ten different types of pelts and five or six insect shells. Finally, Old Turtle and Wang Ping discussed returning to the village to prepare for winter.

Wang Ping had already learned the terms used in the wasteland for different human settlements. Large towns that were self-contained and generally did not accommodate wastelanders were called "towns," while settlements formed by wastelanders, regardless of size, were called "villages." Smaller than villages, these settlements were typically named after families, such as Niujia Village or Lijia Village.

Over the days they spent together, Wang Ping began to deliberately mimic some of Old Turtle's mannerisms to truly become a wastelander. The only issue was that his complexion remained pale. Since this fake face wouldn't tan, Wang Ping had to gather some ash and apply it as makeup every morning.

Old Turtle noticed all of this but said nothing.

"Woodhead Wang, we can reach the village today, just over this hill." Old Turtle, with his boundless energy, pointed to a stone mountain about three hundred meters high, which he called a hill. By the way, "Woodhead" was the nickname Old Turtle gave Wang Ping because he always had a wooden expression. Additionally, when introducing oneself in the wasteland, it was considered friendlier to have others use a nickname. Wang Ping, a person without clear life goals, did not mind such details. Over the days, he had gotten used to being called "Woodhead Wang."

Wang Ping nodded, saying nothing. Knowing he was basically directionally challenged, he was also trying hard to learn from Old Turtle how to identify directions. The problem was that he really had no sense of direction and often used the methods Old Turtle taught him incorrectly. The auxiliary computer had never stored such information, so Wang Ping could only lament his own incompetence.

Old Turtle skillfully took off his backpack, opened the bundle, and began to sort through it. The hunting over these days had not yielded any special results, nor had they found any suitable tools, so Old Turtle still carried his folding iron shovel, and Wang Ping held a sharpened wooden stick.

After walking for half a day, they finally crossed the "hill" and arrived at the village Old Turtle had mentioned. Wang Ping had asked Old Turtle what this place looked like, but Old Turtle didn't say much, "Since we'll be spending the winter here, you can see for yourself."

Looking around, Wang Ping vaguely saw a small railway station. Although the tracks had long been destroyed and rusted away, the outline of the station was still recognizable, with a few dilapidated building frames standing there. Various makeshift houses were piled up from stones, rags, scrap metal, and other debris, attached to those shaky frameworks. Various shades of gray mixed together, and occasionally flashes of firelight could be seen. Compared to the low earthen houses built by the villagers with mud bricks, this place at least gave Wang Ping a sense of modernity.

As they approached, the air began to fill with an indescribable smell, a mix of blood, rotting flesh, and feces and urine. Although Wang Ping promptly shut off his olfactory organs, the auxiliary computer still tirelessly displayed various complex molecular gas component analysis data in front of Woodhead Wang's eyes. Wang Ping had to temporarily turn off the analysis data as well.

"What do you think? This is the Scrap Iron Village I told you about," Old Turtle said with a hint of pride, "It's not bad here, right? In summer, there are only about three hundred people, but in winter, it can gather a thousand or so."

Wang Ping was already used to Old Turtle saying things this way. He had tried to make Old Turtle understand the meaning of the word "thousand," and Old Turtle had claimed to understand, but still referred to a thousand as "ten hundred" when speaking. Wang Ping just let it go.

"Do you have a place to stay here?" The two walked toward the Scrap Iron Village, and the number of people on the dirt path increased. Wang Ping secretly observed the unfamiliar faces, dressed in tattered clothes, covered in dirt and blackness.

"Ever since the village dispersed, I come here every winter. We have furs and insect shells in our bundles, right? Here, we can exchange them for fresh water and food. Add to that the dried meat we buried in the wild, and we can dig it up when we run out. We can get through this winter no matter what," Old Turtle coughed twice and seriously said to Wang Ping, "I've already told you the rules inside, so I won't repeat them. But to be honest, I teamed up with you because I saw that you're young and willing to work, and I have experience. Making a living on the wasteland isn't easy, especially in winter. People resort to cannibalism when they're starving. So, after we trade for food, if you're willing, continue to team up with Old Turtle. If you don't want to stick with this old man, I'll split everything we've gathered, including the dried meat, with you. You saved me once, and I'll repay you eventually. What do you say?"

Wang Ping hadn't expected Old Turtle to formally raise this question. Thinking about it, he had nowhere else to go, and staying with Old Turtle wasn't a bad choice, "If nothing goes wrong, let's continue to team up. At least get through this winter first."

Old Turtle nodded, saying nothing more. The two continued on, and the broken tents along the road began to increase. Occasionally, a woman wrapped in a blanket would call out to them, "Want some fun? Just give me something to eat." Wang Ping had heard from Old Turtle that these broken tents were home to the elderly, weak, women, and children who had no means of survival. As long as you gave them food, they would do anything you asked.

"These days, who cares about anyone else? Don't have any compassion. If you give food to one person, the others will come and snatch it. Keep your weapon ready; this stretch of road is dangerous," Old Turtle warned, "They'll even kill if they have the strength and the means. Got it?"

Wang Ping nodded, indicating he understood.

After passing these tent houses, the two arrived at the entrance of a wire fence. The fence was old and full of holes, more symbolic than practical. This was the official entrance to Scrap Iron Village. Old Turtle had mentioned that Scrap Iron Village had no official management; whoever had the strongest weapons and the most power controlled the village. Local residents and wintering wanderers could live in Scrap Iron Village as long as they paid a regular amount of grain or fresh water according to the rules.

Old Turtle glanced at the guards at the entrance and whispered to Wang Ping, "Haven't been here in half a year. Judging by the uniforms, it looks like there's a new boss."

Speaking of which, Old Turtle stepped forward and chatted with the guard, slipping him a few pieces of dried meat. The guard immediately let them enter the village. Wang Ping noticed that the musket in the guard's hand looked familiar. Then he heard a very familiar voice.

"I told you we should have wiped out that village long ago. A few old shotguns scared you off. Look, after wiping out the village and selling the survivors, we got plenty of grain."