"Also… why are you just now giving me a mission?!" Xiaofan groaned, staring at the floating screen.
"Hmph."
His voice echoed faintly in the house before silence settled once more. After a moment, he let out a breath and forced himself to calm down, rubbing his temples as his gaze returned to the system.
Then—
DING!
A soft chime rang out.
A line of text appeared, almost cheerfully.
"Sorry! There was a tiny problem in the system. Uwu! To apologize, I've updated the reward—more is merrier!"
Xiaofan's eye twitched.
The screen flickered, and the mission updated itself:
Update!
Discard useless furniture and items, and clean the area.
Reward: Mid-rate tools and Tier-B Skill
Failure: Death
A smaller line blinked beneath it, almost playfully:
"Of course I will never remove the death, so you have motivation."
"…You've got to be kidding me."
Xiaofan stared at the screen, his expression darkening. For a moment, it looked like he might explode again—but instead, he exhaled slowly, forcing the anger back down.
"Tsk."
"Your tiny problem has been around for two months… what a joke," he muttered under his breath. Then he let out a quiet sigh. "Fine. I'll deal with it anyway."
Shaking his head, he turned and began walking deeper into the house, his eyes scanning everything with sharp focus. The place was larger than he initially thought.
Every step he took was deliberate. Every corner, every crack, every detail—he observed it all, as if trying to squeeze out any hidden value from this place.
He entered what seemed to be the kitchen first, looking around for anything useful. Most of it was worn down, covered in dust and time.
Then he noticed a door beside it.
Pushing it open, he paused—then smiled.
Very useful indeed.
Inside were tools. A shovel, a fork, and a hoe—basic farming equipment. They were rusty, worn from age, but still intact. With some effort, they could be used, at least for now.
His gaze shifted to a box sitting quietly beside the tools.
Curious, he stepped forward and opened it.
The moment he saw what was inside, a wide grin spread across his face.
A seed.
He hadn't expected something like this in a place abandoned for so long. But he recognized it almost immediately, recalling information he had picked up before.
Ironroot.
A valuable plant, often used in alchemy. Over the centuries, it had evolved—becoming safe for direct consumption even without refining, as long as it was properly cooked.
It was fortunate that the seed could last for more than a century. Stored inside a sealed box, kept in darkness, dryness, and stable temperature, it had survived the passage of time almost perfectly.
Luck, it seemed, had finally found him.
Beside it, there was even another small pouch—untouched, preserved just the same. Xiaofan closed the box carefully, his expression thoughtful, before setting it aside.
There was no point lingering.
He turned and continued moving through the house, his eyes scanning every corner, searching for anything that could still be of use.
Before long, he found himself standing in front of an old wooden stairs.
He looked up.
The second floor loomed above, dim and quiet, the ceiling creaking faintly as if warning him away. Dust hung in the air, and the shadows cast by broken beams made the place feel like something out of a horror story.
For a brief moment, he hesitated.
Then he scoffed.
What was there to be afraid of?
There was nothing in this place more terrifying than the system that threatened him with death.
With that thought, Xiaofan stepped onto the stairs and prepared to climb up.
As Xiaofan stepped onto the second floor, the wooden planks beneath his feet let out a faint creaking sound.
Old.
Probably eaten through by termites.
He slowed his steps slightly, testing his weight as he moved forward. The air here felt heavier, dust lingering undisturbed for years.
Ahead of him, the hallway split into two directions. One door stood on the left, half-open as if it had been left that way long ago. On the right, three closed doors waited in silence.
He chose the left first.
Pushing the door open fully, he stepped inside—and paused.
An office.
"Hm…"
The room was filled with shelves and scattered books, most of them manuals, some worn, others surprisingly well-preserved. It wasn't something one would expect from an ordinary farmer.
It seemed the previous owner had been more than that.
Xiaofan moved deeper into the room, brushing aside dust as he examined the space. His eyes soon landed on a sheet of paper lying on the desk.
Unfinished.
He picked it up and skimmed through it, his expression shifting slightly.
"…A draft?"
The writing wasn't complete—just fragments of ideas, scattered thoughts. But it was enough.
The previous owner… might have been a novelist.
Or at least, someone who tried to be one.
Xiaofan set the paper down, thoughtful, before continuing his search.
Then something caught his eye.
Leaning against the corner of the room was a short sword.
He walked over and picked it up, examining it carefully.
It was well-crafted—far better than anything one would expect to find in a place like this. Strange symbols were etched along the blade, faint but deliberate. The handle felt smooth in his grip, balanced and refined.
This wasn't ordinary.
Judging by its quality, it was likely forged by a skilled blacksmith, also made from good materials.
"This… might come in handy," he muttered, slipping the short sword aside.
Other than this—and maybe the unfinished draft—there was nothing else worth noticing. He could always come back later if needed.
Quietly, he left the office and turned into the hallway on the right. Two of the doors along it were sliding doors—except for the last one.
He approached the first door near the stairs and slid it open. Just as he expected.
A bedroom.
Ordinary, at first glance. But even now, the bed remained intact, sturdy and unmoving. He reached out, letting his hand brush the surface. Solid hardwood, or something of equal quality.
"Just how good is the wood in this world?" he murmured, a trace of admiration in his voice.
On Earth, a place abandoned for decades would be falling apart by now. Floors collapsed, furniture rotted, dust everywhere—but this room… it seemed preserved. Maintained, perhaps. But that thought quickly passed.
No one dared come here anyway.
Still… impressive.
Impressive, indeed. At least the bed frame was. The bedsheets, on the other hand… a literal swimming pool of dust. Beyond that, the room held nothing that immediately caught his attention.
The room held nothing but a bed and a table. That was it—simple, bare, and telling enough to suggest the previous owner was a man. Solid evidence, he supposed.
With nothing else to inspect, he stepped out and moved down the hallway to the right. His attention shifted to the second door.
The second door.
He paused for a moment, wondering what might be waiting behind it. Something ordinary, perhaps—things you'd expect in any house. Or maybe something strange. With no reason to hesitate further, he slid the door open.
Whatever he had imagined… wasn't there.
There was nothing.
Literally nothing.
The room was completely empty—no furniture, no traces of use, not even the slightest sign that anyone had ever stayed there. Just bare space stretching from wall to wall.
He stood there for a second, letting the emptiness sink in, before quietly sliding the door shut.
Well… at least cleaning it would be easy. There was nothing to throw away.