Doomsday Wonderland

Chapter 1387: Problems and Provisions

In terms of intelligence, Lin Sanjiu might not measure up to the grand prize, but she had a similar feeling about the question on the wall. The design of this game left her feeling uneasy—not scared, just deeply uncomfortable.

“Please provide a reasonable explanation for the shortage of positions in the room.”

This question lingered in everyone’s thoughts. After the farmers had paid their taxes and distributed the food balls, they found themselves with enough strength for sporadic discussions. The “thud, thud” of the elephant’s steps slowly blended into the background, becoming an unnoticed part of their environment.

“Could it be because… we’re not working hard enough?” Nu Yue pondered aloud, continuing to plow the field after nine hours.

“I don’t want to hear that,” Horst grumbled, his burly frame hunched in a corner amidst the fields. “What makes you think so?”

“Think about it, if the farmers were more productive and earned more food balls, they could afford more. Yet, there’s not a single vendor in this room. Doesn’t that suggest our earnings are too low?” Nu Yue paused to wipe the sweat from her brow. “Maybe it’s not about how hard we’re working, but rather the efficiency of our tools.”

“So, it’s my fault then?” Louisa said. Regretting the sharpness of her tone, she softened it with a smile. “Honestly, there’s only so much I can do about the tools. Wouldn’t expanding our cultivable land be a solution?”

Since she didn’t know when the farm tools would break again, she had to stay near the fields like Jian Sheng to search for an exit. She was the closest to the elephant, so she almost bumped into its leg several times. However, they were getting more accustomed to the situation; she skillfully dodged it while barely moving.

“So, the real issue is quite straightforward,” Horst said. “It’s not our fault or Louisa’s. The land where we live is just not vast enough.”

“Exactly. The land is too scarce and our earnings too meager, leading to a lack of demand and, consequently, no new open positions.”

As soon as these conclusions were voiced, Lin Sanjiu caught a glimpse of something changing in the periphery of her vision. Turning her head, she noticed the text on the wall had transformed.

“Tonight, please provide a reasonable explanation for why the farmers’ harvest can’t fill them up.”

“Could it be that our previous answer was on the mark?” Horst said buoyantly, surveying the room. “This question is too easy. There are many people here. If everyone shares, then there won’t be enough to go around, right?”

The text vanished almost instantaneously, signaling approval of their rationale. The subsequent question that appeared was, “Within six hours, based on the premise of the previous answer, please reasonably explain why farmers need to work for long hours.”

“Hey, the window for giving a response is narrowing,” Lin Sanjiu said. “This isn’t dangerous, is it?”

As long as the game did not get severely out of balance, such as requiring them to answer the question within a second, the frequent questions wouldn’t burden them too much. After all, there was no penalty for answering incorrectly, and it did not interfere with their work.

Although no one thought it was dangerous, they did not rush to answer the question out of caution. Lin Sanjiu strongly suspected that they, like her, were secretly pondering how to answer this question. After nearly ten hours of continuous work, the output still wasn’t enough for everyone to share, so besides the large population, the efficiency per hour wasn’t high enough. All problems would be solved if two food balls were produced per hour.

This made it seem as if it was Louisa’s fault again. If only she could optimize the farming tools, such as creating a machine to speed up sowing, instead of just waiting for the tools to break and then coming to repair. And her repair fee was so expensive, too…

Lin Sanjiu immediately suppressed these thoughts. That vague feeling of discomfort intensified.

She looked back.

Not long ago, the elephant walked over to the cement trough where the eight and a half food balls had been poured in. Instead of eating immediately, it scooped some food balls from the trough and placed them in front of Silvan and Jian Sheng.

As a tax collector, Jian Sheng understood the situation beforehand from the manual. Without even glancing at the elephant, he took out his tax collector’s tools, cut the food balls into small pieces, and shared them with Silvan. They didn’t disclose their “income,” but each received less than one ball, amounting to about 20% of the total tax, or roughly 0.85 food balls each.

Where the remaining 80% of the food balls went was naturally unspoken.

As soon as the elephant finished eating, the post-tax 23.5 food balls were quickly distributed. After ensuring everyone’s minimum survival needs, they were left with only 2.7 food balls. Food produced after five o’clock couldn’t be eaten since it hadn’t been taxed yet, so they were put in a box and placed in the corner as reserves.

Nu Yue, who was always relaxed and cheerful, couldn’t help but groan. “Any luck finding the exit?”

More than half of the room’s surfaces, including the ceiling, were covered with scratches, so no one could say that those responsible for searching hadn’t tried. All around were hard, solid cement blocks, showing no intention of opening.

Silvan had long since stopped working, sitting against the wall with a distant gaze that seemingly passed through the elephant in the room. Louisa answered Nu Yue, seemingly trying to compensate for her tone before. “Not yet. Looking with the naked eye, it seems the same everywhere.”

“I’m too tired,” Horst said, suddenly putting down his farm tool and tossing the tenth food ball he had just harvested into his backpack. “I need to sleep for a night. We’ll talk about it tomorrow.”

Lin Sanjiu was somewhat worried. “Isn’t it too early? We’ve only managed to produce the bare minimum for survival.”

Horst was taken aback by her question. He glanced up at the question on the wall and smiled wearily. “Only? I produced ten food balls today. After taxes, I was left with seven and a half, more than enough to get me by. But I’ve only eaten three so far. By morning, I’ll be weak, and extending work hours tonight will just wear me out.”

He looked around, his eyes sweeping over everyone, and sighed. “It’s not that I don’t want to take care of you guys, but this system is flawed. Half of us must support the other half. We farmers will be worked to death.”

Lin Sanjiu felt that there was something seriously wrong with what he said, but before she could figure out how to respond, Nu Yue exclaimed, pointing at the wall, “The writing changed, and it’s no longer a question.”

It seemed the wall didn’t require an explicit answer, only recognizing a response that fit the criteria.

Lin Sanjiu turned around and found the wall read, “Within an hour, demonstrate your contribution to society.”

Nu Yue hesitated. “We farmers don’t need to say more, do we? All the food everyone eats is the result of our hard work…”

“Without me, you wouldn’t be able to farm,” Louisa said cautiously as if fearing criticism.

Actually, apart from the unconscious Han Suiping, everyone had a role: without a tax collector, farmers couldn’t eat the food balls they produced; and the inspector, in addition to supervising the tax collector, also had to ensure that all agreements and contracts were properly executed.

However, after everyone finished explaining their roles, the text on the wall remained unchanged.

At this, even Horst, who was planning to sleep, didn’t dare to rest easy.

“What does it mean?” he murmured. “Have we not met the requirement?”

Ji Shanqing, who had been silently observing the situation, said, “Perhaps we need to demonstrate through actions.” He glanced at Horst. “If that’s the case, you’ll need to work at least one more hour.”

Horst cursed under his breath but returned to his field, looking clumsy when his large frame hunched beside his chessboard-sized field. Lin Sanjiu breathed a small sigh of relief.

The text on the wall wasn’t so bad after all.

Coincidentally, as Horst picked up his small hoe, the metal piece fell off the wooden handle with a clatter. He stared at it for two seconds, his face red with anger. “I knew I should have just gone to sleep! Louisa, come fix this.”

“Four food balls,” Louisa said in a low voice.

Horst looked at her as if he had misheard.

“It’s late, and the yield produced now counts towards tomorrow. Only one person’s farm tool breaks per day, so the price naturally rises to four balls to ensure my survival,” Louisa said, her voice slightly trembling but continuing calmly. “I’m sorry, but… like you said, who knows when you’ll stop distributing food balls because you’re too tired.”

As if afraid of being misunderstood, she quickly added, “Isn’t it the same if you pay me now versus giving it to me afterward? All that matters is we survive in the end, right?”

No, it was not the same.

Lin Sanjiu felt that if she turned her head, she might see the elephant smiling like a human.

Its rations started to automatically increase.