Dream Delivery System: My Delivery Jobs Keep Changing History – CH141

Chapter 141

“Could I be this open-minded when I die?”

After reading the last words, this question arose and lingered in Jiang Jitang’s mind for a long time.

He could have been open-minded, in his previous life, but now it seemed impossible. With so many people he cared about, leaving suddenly would leave him unwilling.

He could no longer act carefree, yet this feeling of being needed made it impossible to let go. Mrs. Jiang needed him, Parsons needed him, Minister Jiang and Mr. Tao needed him, the players needed him…

He felt valuable, important.

“If I can’t be carefree, so be it. As long as I like it.”

The warrior “Tuo” had obtained very primitive chestnuts—not as plump as modern ones.

From videos and pictures, the eggshell-sized chestnuts contained only two or three underdeveloped seeds. The seeds were roughly the size of pistachios, with thick skins.

But the area had many chestnut trees, with spiky chestnuts rolling on the ground. This represented a sustainable, continuous resource.

So Tuo hadn’t merely secured a batch of food for her tribe; she had found a long-lasting survival resource—until they left or the chestnut trees were destroyed.

“What can I do for her? Just relay her last words?” he asked himself.

For such a worthy warrior, Jiang Jitang always wanted to do more.

The shopping money was only 20 yuan—a fast-food meal—but sometimes even that could achieve great things. Sometimes, he didn’t even need the money; he could still influence the tribe, albeit in a small way.

Tuo cared about her tribe’s food and her child. If he gave too much or too good a resource, would the child survive?

He trusted the tribe had basic moral values but could never rely solely on the goodwill of others.

“They already have basic planting concepts; at least Tuo knows the fundamentals,” Jiang Jitang thought. He knew what he should provide for them and the child.

Tuo knew about spring sowing and autumn harvest, and even consciously preserved seeds. Others might not have learned this, but her child surely knew something.

He could give them wheat cultivated by modern people and teach them how to cultivate fields and sow wheat. By 1000 BCE, humans already knew how to grow wheat.

Whether to teach the tribe planting techniques was left to the child’s decision.

He went to the agricultural market, to a store that sold seeds.

“Hello, do you have wheat seeds?” Jiang Jitang asked, without expecting to buy immediately. Judging from the wild wheat varieties, they resembled wheat, but in this southern coastal city, few people grew wheat.

“Which variety do you need?” The young store clerk, around Jiang Jitang’s age, held a phone, reading notes from it. “We have Ji wheat, Ke wheat…”

“I need seeds that can be saved, preferably resilient to poor soil, not picky about the land.” He held 20 yuan but spoke like a wholesale buyer.

“Self-saving wheat, huh?” The clerk put down the phone, glanced around. “For personal planting?”

“Yes, just buy a pack to try,” Jiang Jitang smiled.

“Nowadays it’s all hybrid, stable in traits. Some people still want small grains that aren’t disaster-resistant, just for flavor.” While muttering, he found a stable variety suitable for saving seeds.

However, it lacked the superior qualities of hybrid wheat, like cold resistance or lodging resistance.

“Here’s one jin (approx. 500g), enough for a small yard. 4.5 yuan in total.”

It was cheap, so Jiang Jitang didn’t haggle. He took the seeds and left. Next came making tools—time for “freeloading” again.

But this time, he didn’t go to the stone workshop; he went to the jade workshop, where many “scrap stones” had been discarded, mistaken for jade, left to rot after disappointment.

Such stones were usually dense and heavy—perfect for attaching to wooden handles for tools.

Jiang Jitang entered the jade workshop. The owner was delighted to see him; he remembered Jiang Jitang had once bought two huge jade raw stones, one still awaiting carving by a master.

“Boss, you’re busy. I’m just here to grab those scrap stones,” he said, pointing to a corner filled with discarded pieces.

These stones were so irregular that even for paving, they were insufficient. Wealthy people had strange hobbies.

The owner said nothing, greeted him politely, and left. Jiang Jitang crouched in the scrap area, picking stones piece by piece into a sack.

Nearby, the shiny luxury car gleamed under the sun.

Jiang Jitang took the bag of free stones to a recycling station, bought a few sturdy wood pieces at low price, and picked up a scrap leather piece.

The recycling station’s boss stared as Jiang Jitang loaded everything into the luxury car’s trunk, looking at the sky in bewilderment.

“…” This world is increasingly confusing.”

Back in his backyard, Jiang Jitang spread out the stones, adjusting thickness. He took a hammer, opened his phone, and followed a video tutorial for a “homemade ancient battle axe.”

The video instructed: find the right grain, tap slowly, break off unwanted pieces, and shape the stone.

But Jiang Jitang’s first light tap cracked a stone cleanly in half.

“…That’s too easy. Why did it break?”

“At least I have plenty of stones,” he comforted himself. He continued, adjusting force. After crushing about 70% of the stones and drawing a little blood, he got five usable pieces.

Attaching them to handles was a challenge.

He cut the leather into strips and braided a five-strand rope. Using several binding methods, the stones still didn’t stay securely.

“How did ancient people make stone tools?” He studied the video again.

“Ah, so that’s how they bound it!”

After a few attempts, he successfully made a stone axe, then a hoe and a knife. Learning brought him immense joy. He spent the rest of the day improving his bindings.

By nightfall, he had five crude stone tools: a hoe, axe, knife, and two spears.

Looking at them, pride welled up.

“Orcs never be slaves!” he suddenly shouted, swinging the massive stone axe.

Outside, an older lady carrying jujubes came over. She saw Jiang Jitang swinging an axe like a lunatic.

Jiang Jitang: …

Lady: …

“Hello, NASA? I need a one-way ticket to Mars, please.”

Carrying the jujubes and his five stone tools, Jiang Jitang dashed upstairs. Today, he was no longer the coolest kid on Guanghua Street, just a quiet passerby, Jiang Jitang.

He sent the story to a close friend.

“Cough.” The friend trembled but typed a comforting reply: “Don’t worry, she didn’t understand.”

If she understood, it would be awkwardly silent. Not understanding made it insane.

“Never mind. Parsons, I heard you’ve been running dungeons and collecting items lately?” As “President Jiang,” information always reached him. Parsons, as top player, drew departmental attention.

Many players mentioned meeting Parsons roughly every three days—a high frequency.

“Collecting items, and gaining experience.”

Parsons now ran 8th and 9th-level dungeons, practicing to identify weaknesses and then improving them in reality: combat, shooting, miscellaneous knowledge, life skills… anything he wished.

Disregarding dungeon danger, life was fulfilling.

Byproduct: occasional dropped game items, as not every session earned top scores.

Why not always 9th-level dungeons? Though seemingly harder, actual difficulty varied by individual. Someone with knowledge but low strength might find an 8th-level survival dungeon harder than a 9th-level trivia dungeon.

High-level players often died in lower-level games. Every dungeon required full focus.

Without level limits, 6th or 7th-level dungeons could also be farmed for gains.

“Dungeon runs require intense focus; sometimes, a break is needed.” Jiang Jitang didn’t advise otherwise—some couldn’t be persuaded.

“I will,” Parsons said calmly, showing the mystical beast egg he examined daily. “Your egg has signs of movement. It may hatch in a few days.”

“Really? When? I’ll be free after a few days.”

“Maybe three or four days. I’ll let you know when it moves.”

“Remember, cross your fingers for a hundred years. Don’t tell me, you’re a little dog.”

Parsons touched the egg, whispering: “Don’t hatch while I sleep, he wants to watch.”

The egg wiggled slightly, seemingly in response.

The next day, refreshed, Jiang Jitang forgot yesterday’s awkwardness and eagerly entered the task world.

The system selected the video-recording moment. He stood in a dense forest with no path, overhead thick tree cover. Beside him lay the long-dead warrior Tuo, still clutching a dead venomous snake.

In her pocket were the edible fruits she had found for her tribe: primitive chestnuts.

“How many modern foods are served at the cost of countless ‘Shennong’ deaths?”

The system could not answer. Eating any unfamiliar food required immense courage.

Jiang Jitang did not dwell. Time was short. He took the tooth token and chestnuts, following the task route to exit the forest.

“Wait.” He remembered something. He placed the hair collected from hunting ferocious beasts beside Tuo’s body. The strong scent would scare away predators, protecting her remains.

He then swiftly left the pathless forest.

Tuo’s tribe was not far—below a cliff, near a small waterfall, living in caves, around seven to eight hundred people.

Jiang Jitang showed the tooth token and chestnuts to the cave guards. They called the tribe chief.

The chief held the tooth token made from animal teeth: “It’s Tuo.”

Jiang Jitang explained what had happened. He had passed by and decided to relay the message. He could lead them to Tuo’s body; the venomous snake remained in her hand.

Many of the edible fruits she had collected were there, protected by thick skins, lasting through winter.

Dried chestnuts could last three to four months.

The tribe felt both fear and relief: death’s sorrow yet survival’s gift. Standing at the cave entrance, they did not know whether to feel joy or sadness first.

Jiang Jitang looked around: “Where is Tuo’s child? She has something to say.”

“Mama.” A seven- or eight-year-old child stepped forward, already understanding death. Losing his mother and facing life alone made him tremble.

“Your mother asked me to tell you: there will be new food this winter, but don’t eat it too fast. Eat two hands’ worth each day. Don’t get wet in the rain, don’t touch fire. Keep the salt in the innermost jar. She is returning to the sacred land. Take good care of yourself.”

The child’s eyes widened bravely, though tears betrayed him.

Jiang Jitang paused, then turned to others: “I will take you to that place. There are many fruits like this, bought with Tuo’s life. Take tools and follow me.”

The chief patted the child’s shoulder: “Coming along?”

He nodded.