Chapter 155
With the remaining money, he bought a bronze sword modeled after the Yue King Sword, then bought some fine fabric as gifts, and a few sets of thick pure-cotton clothes, several sets of thermal underwear, as well as two pieces of fur-on sheepskin.
With the ten-plus coins left, he picked up some soft bread and prepared sweet milk.
In an era before currency existed, bartering was the mainstream, and among all goods, fabric was the most valuable.
As for the clothes and food, those were prepared for the child.
Everything was ready. They should have gone to complete the task immediately, but the bronze sword he bought wasn’t sharpened yet, so Jiang Jitang had to sharpen it himself. Also, the clothes had to be modified to remove anything that was too ahead of this era, and the sheepskin needed to be made into fur-lined boots and vests. So the two agreed to depart the next day.
The next morning, Parsons arrived with two boxes of breakfast, and Jiang Jitang ran downstairs like a thief.
Jiang Sujin opened the door just in time to see her 1.8-meter-tall son throwing himself onto his “friend,” while that friend held breakfast in one hand and supported him with the other—astonishing arm strength, movements so practiced it looked like he had done this countless times before.
“……” Her “friend.”
The old mother silently backed away and pretended she saw nothing.
“Glutinous rice with meat broth! And my favorite sweet milk! How did you know I love these? Par—si…” Her son’s sticky, syrupy voice floated up from downstairs.
Her son, calm and reliable to the outside world, had his clingy nature exposed with nothing left behind.
“This is youth indeed,” she sighed.
After breakfast, Jiang Jitang and Parsons appeared in the task world.
“Achoo!” Before he could even see the task location clearly, a blast of wind and snow slapped him in the face—it was winter already. Jiang Jitang had protective clothing, so he wasn’t worried, but Parsons was still wearing early-autumn attire.
He quickly took out a spare down jacket and helped Parsons put it on—small, but wearable. Then he wrapped a cashmere scarf around him and placed a hat on his head.
Parsons inhaled—his lungs filled with Jiang Jitang’s scent, and a faint blush appeared on his cheeks.
“Still cold?” Jiang Jitang reached out and cupped his face with both hands.
Parsons shook his head lightly. The tip of his nose caught a sweet fragrance—the scent of Jiang Jitang’s hand cream, a peach aroma.
Even Parsons, a full-grown adult, felt the chill. Jiang Jitang suddenly grew worried. “System, how long has the snow been falling? It wasn’t there in the earlier footage.”
“Just started,” the system replied briefly.
“In the dead of winter…” Jiang Jitang couldn’t continue.
It was precisely because it was winter that they needed to store food, which was why they chose to abandon the child. If they could have raised both children, they wouldn’t have made this decision—they had raised him for three years after all.
But he didn’t ask the system why it didn’t intervene and help the parents during their hardest time.
Because the system only received the task when someone made a wish. Those parents had not made any wish. They made their decision without much struggle.
Perhaps they loved him—just not enough. Not enough to keep him.
“Let’s go.”
The snow had only just fallen. The ground showed little trace of it, but the forest terrain—even without snow—was hard to navigate.
No, not hard—impossible. They had to climb and jump like monkeys.
The two stumbled toward the direction of the red light. Jiang Jitang, worried the child might freeze, picked up his pace and almost slipped down a steep slope. Dead branches even snagged his clothes. Only because of his protective suit was he unharmed.
“I’ll carry you,” Parsons said, kneeling on one knee and turning his head toward him.
Jiang Jitang also felt their speed was too slow. This damn terrain wasn’t meant for walking at all; the phrase “traversing mountains and rivers” had become painfully literal. He couldn’t imagine what the couple had been thinking, leaving the child in such a remote, harsh place.
“I’m heavy, you know.”
“Where are you heavy?” Parsons hoisted him onto his back and even bounced him a little—light as a cloud.
“Hey hey, if I fall you’ll be doomed. I’ll draw a turtle on your face.”
Parsons stopped bouncing and carried him steadily. Jiang Jitang lay on Parsons’ broad back, arms wrapped around his neck, breath brushing Parsons’ ear.
Parsons was strong; carrying a person didn’t slow him at all. Jiang Jitang, however, a weakling with no exercise habits, was somehow panting even while being carried.
The system stayed silent. Its host used to be cautious and reliable, but after having a safety net behind him, he had become… reckless.
Fortunately, with their rushed pace, within twenty minutes they found the abandoned child. He sat curled inside an old, hollowed tree stump filled with leaves he had gathered.
He was clearly three and a half years old, yet his head looked like that of a one- or two-year-old infant from Blue Star.
When buying clothes earlier, they had asked about the child’s height—only 83 cm, about the height of a one-year-old. At that time, he knew the child was probably malnourished.
Except for some naturally short races, most people in this primitive world grew tall. This child’s totem was a leopard; he should have been even taller. It showed…
Jiang Jitang didn’t want to say anything. It was in the past—so let it be.
“Hello there. We heard your wish, so we came to find you. What kind of parents do you want?”
Jiang Jitang naturally carried a gentle aura of nature—children were sensitive to that. As he approached, the child didn’t hide. Instead, the far-off Parsons received a “warning stare.”
Jiang Jitang walked to the tree stump and stopped two meters away, holding out his hand. “Can I pick you up?”
The child looked at him with pale purple eyes, hesitating. Jiang Jitang simply smiled with open arms. For half a day, neither moved. Snow piled on both of them.
Finally, the child moved and crawled out.
Jiang Jitang was still smiling, but the corner of his mouth tightened for a moment. In such weather, the child wore only a tattered fur skirt—not even a vest. His skin was already purpling from cold.
Jiang Jitang took out the smallest cotton outfit and wrapped him in it. It was a natural-colored cotton set for toddlers, hoodie included.
After dressing him, Jiang Jitang put tiny sheepskin boots on his feet and picked him up.
He had made the boots overnight—crude, but warm. There were also two sheepskin vests for later, if needed.
The child’s eyes were purple—good news. It meant he wasn’t a complete albino; his eyes still had some melanin. As he grew, the color and his vision would improve.
“Be good. Eat this sandwich. And have some milk.” Both were warm.
The feather-light child slowly reached out with purplish-red hands. The warmth startled him; he held the sandwich as though it were a treasure, took a tiny bite—and his purple eyes sparkled like stars.
“Tasty.”
His voice was soft and hoarse, as if rarely used.
Jiang Jitang rubbed his hair and tugged Parsons forward. “Let’s get out of here. This place isn’t suitable for driving.”
“What’s his name?” Parsons asked.
“He doesn’t have one.”
Parsons fell silent. Even cats and dogs had names—for uniqueness, for hope, because names carried blessings.
A three-year-old without a name meant one thing: he had never been hoped for.
Looking at the two white-haired figures—one big, one small—both obedient and well-behaved, the more he looked, the more endearing they were. Jiang Jitang kissed the child’s cheek. The child froze, staring wide-eyed.
The little one was transferred to Parsons’ stiff arms. Parsons froze too. Jiang Jitang laughed triumphantly. “You two have the exact same expression!”
“Parsons, let’s give him a name.”
“People here name children after mountains, rivers, sun, moon, or objects.
“There’s a phrase in the ancient C-Nation language: ‘People experience sorrow and joy, separation and reunion. The moon waxes and wanes.’ He has already experienced sorrow and separation. What follows should be joy and reunion. How about… ‘Moon’?”
After thinking for a moment, Parsons gave the name—marking the child’s unique nature and blessing him.
“Moon, little Moon,” Jiang Jitang lifted the child. “From now on, we’ll call you Moon, okay?”
“Moon…” The child hugged Jiang Jitang tightly. At three years old, he understood many things. He knew he had a name now. The shaman had said names were spells—when injured or sick, calling someone’s name could keep them close. He now had someone he wanted to keep close.
“Little Moon, we can only stay here for half a day. We must leave before dark. What kind of parents do you want?”
Little Moon didn’t speak—just tightened his embrace. He had never felt warmth like this. So this was what being held by an adult felt like. No wonder other children always wanted to be carried.
“He’s still young. He doesn’t understand.” Jiang Jitang rubbed his head again. The child’s fluffy hair was thin and soft, if a bit rough.
Once they left the forest, Jiang Jitang summoned the double-layer RV. He opened a mini bathroom, turned on the heater, bathed the child in warm water, dried him thoroughly, dressed him in thermal underwear and cotton clothes, and put the boots on again.
Clean, the child looked fair-skinned and rosy, delicate and adorable—just too skinny.
All the clothes were high-grade natural cotton, inside and out. No major alterations needed. Wearing cloth for the first time, Moon touched everything. Compared to discarded, stiff fur from adults, this was heaven.
Jiang Jitang watched him curiously explore, teaching him how to use pockets, tighten the hood strings, and take off pants for the toilet.
Moon watched him carefully. He actually understood what Jiang Jitang meant—but couldn’t express himself.
Everything he knew about the world came from his parents. Everything he knew about “parents” came from watching others in the tribe. These impressions were shallow, floating on the surface. But when this man picked him up and carried him out of that despair-filled forest, he suddenly knew what kind of parents he wanted—ones like this, who held him warmly.
But he also understood—this man was a divine envoy who came because of his wish. The shaman’s stories said divine envoys descended in moments of greatest danger, saved people, and then departed.
The world of divine envoys was beautiful, unreachable. People sent them off respectfully. Only villains tried to keep a divine envoy on earth—so the shaman said.
He wouldn’t be such a villain.
Time was limited. They needed to find Moon a suitable family before their stay ended. Searching blindly wouldn’t work, so Jiang Jitang asked the system for a map. It displayed tribal lands and their main totems.
“How about this one?” He pointed at a tribe by a great river, sitting on fertile ground—a mixed tribe of leopard and cheetah totems, about thirty kilometers away.
A tribe that could occupy such land must be strong; mixed tribes were also good candidates.
They eventually selected four tribes, all powerful mixed tribes—some in plains, some in basins, some on hills. All had leopard totems.
But these four were far apart—the longest distance was 300 kilometers, with seas and mountains in between. Impossible to visit all in one day by car, so Jiang Jitang used a helicopter.
The helicopter roared as it took off, blasting dead leaves and sending small animals fleeing.
Moon, witnessing this for the first time, clutched the bread Jiang Jitang gave him, trembling, while emotionless Parsons carried him into the backseat. Jiang Jitang piloted the aircraft.
“Don’t scare him,” Jiang Jitang said without even turning back. It was too quiet—but he could guess the scene: one large and one small sitting stiffly.
“I’m not scaring him. I even unwrapped his bread,” Parsons said with a hint of grievance.
Jiang Jitang nearly laughed out loud. “Little Moon, this uncle is the strongest warrior I’ve ever seen—brave, disciplined, amazing. You can be close to him.”
“Ahem.” Parsons coughed, ears slightly red—not really that amazing.
Moon looked at him again—now not so afraid. With his thin little hand, he grabbed the warrior’s sleeve.
Parsons had never cared for a child, but the “soft baby” filter in his mind still worked. Awkwardly but sincerely, he showed Moon the scenery outside. Big and small, they got along in their own way.
The helicopter was extremely fast. Soon, they reached the first chosen tribe.
The helicopter circled above noisily. People below stared warily, thinking it was a flying beast.
Jiang Jitang didn’t land yet. He studied the tribe through the camera.
This tribe occupied the widest part of the river—with gentle waters nourishing fertile land.
Yet the people working the fields were barely clothed and painfully thin.
A three-story stone building stood in the center of the large tribe, painted with colorful sand—luxurious for this era.
But elsewhere, people lived in small thatched huts or triangular tents.
He didn’t want to judge too early, so he continued observing the commoners. They wore fur skirts and jackets, all thin. Elderly people were rare.
When the “flying beast” appeared, warriors surrounded the people in colorful clothes, protecting them—while the commoners scattered to hide on their own. There were no protection measures for ordinary people.
“Let’s go. Next one.”
This one wouldn’t do.
Dream Delivery System: My Delivery Jobs Keep Changing History
