Dream Delivery System: My Delivery Jobs Keep Changing History – CH87

Chapter 87

The baby in his arms sensed a living presence and moved its eyes around in confusion. Only a few days old, the infant could not see far, nor could it make out Jiang Jitang’s face.

But life instinctively draws close to what is good to it.

“So warm.” It felt like holding a milky little heater.

After holding the child long enough, Jiang Jitang handed the baby back. He took out the infant formula and rice cereal he had specially prepared for babies and toddlers, and explained how to use them.

There were no baby bottles left, so they would have to make do with using a spoon.

The journey ahead was too harsh; the mothers likely didn’t have enough breast milk, so the formula was essential as a supplement. And slightly older children could eat soft porridge.

Letting them eat the same dry, additive-filled instant meals as adults would be abuse.

A dozen men and women carrying children came over. They hesitated and pushed among themselves for a while before the four babies under six months old received the biggest portions, and the others the smaller ones.

Luckily, Jiang Jitang still had whole-milk formula, just right for the little ones under three years old.

“Sorry, I only prepared this much.” Two bags of formula per person wasn’t nearly enough.

Hearing this, the Sala tribespeople froze for a moment, then their faces flushed red as they waved their hands frantically. “No, no, this is a lot. Very, very much. We think it’s too much already. It must have been difficult to buy these.”

“Thank you, Envoy.” Warrior Asan cried again. He too was just a young boy who had been forced to grow up overnight, and now he had a child to care for; the pressure was enormous.

But now he felt he could endure it.

Good—before this, Jiang Jitang was just a distant visitor. Now he was an envoy.

Receiving the tricycles made them grateful, receiving warm clothing made them doubly grateful, but saving their youngest children—this made the Sala people feel like kneeling to him. This was a kindness that preserved their civilization, because children were hope.

They now had transportation, warm clothing, food for the little ones… even the Great Priest felt this was enough. She knew very well the value of these items.

As for crystal minerals—those were produced everywhere in the world, and weren’t worth much.

But if things ended here, how could Jiang Jitang still be a gold-rank courier?

He took out folding cots and automatic tents, and the tribespeople surrounding him immediately saw the benefits.

There were few trees in the wasteland—no way to hang hammocks or easily build wooden beds. Everyone had been carrying heavy wooden frame beds as they traveled, because sleeping on the ground in this weather meant sickness and death.

But with these lightweight folding cots, and tents to block wind and rain, they could finally rest properly at night and travel better during the day.

“The tents and beds are only enough for four hundred people. But two cots can be pushed together. If you squeeze a bit, you should manage.” Jiang Jitang said.

“Envoy, don’t worry. Children can sleep with parents, and some will be keeping watch at night. This is more than enough.” They were not people who failed to appreciate kindness—how could they call it insufficient? Jiang Jitang had prepared things they could never have imagined.

“That’s good. I still have more,” Jiang Jitang said as he took out metal tripods and portable cooking pots. Just spread the tripod, hang the pot—much easier than building a stove.

There were also 500 aluminum lunch boxes and water bottles, and matching utensils. Four thermal kettles for hot water on the road.

Plus 100 hand-crank flashlights for nighttime.

The Great Priest swayed slightly. With their world’s industrial level, this quantity of goods would cost a fortune. But even more surprising items appeared.

Jiang Jitang took out a hundred military shovels, along with hoes, axes, saws—numerous metal tools.

These could fend off enemies up close, and be used for production and daily life.

There were also knives, scissors, needles and thread—everything they desperately needed.

He taught the gathered Sala warriors how to use the multifunction military shovel. Each section of the shovel’s steel handle held a small tool—it could start fire, cut meat, blow a whistle… The warriors swung the shovels around, reluctant to let go.

Meanwhile, the elderly logistics workers turned the other tools over and over in their hands, marveling. These were better than the ones they had traded for at high prices.

But it still wasn’t over.

A washbasin containing a bottle of glycerin, personal hygiene supplies, and a bar of soap—500 sets in total. Adults each received one, children none.

The women also received menstrual products Jiang Jitang had brought.

They had never used them before, so Jiang Jitang had to explain.

The women surrounded him, listening as he explained safety and hygiene matters. His face held no embarrassment, no impropriety—calm and open. So the listeners felt calm and open as well.

The two recently postpartum mothers and the women currently on their period used them immediately. They gave Jiang Jitang a thumbs-up—the comfort was unprecedented, and since the smell of blood attracted dangerous beasts, this was much safer.

Jiang Jitang then brought out 200 nylon backpacks. Cheap, light, yet sturdy, with many pockets for carrying personal items.

“Elder, with all these tools, we can dig up edible plants along the way, and also hunt. Everyone can eat cooked food and drink clean water.” Asan flaunted his stuffed backpack, water bottle around his neck, military shovel in hand.

The Great Priest looked at the joyful tribe. Throughout their escape, this was the first time they had smiled. They truly should smile—though they were like exiles, they had preserved their flame. One day, they might return.

She looked again at Jiang Jitang, who was now surrounded by magical beasts. The usually alert creatures behaved toward him as if he were one of their own—letting him pet them, hug them; even the large, calf-sized Fire Mountain Goat wanted him to lift it high.

The Great Priest couldn’t help laughing; she felt lighter than she had in a long time.

Before she realized it, more than an hour had passed. Jiang Jitang saw that they had mastered cycling and finished distributing the supplies, and every face wore a smile.

Only then did he bring out the water purification tablets, food, and medicine.

He also had binoculars, paper and pens, water barrels, and safety ropes. These he handed to the old priest, explaining their uses one by one. “You distribute these.”

“Oh, right.” Jiang Jitang took out the old vegetable leaves and carrot greens he had collected earlier—“trash.” These were all edible. Even corn husks and silk could be boiled for vitamins.

When humans are truly desperate, they can eat dirt—let alone vegetables that were merely old and tough.

The food and medicine quantities were astonishing. The old priest stroked the grain sacks with trembling hands. She took out a box from her pocket—in it lay a special magical beast egg.

Though Jiang Jitang didn’t recognize it, its powerful life force meant it was extraordinary.

“We have nothing to repay you with,” the old priest said. “Please accept this.”

Jiang Jitang still had a magical beast egg stored in his system—how could he take another? He waved his hands to refuse, worried she would insist, and quickly shifted the topic.

“Elder,” he addressed her as the Sala people did, “do you know of any magical beasts that live in a castle but can’t be found?”

The old priest was indeed distracted. “What kind of magical beast?”

“This kind.” He repeated the description of the castle ghost.

She pondered for a moment. “I think it is not a ghost-type, but a psychic-type.”

“You know?”

“Seventy to eighty percent certain,” the old priest said with a smile.
“It is a magical beast that cherishes books. Legend says it is born from a place rich with culture—pure, created from the very pursuit of knowledge. We call it the Stubborn Turtle, or Codex Turtle—a creature that sticks to its chosen vow no matter what. It is a living history and library.

“It can live a very long time. A hundred years is but a blink for it. But I think this one is newly born. It needs knowledge from books and cannot yet leave the castle.”

“Then how do we draw it out?”

“Books. Many, many books. Any kind—as long as they properly record knowledge. Don’t worry about it not understanding—the Stubborn Turtle is born understanding all languages.” The old priest smiled.

Jiang Jitang was wildly tempted. This was essentially a walking encyclopedia. But only a little tempted—the wish-maker wanted to give the castle ghost a retirement companion.

Ah. Retirement.

A species with a lifespan of only a hundred years… giving retirement to a species for whom a hundred years is a blink.

A turtle living across generations—after humans die, the turtle remains.

“Thank you, Elder.” Jiang Jitang sincerely thanked her. Without her guidance, he wouldn’t even know where to start. He didn’t even know who the target was—how could he possibly lure it out?

Think about it—hunters of the magical beast world couldn’t do it. Why would his charm succeed?

Little did he know that as a fusion with the Tree of Life, he was basically a super-celebrity in the eyes of magical beasts. If he went, he actually could lure the Stubborn Turtle out.

“We should be thanking you,” the old priest replied sincerely.

Jiang Jitang’s preparations were too thorough—far beyond anything she had imagined.

Even in their homeland, they had never possessed so many modern industrial goods. They crafted their own daily necessities and traveled by foot or magical beast.

This place was too open—no shelter, no water source—not a good campsite.

The Sala people packed up. They rode the tricycles with the children and wounded, others mounted their magical beasts. With unprecedented speed, they found a suitable campsite by a creek.

It was still daylight.

Over a hundred able-bodied youths went with their new tools to gather and hunt. Some wounded set up tents and cots. Others stayed to build fires.

With metal tripods and cooking pots, they didn’t need stoves, but still needed firewood.

Several elders used the new axes to chop apart the wooden beds they had carried all this way, bundling the wood to save for later, in case they couldn’t find firewood.

Children gathered dried grasses for kindling. They were lucky—by the water, they found an abandoned waterfowl nest with many eggs.

They cracked them open—most were spoiled, but a few good ones remained.

Teenage boys fetched water from the creek and searched for fish.

Everyone had work to do—except Jiang Jitang and the old priest.

The simple Sala people trusted him completely now; the old priest had no warriors guarding her.

But many magical beasts stayed behind—the small ones. The larger ones had gone hunting.

Jiang Jitang rolled around in the furry pile, hugging all the magical beasts happily.

Anyone beloved by magical beasts could not be a bad person—this was a truth of their world. The old priest watched him with gentle eyes.

The tents were set up in the center, and the elderly built defenses—horse-block barricades—and dug some traps.

Fires burned on the flat ground by the creek, their flames licking the pots. The boiling water bubbled vigorously.

They were reluctant to use the preserved instant food, so they only added hand-shaved noodles. Then they tossed in washed carrot leaves, beans, celery roots, and a little salt—delicious and nutritious.

Following Jiang Jitang’s suggestion, they opened a few packets of dried seaweed-shrimp soup and added beaten waterfowl egg—seaweed egg soup was ready.

Children and the wounded had better meals; the former drank milk, the latter had leftover dried meat.

As the food finished cooking, the hunting teams returned joyfully, carrying small animals—mouse or rabbit, who knew—and bundles of wild greens and nuts. Their harvest was plentiful.

These ingredients needed immediate processing for tomorrow’s meals.

They still couldn’t fill more than 500 stomachs, but with Jiang Jitang’s relief supplies and tools, their spirits were high.

Today’s foraged food far exceeded previous days. With new tools, they finally had a stable food source. And even if luck was bad, the relief supplies could last a month or more.

By now, only half an hour remained before Jiang Jitang had to leave.

“May I take some photos?” he asked.

The old priest nodded. She knew what photography was.

Jiang Jitang took out his prepared DSLR and pointed the lens at the bright smiles around the campfires.

Warriors carrying game, mothers feeding children, elders leaning on the barricades, smiling, wounded resting on cots with bowls of hot soup.

He captured everything. Hope blooming amid hardship—like flowers in the wasteland.

“It’s time for me to go. This is my last gift to you.”

A golden magic circle appeared beneath his feet. The Sala people panicked, but the Great Priest quickly calmed them. She lifted her old yet wise eyes toward the swirling green light dots. The tall figure waved at them.

The Great Priest smiled.

Goodbye. May you forever be safe and blessed, child of the earth.