This is a natural cave, tucked away in a sheltered spot out of the wind. Inside, a Sand Skiff was displayed before everyone.
The Sand Skiff is a unique mode of transportation found only in the South Wasteland. Everyone circled around, some just watching for fun, others studying the details—Jack Young was focused on its construction. He reached out and tapped the hull, and suddenly it all made sense to him. Who knows what kind of wood this thing was made from—the friction on the bottom was minimal. This Sand Skiff was longer and wider than the speedboats managed by the Long River Triad, but when Jack gave it a push, he found that five or six regular guys could easily pull it along when empty.
"Here in the South Wasteland, the wind blows all year round—nothing's faster than my baby here—well, except for some martial arts experts with crazy lightness skills," the Blind Elder boasted, full of pride. "With this, it's cool during the day, warm at night, and you can go wherever you want! Let me tell you, in all of South Wasteland, there are barely a handful of folks who dare venture into the Death Desert, but old Blind Grandpa here? I can roll around in the Ninefold Death Desert, take a leak, and walk right out. With me around, crossing the Sand Sea is a piece of cake!"
"Oh..." Jack Young glanced curiously over the Sand Skiff, wanting to memorize its structure—might come in handy someday, say, in the western deserts. At the same time, he casually asked, "But why are you so eager now? Weren't you just dragging your feet a moment ago? Don't tell me... there's something you're not saying?"
"Uh... well..." Jack's offhand remark made the Blind Elder freeze for a moment, then he chuckled awkwardly, "Honestly, aside from you folks, there have been others trying to mess with me, wanting to rent my Sand Skiff. But compared to that big demon, you little troublemakers are way more reliable, so I figured—might as well go with the flow (that's a South Wasteland saying) and side with you guys."
"Big demon?" Fiona Fang couldn't help being curious. The Blind Elder was always a scruffy, fearless type, but when he mentioned that big demon, he seemed genuinely spooked. So she asked, "Who is this big demon that scares you so much?"
"Me, afraid? Never!" The Blind Elder tried to talk tough at first, but then shriveled up and muttered, "But seriously, that big demon is not someone you mess with. Sigh, women—the prettier they are, the scarier. Listen to me, treasure your life and stay far away from beautiful ladies!"
Fang Hailong wasn't in the mood to banter with the Blind Elder. He sent people to fetch the convoy and asked, "Anything else we need to prepare? Spit it out!"
"Well, you see, to run a Sand Skiff properly, one silver hand is not enough." The Blind Elder looked a bit embarrassed, holding up a finger. "All my best crew have been bought off for big money, so we'll need to find some more silver hands. I wish folks would stop coming for my gold, but you gotta have someone who can actually drive the thing—what are you all laughing at?"
"What are we laughing at?" The Long River Triad folks exchanged glances, then burst into snickers and chuckles. Xiang Xiaolong came over and slapped the Blind Elder on the back—his big arm nearly drove the old man into the ground. "Old man, let me tell you something. Us grandpas here might not be good at much, but driving a boat? You've come to the right people!"
Whoosh! Wen Hanlong leapt onto the deck, glanced left and right, then confidently declared, "Not much different from riverboats or sea vessels. Piece of cake."
"Then we're all set," Jack Young ordered. "Everyone get ready—once our stuff arrives, we head out immediately!"
Martial artists work fast—within half an hour, all the chores were wrapped up, and a Sand Skiff quietly slipped out from behind the cliffs. Whoosh! Its sail, even bigger than those on sea vessels, billowed out, and as the canvas flapped and the hull scraped over the sand, the skiff picked up speed, eventually vanishing into the red glow of sunset.
At that very moment, outside the Blind Elder's old place, a figure in black robes showed up. This person was wrapped up from head to toe—even their face was hidden behind a black veil, eyes lost in shadow. The figure entered the Blind Elder's little shack, rummaged through everything, and finally found a scroll. Unrolling it, they saw a map—marked with all the oases and forbidden zones of the South Wasteland.
"Hmph, guess this trip wasn't a waste. But that damned blind geezer dared to mess with me? I'll dig out his eyeballs and pickle them!" Bam! With a sweep of their sleeve, the black-robed figure smashed every piece of furniture to bits. Then, with a flick of the foot, they vanished in a blur. Seconds later, the whole shack rattled and cracked, and finally collapsed with a thunderous crash.
Whoosh—at the end of the black market street, the black-robed figure reappeared, gazing west. They unfurled the scroll and glanced at it: "Next stop—Crescent Spring." Rolling up the map, they strode off, ignoring the darkening sky and biting cold wind, heading alone into the vast Sand Sea.
……………………………………………… Grandpa's dividing line ………………………………………………
"Desert nights are seriously freezing—aaah!"
It was a shared sentiment—tons of first-timers in the South Wasteland couldn't help but say it. The Three Dragons and folks like Jack Young, who had mastered internal energy or were just physically superhuman, barely noticed the cold. But the rest weren't so lucky. Especially Rachel Luo—she was shivering so hard her teeth were chattering. "F-Fiona, it's supposed to be summer, so why is it so cold?"
It wasn't her fault—she'd tried to prepare for the desert night, but still underestimated the chill. As soon as night fell, the temperature dropped like a rock, and after dark, it felt just like winter—down to minus six or seven degrees, cold enough to freeze your bones. Imagine waking up early for the company shuttle in the dead of winter, blowing on your hands, stomping your feet, nose bright red—that's the kind of cold we're talking about. And with the wind howling, it felt even worse.
H-haha, that's just desert weather—s-s-so cold... Even Fiona Fang was shivering. 'You'll get used to it... eventually!'
Hey, you're shivering too!' Jack Young didn't need his own cloak, so he wrapped his two disciples together for warmth and asked, 'Old man, how long has it been since you used this boat? Why is the cabin so drafty?'
Well, it's my old treasure—I hardly ever use it, so... heh heh!
Heh heh, my foot! It's just been neglected for years, hasn't it? Cool in the day, warm at night? What a load of nonsense! Whatever, I'll fix it myself—bring me some materials, I'm patching these holes!
Sigh, this trip's been a mess from the start. An old boat, a blind geezer, a crew of rogues—and just like that, our South Wasteland adventure began. Hot by day, cold by night. Forget the cold—when it's hot, it's over fifty degrees, the sun'll knock you out, and the sand under your feet feels like roasted chestnuts.
This old boat's another headache—busted here, worn there. No major problems, but plenty of little ones. Plus, Wen Hanlong and the others got it wrong: sailing in the desert is nothing like rivers, lakes, or seas. See, desert sand's got its quirks, with dunes and valleys—the highest and lowest spots can differ by more than ten meters.
Sailing here is like surfing giant waves—you gotta watch the terrain. Huge dunes can even change the wind direction, which is where the Blind Elder really shines. Dodge the impassable spots, blast through little bumps and dips—if you get it right, riding the sand in a gale is a wild thrill. But mess up, and you might just smash your head into a dune—
There's a legendary kung fu called "Iron Sand Palm"—you train with hot iron sand. Maybe now's a good time to practice "Iron Sand Feet"?
Quit yapping and pull the rope!
Right—everyone has to pull together like the Volga boatmen (those legendary Russian river haulers)... uh, I mean, like river haulers, to drag the boat out of the sand and get moving again.
The pain of desert travel doesn't end there.
Now I get why people in desert countries wear veils,' Jack Young remarked after watching Xiang Xiaolong sneeze out twin jets of dust. He was suddenly a big fan of face masks. Folks in Beijing or Tianjin gripe about smog? Try this place—at least smog won't carve bloody furrows into your face!
Endless wind and sand aside, the ever-changing wind direction is a real pain. The wind shifts three times a day, never predictable, so the Long River Triad crew was always scrambling. If it's a headwind, forget the sail—grab a pole and push like a gondolier. No wonder sand skiffs are so flat; if the windward side were any bigger, we'd be blown backward!
And then there’s the people—getting along isn’t easy. Fang Hailong and the Blind Elder are total opposites, so it’s always a spectacle when they clash. Especially with the Blind Elder’s accent: he kept saying, “I’m not a South Wastelander, I’m a South Wastelander!” Jack Young figured one “Wasteland” was supposed to be “Fang,” but which was which? He could only shrug.
Other than that... things were fine.
The desert is a place of freedom—but so much freedom, you can easily lose your way. The whole South Wasteland is just a patchwork of oases, each like an island waiting for explorers. Starting from Wind Cry Pass, the first oasis to hit is Crescent Spring. After two days of travel, the crew arrived.
After resupplying, Fang Hailong found the mark left by the Dream Dragon King, and everyone set off for the next oasis.
On the way, they ran into caravans and bandits. The caravans aren’t worth mentioning, but the bandits were a big sand pirate gang, riding several skiffs and numbering over a hundred. In the heartland, that’s nothing, but out here, a hundred is a force. With 100+ against 20-something, it looked like an easy win, so they charged in like hungry wolves.
The leader jumped aboard with a thud, brandishing his saber and shouting, "Hand over everything valuable—and all the women!"
Then they ran into Fang Hailong, who was still ticked off from dealing with the Blind Elder.
Next came a friendly, harmonious showdown between river pirates and sand bandits—each trying to out-tough the other.
In the end, the bandits obediently handed over all their valuables. If no one here had a taste for handsome men, the leader might've lost more than just his loot.
After a robbery that felt more like a variety show, their big boat ended up towing three speedboats behind it. These special sand pirate boats, fast and equipped with nets and hooks, were perfect for ambushing camel caravans. To the Three Dragons, these boats were worth more than gold or silver, so they snatched them all.
On the fifth day, the Blind Elder studied the stars and solemnly warned, "Everyone be careful—from here on, we're entering the forbidden zone for ordinary folks." He pointed to the endless Sand Sea ahead, face shadowed: "This is the Nineteen Death Desert."
Nineteen Death Desert?' Jack Young repeated in surprise, pronouncing the name clearly. 'You mean the Nineteen Death Desert?'
That's right, Nineteen Death Desert. What's the problem?' the old man replied, clueless.
Nothing,' Jack Young squinted. 'I'm just impressed you said "Nineteen Death" instead of "Xi Jiu Xi" for once.'