In the midst of such uneventful days, Migo realized that, in the blink of an eye, he had already spent nearly six full days in the Wasteland.
The reason for lingering so long lay chiefly in his calculations: only after he remained here until midnight tonight would the time in the modern world advance to roughly eight in the evening.
Only once the day-shift warehouse keeper had clocked out and left would it be truly safe for him to return.
Thus, before his official departure, the task awaiting Migo that afternoon was, quite naturally, the simple pleasure of counting money.
"One hundred, two hundred, three hundred… twenty-three thousand two hundred… forty-one thousand nine hundred and twenty…"
In the end, after tallying the usable U.S. dollars laid out on the table and sorted by denomination, Migo arrived at a final figure: sixty-one thousand three hundred dollars.
Once exchanged, that would amount to roughly four hundred thousand yuan.
In addition, inside a black garbage bag by his side lay thirty to forty pieces of gold and platinum jewelry—necklaces, rings, earrings, and the like.
Unfortunately, these ornaments either lacked gemstones entirely or featured stones so small as to be negligible.
Compared to his previous haul, they were distinctly underwhelming, and likely worth little in comparison.
All of this constituted the entirety of Migo's gains from this journey.
That he had obtained even this much was thanks to the teams dispatched to clear out small ruins, who had searched with remarkable diligence.
After handing everything in according to protocol, they were rewarded with items such as spicy snack strips and hemorrhoid ointment.
Naturally, having nearly stripped two small ruins bare, they had discovered far more cash than this.
The problem was that too much time had passed. Though banknotes were famously durable, prolonged exposure to dampness and decay had rendered many of them completely unusable.
For instance, while clearing the ruins of a luxury villa, the scavengers had stumbled upon an entire backpack stuffed with U.S. dollars.
When Migo first heard the news, he had been elated. Yet after opening the bag himself, he was left utterly stunned.
What he saw were clumps of money fused together by mold and moisture.
Carefully peeling off a single bill and prodding it with a fingertip caused it to disintegrate instantly into soggy fragments. A rough estimate suggested that the bag had once held over a million dollars—now utterly ruined.
Thus, after clearing two ruins, this pitiful pile was all the usable cash Migo had recovered.
Only bills preserved in relatively dry conditions had survived with minimal damage, amounting to perhaps one percent of the original total.
Strictly speaking, when the jewelry was included, Migo had likely netted over a million yuan in a single trip—something that ought to have satisfied him.
The problem was that, given his current purchasing needs, this sum was woefully insufficient.
And so, Migo could only stare longingly out the window toward the distance, silently lamenting, Old Hawk, you bastard—why haven't you arrived yet…
Curiously enough, just as Migo was anxiously awaiting Hawk's caravan, another unexpected message crackled through the radio.
A patrol squad driving a pickup truck in the surrounding area suddenly shouted into the communicator:
"Patrol Team Three calling base! We've discovered a caravan from Kara Town. Base, please make the necessary preparations immediately!"
At this news, Migo's spirits soared.
After all, as the saying went—if there's no fish, shrimp will do.
Granted, Kara Town's purchasing power for diesel paled in comparison to Hawk's caravan, but at such a critical moment, even two or three kilograms of gold coins were nothing to scoff at.
Grabbing a pair of binoculars in one hand and the radio in the other, Migo dashed straight for the rooftop.
Yet no matter how hard he scanned the skies toward Kara Town, he saw no sign of the familiar "flying tricycles."
Perplexed, Migo raised the radio and called out:
"Patrol Team Three, this is Harry Potter—Migo. What's going on? You said Kara Town's people were coming, so why is there nothing in the air?"
The reply from Patrol Team Three was flawless:
"Oh, my lord, it's like this. Kara Town says that flying the gyrocraft consumes too much fuel and limits how much they can carry, so this time they're coming by land. There are quite a lot of them."
Hearing this, Migo was not alarmed but delighted.
As long as they could produce enough glittering gold coins, did he really need to worry about having too many customers? Not a chance.
Buoyed by the good news, Lord Harry Potter's voice boomed cheerfully through the loudspeaker:
"Xun, Xun—my dear! Once you hear this, hurry and prepare a generous spread. We'll be welcoming our friends from Kara Town shortly!"
…
After waiting more than two hours, Migo finally caught sight of Kara Town's delegation.
Just as the patrol had reported, they had come in force: a convoy consisting of six pedal-powered tricycles, three horse-drawn carts, and over twenty bicycles.
Good heavens—if they weren't planning to spend at least seven or eight hundred gold coins here in Meri Sub-City, they wouldn't dare show up in such numbers.
Once again, the delegation was led by Angiv, the half-dwarf.
With familiar faces meeting again and both sides eager to curry favor, the atmosphere was naturally warm and enthusiastic.
It was only then that Migo learned this was not solely a Kara Town delegation; Shelter No. 72, which maintained close ties with Kara Town, had joined them as well.
Shelter No. 72 was a town that had grown out of a medium-sized shelter—an entirely unremarkable occurrence in the Wasteland.
Even Migo himself had been contemplating that, once Meri Sub-City developed far enough, he would dispatch personnel to reopen the old Base 0005 as a new satellite city.
Upon learning that his would-be marks—no, his valued clients—had doubled from one group to two, Migo's delight only deepened.
After a brief exchange of pleasantries, he ushered them into the city for food and drink.
The lavish dishes prepared by Miss Xun and her people, along with the freely flowing bulk white liquor, left these prized customers ecstatic.
The banquet began at dusk and continued until after eight in the evening, only drawing to a close when snow once again began to fall.
By then, a thoroughly drunk Angiv patted Migo on the shoulder with a solemn expression.
Of course, this was only possible because Migo was seated while Angiv stood on tiptoe.
"Lord Harry Potter, your Meri Sub-City is excellent in every way," Angiv declared earnestly. "The food is delicious, the liquor has bite, and your people speak most pleasantly. There's only one small regret."
"And what might that be?" Migo asked, genuinely puzzled.
Angiv shot him a knowing look before continuing:
"In such long, lonely nights, for travelers like us, how wonderful it would be to have a bit of… merriment. If such a service existed, I'd gladly pay a full gold coin for it."
To be honest, the innocent young Migo did not grasp his meaning at first.
It was only after Angiv cast several longing glances at a towering black woman—two meters tall, well over a hundred kilos—who was serving a bowl of seafood soup, that realization dawned.
Understanding aside, Migo had no intention of encouraging such socially corrosive behavior.
Yet seeing the hopeful gleam in Angiv's small eyes, Migo suddenly recalled that he had purchased fifty inflatable dolls during this trip, intending to address the gender imbalance among his subordinates.
They offended neither morality nor public decency, while solving a very real problem.
With that in mind, Migo summoned Old Lame-Leg and issued detailed instructions.
That very night, beneath ambiguous pink lighting, a remarkable establishment known as the "Meri Sub-City Shared Girlfriend Club" was hastily founded within an emptied shack inside the city.