After the rest day, every camp member was up before sunrise. Even Hershel Greene's family made their way out to the southern lawn.

Nancy and Carol Peletier got breakfast sorted for everyone. Then Lin Feng looked across the assembled group and gave a single, solemn nod.

"Then let's begin. All of us — for a safer tomorrow."

Not a better tomorrow. In times like these, safe beat better every day of the week, and it hit harder too.

Merle grabbed a canteen and took Daryl, T-Dog, Otis, Jim, Andrew, and Glenn with axes into the woods.

One task. Fell timber. Any log thicker than fifteen centimeters, cut it, take it, as much as they could manage.

Daryl's main job was the perimeter. Keep the woods clear, make sure nothing crept up on them, safety watch first, logging and hauling second.

Lin Feng led everyone else west, toward the road, where they were laying down the first phase of the farm's Phase Two defenses: the Western Plan.

That meant repairing a watchtower, setting up at least ten tank traps, digging a twenty-meter trench, and filling and placing sandbags. That was the list, though not necessarily the whole of it.

The positions had been worked out the day before. Merle, Shane, and Rick, the ones with military backgrounds, had mapped it all together.

In theory, it would choke off the most likely lines of attack. Even if they got hit without warning, it would buy at least a minute of reaction time.

The workload was brutal. Lin Feng brought everyone he had. Men dug and shoveled, handling the heavy, grinding labor. Women packed sandbags and took on lighter work, wiring the tank traps, driving nails, keeping things moving.

Everyone was there. Everyone worked. No exceptions, no special treatment. Not even for Hershel Greene and Dale Horvath, both well past sixty.

Pity the two old men. Lin Feng didn't treat them as strangers. He just didn't treat them as particularly fragile, either.

The work was exhausting, and without heavy equipment the progress came slowly.

Nobody complained. Because the man leading them was out front, taking the worst jobs for himself.

When the sun finally sank toward the horizon, nearly every man could barely lift his arms. Steps were unsteady. Faces were caked in grime and dirt. Anyone passing by who didn't know better might've mistaken them for a herd of newly-intelligent walkers shuffling in from the fields.

After they knocked off, the way people looked at Lin Feng had shifted. He wasn't the biggest guy on the site, not by a long stretch, but his stamina was inhuman. One man. Roughly five people's worth of work.

And this top-tier workhorse was currently enjoying some very attentive care from a young girl, all under the scorching death glare of a certain old man.

A cool damp cloth wiped the grime from his face. Warm sugar-salt water was pressed to his lips. And Beth Greene held up a scavenged piece of plastic board, using it as a fan, stirring a slow, gentle breeze.

"Lin, how are you... how are you so..."

A mouthful of water nearly went down the wrong pipe. Lin Feng turned to look at Beth's flushed face.

People could just say things like that out loud?

But the admiration shining in those bright eyes was genuine. He gave a slow nod and said, keeping his expression perfectly mild, "Just average, really. Nothing special."

Mr. Butcher was running short on words right about now. If there weren't so many people watching, his first instinct probably would've been to bolt.

Crrrk,

Somewhere nearby, a set of back molars was threatening to give way. Silver-needle beard hairs stood at full attention. A pair of eyes damn near caught fire.

Hershel's fists were clenched.

This little bastard. Sitting there letting his daughter fuss over him like that, and pulling off a couldn't-care-less face while he did it.

Lin Feng caught the hostile gaze and turned. The future father-in-law's eyes were looking for blood. A sheepish smile was all that came out.

What do you do when your father-in-law catches you in the act?

Actually, he hadn't done a single thing wrong. What was there to be afraid of?

I, Lin, have always walked an upright path...

Mwah,

His vision blurred. Something warm and soft pressed against his lips.

The spine Lin Feng had stiffened lasted less than three seconds before it folded right back.

Hershel stood frozen for three full seconds.

Then, like a dump truck dropping into third gear from a dead stop, the old man snatched up a shovel and came charging.

No threats. No words. Just action, and the full declaration of murderous intent behind it.

"Holy shit!"

Lin Feng scrambled to his feet with no time to spare a thought for Beth. Hit the ground running, putting distance between himself and the shovel as fast as his legs would carry him.

"Wait — Hershel, just let me explain!"

"Go explain to God!"

Beneath the dying sun: one man running for his life, one old man raising righteous fury, one girl laughing with a hand over her mouth, and half the camp doubled over.

Merle was sitting on the ground in the distance, mid-cigarette, and looked up at the noise. Figured somebody was starting trouble. Flicked the butt, pushed up off the ground, took two steps, then saw who it was and broke into a grin. Reached into a pocket, fished out another smoke. "Lin! Move those legs! Unless you want a shovel to the ass!"

"Shut up, Merle!"

Hard to believe someone Hershel's age, after a full day of hard labor, could still brandish a shovel and chase a person for a hundred meters.

Eventually, with an eye on the old man's breathing, Lin Feng eased to a stop. Glanced back. No shovel in hand. Hands went on top of his head and he sank into a squat.

Fine. If he was getting hit, he was getting hit. Worst case, the daughter paid back the father's debt down the road.

But Hershel, pulling up in front of him, was already spent, hands on both knees, chest heaving like a bellows, fighting for every breath.

"I... I'm telling you... if there's ever a day... Beth comes to me and tells me... you treated her badly... I will take my shotgun... put a hole right in your head... and send you straight to God. I promise you that."

Lin Feng stood up straight. The way he received it, it felt like a formal commission.

"Mr. Greene. I give you my word — I will never let Beth down. I swear, if I, "

"Enough with the oaths! I want your word. That's all."

Something warm moved through Lin Feng's chest. "You have my word, Mr. Greene."

Hershel held Lin Feng's gaze for a long moment. Whatever was in those eyes, it was real. Earnest. The kind that doesn't fake.

A hand came down on Lin Feng's shoulder. A slow nod. Like setting down something precious that had been carried a long time.

Hershel knew. Children grew up. They left. Better to put Beth in the hands of someone like Lin Feng, capable, proven, than to wait and gamble on a stranger.

By Hershel's read, barring an early grave, Lin Feng was going to lead one of the largest survivor groups in this broken world.

When that day came, there would be no need to worry about Beth's safety anymore.

Lin Feng would handle it.

Wouldn't he?

➤ Next: The First Watchtower Is Completed

Chapter 56 - The First Watchtower Is Completed

Another day arrived.

After breakfast, the group gathered at the western end of the property and started working out how to build a watchtower.

The good news was that everyone had a rough picture in their heads: four upright pillars, crossbeams and diagonal braces in between for support, and a one-square-meter shelter on top with a waterproof roof.

The problem was the spacing, the angles, and the actual construction method. On all three counts, they were completely lost.

Lin Feng stood there and thought it over for a moment, then slapped his own forehead. To hell with overthinking, build it first. If it failed, tear it down and try again. They had the time and the supplies to burn.

He waved a hand. Merle and a few others climbed into a vehicle and headed into town to haul back a load of hardware supplies for the stockpile. Everyone else got to work on the build.

They started by digging four half-meter foundation pits, then set oak posts into each, over twenty centimeters in diameter, five meters long, bottoms charred for rot resistance. Fill in crushed stone, tamp down the soil, and that was the base.

Except the moment Lin Feng finished explaining that part, Hershel Greene cut in.

"Isn't there perfectly good cement back at the house? A lot sturdier than packed dirt. Pour it in and let it set — no worrying about the thing leaning over or coming down."

Lin Feng blinked. Then he slapped his forehead again and launched into a round of shameless flattery, heaping praise on Hershel Greene with everything he had. By the time Lin Feng was done, the old farmer's smile had stretched nearly to both ears.

"Fence-sitter."

"Spineless."

"Bootlicker."

Lin Feng turned around and rolled his eyes. "No point explaining this to guys who don't have girlfriends."

That got a round of laughing and ribbing. While everyone was at it, the cement and gravel finished mixing. They poured it into the pits, stirring in rebar occasionally to keep the fill dense and tight, as few air pockets as possible.

Once the main pillars were set, the crossbeams went up in an alternating pattern — one horizontal, one diagonal, forming triangles wherever they could. Triangles hold. That was the idea.

Then came laying a tier of logs for flooring and framing out the shelter on top, which turned out to be the most painstaking part by far.

No sawmill meant no cut planks. Every piece of the floor had to be laid log by log, nail by nail.

Swinging the hammer, Lin Feng's mind drifted without warning to the Hammer God, Tyreese Williams. The one who had battered a path out of a walker encirclement with nothing but an iron hammer, only to bleed out in the end.

Tyreese's sister Sasha Williams had been a sharpshooter, too. No slouch in a fight. Wherever those two were right now was anyone's guess.

Tsk. Headache. But honestly, recruitment was a genuine problem.

Take just anyone and you risked letting in a rat or a traitor. Refuse to recruit and you were stuck short-handed. And the wheat fields nearby weren't going to harvest themselves.

That grain was something Lin Feng had been eyeing since day one. Just clearing the current crop would take a workforce in the hundreds, easily brushing a thousand.

Why else fixate on a farm, of all places, and sink this much time and material into building it up? Did anyone seriously think it was for fun?

In terms of raw defensive infrastructure, the place still had nothing on the Prison.

Amid the steady clatter of hammering, log after log locked into place. The tarp went over the top, and the first watchtower was finished just as the sun touched the horizon.

Lin Feng climbed down, grabbed a support pillar, and gave it a hard shake.

Nothing. Didn't move an inch.

He nodded, satisfied.

Wind and rain resistance would need a real test, but it was ready to use now. The alarm systems and searchlights could wait until the resources were there. In the meantime, bolting a few layers of steel plate to the perimeter boards for ballistic protection was already doable.

Beside him, Rick Grimes stood with both hands on hips, clothes flecked with mud and wood shavings. After studying the tower for a long moment, there came a quiet, genuine remark: "Looks pretty solid."

"At least a kilometer of sightlines," Lin Feng said. "Clear view of the highway in both directions. Put someone with decent aim up there and this thing becomes a nightmare for anything that comes our way."

A palm ran along the slightly rough surface of the logs. "This is going to be our most important pair of eyes," Rick said.

"Ha. Exactly why we need to build more of them."

Lin Feng kept his eyes on the tower, turning something over in his mind. "We should probably store some weapons, ammo, and food up there too. If a herd ever punches through the outer defenses and the sentry can't get down in time, at least they'd have a fighting chance."

Rick paused. An eyebrow went up. Then a hand landed firmly on Lin Feng's shoulder.

"Lin, you always think ahead for everyone else. You see further than the rest of us — like a prophet for the group, always pointing the way forward."

Lin Feng gave a loose smile. "I told you. We're going to survive this rotten apocalypse together."

"Yeah. Together."

"Come on, I'm starving." And the two of them walked back toward camp.

The day's work had been lighter than yesterday's, mostly lashing together chevaux-de-frise, moving them to the eastern fence line, digging footing pits, and setting them in place, all aimed at better absorbing the push and press of a walker surge.

Dinner came earlier than usual, and there was more of it.

Everyone had been grinding through heavy labor all day, and it showed. Except for the three small kids, every appetite at the table had grown since the first day. The camp's stockpiles could handle it easily, and honestly, watching everyone eat more was a good sign.

All that punishing work was forcing every body in camp to adapt, an accelerated push toward something tougher and stronger.

Though, to be clear, it was being bought on credit against their long-term health.

Whether the trade was worth it was a question best left to people who lived into their seventies and eighties.

So the food supply had to keep pace. Lin Feng had been showing up at Hershel Greene's door every single day without shame, asking for eggs and fresh milk to fold into the camp's meals.

And once the construction phase wound down, the next stage kicked in: combat training. Turn non-combatants into reserves. Turn reserves into fighters. Turn fighters into something sharper.

That was the plan, link by link.

Merle and the others rolled back in with their second haul. A corner of the camp was now heaped with hardware, bolts, brackets, steel cable, assorted scrap. Merle hadn't bothered keeping an inventory during the runs. Found a shop, cleared it out, moved on. Pure bandit logic.

Over by the supplies, Dale Horvath was directing a few people in hammering in wooden stakes and stretching a tarp overhead, basic, bare-bones rain cover, nothing fancy.

Not a big job. But Dale Horvath worked through it with real enthusiasm, smiling the whole time.

Always like that. Quietly picking up whatever small task needed doing, no fanfare, no looking around to see who noticed. Just getting on with it.

Like an old handyman, always patching, always mending.

➤ Next: He's Actually Still Provoking Me!!!