Jing Shu still loved drinking soups, a comforting habit that anchored her in the ritual of preparation and the warmth of a full bowl. So, whenever the mood struck, she would cook in truly staggering quantities, filling her largest pots to the brim. She prepared one cubic meter of seafood shrimp porridge, rich with the brine of the ocean, another cubic meter of carrot corn mutton soup, sweet and savory, a full cubic meter of hearty mushroom chicken stew, one of pork rib and lotus root soup, clear and nourishing, and finally, one cubic meter of milky white crucian carp tofu soup. Each batch steamed up her kitchen, the aromas layering into a dense, savory fog before she carefully stored every last drop away.
To save on electricity, which had become a precious and metered commodity, Jing Shu also took to frying her own late night snacks. She seasoned and pan fried thick cuts of steak and coils of sausages until they were crisp and golden, then stored the lot, adding another two cubic meters to her reserves.
Anyway, whenever Jing Shu had free time at home, which was more often now, she would cook all kinds of food. She moved through the kitchen with a focused, almost meditative calm, then hoarded the results like a hamster into the Cube Space. She even had future plans sketched out. When her grandparents came over, she would grind soybeans to make all kinds of tofu, soft, firm, and fermented, ensuring no part of their pantry would feel wanting.
Su Lanzhi was still going to work every day, a testament to stubborn routine, and every day she would return to complain that the Earth's Dark Days hadn't ended yet. More than 30 days had passed already, she'd mutter, wiping sweat from her brow. She also made Jing An go to the wholesale market to buy more supplies daily, a nervous, incremental accumulation. Recently, everyone was anxiously waiting for the Earth's Dark Days to end while secretly hoarding more food, a shared, unspoken dread fueling the quiet rush on remaining goods.
As for fresh vegetables and fruits, that was nearly impossible. Prices had soared to over 100 yuan per 500 grams, a shocking figure, and even at that price, there were no truly fresh ones left. What appeared were wilted, tired things, their vitality long spent.
Bottled water, beverages, and cold drinks never reappeared on shelves again. Their absence was a stark, blank space in every store, a reminder of a simpler, more hydrated past.
The shelves once packed full of snacks, condiments, grains, and cooking oil were quietly emptying out, and there never seemed to be any restocking. Now, each person was limited to 200 yuan worth of purchases, which wasn't much, but even a mosquito's leg counted as meat. Unless you went to scalpers and paid sky high prices, a risky gambit most couldn't afford.
But since many small supermarkets were caught and had their hoarded goods confiscated for raising prices too much, scalpers became fewer, driven deeper underground. Ordinary citizens had no idea where the seized supplies went, whispers of government warehouses or corrupt redistribution swirling, but Jing Shu knew. Later, when people were nearly starving, those seized goods were redistributed as lifesaving relief, a bitter, final resort.
Some shopkeepers thought that if raising prices wasn't allowed, they might as well close and hoard goods, waiting for a more desperate, profitable time. But the very next day, two armed officials would be stationed at their doors like gate gods, stony faced and immovable, forcing them to keep selling at the mandated prices.
At Wu City's largest farmers' market, the usual bustling cacophony had fallen silent. Seafood, dried goods, grain, and oil sales were suspended. The authorities had quietly taken control, a seamless, bureaucratic takeover. Jing Shu only found out later through fragmented news and hushed talk. Prices there had gone beyond outrageous, so the authorities directly confiscated everything in one sweep. To put it politely, they called it "requisitioning," a word that carried the weight of law but tasted of confiscation.
As the Earth's Dark Days showed no sign of ending, the authorities grew anxious, a palpable tension thickening the air in every official broadcast. By calculation, after more than 20 days, there should've been faint light returning. But after so many days, it was still the same, an unbroken, oppressive blanket. Experts estimated at least another month. So the massive machinery of the state began to act, gears grinding into motion with solemn purpose.
Today was February 5, 2023, the Lantern Festival. Originally, the Spring Festival that should've been celebrated on January 22 was postponed to February 5, after the Earth's Dark Days were supposed to end. The plan was to have the reunion dinner on Lantern Festival, a symbolic merging of two celebrations into one moment of light. But no one had expected the Earth's Dark Days to still not be over, casting the festive plans into a strange, somber relief.
To stabilize morale, the Spring Festival Gala and Lantern Festival program was broadcast live at exactly 20:00. This year, all the hosts wore their real clothes, a shocking departure from glittering norm, dirty, wrinkled suits, scruffy beards, faded dresses, weary faces, and greasy hair. No makeup, no grooming. They looked, for the first time, exactly like everyone watching.
"Sorry, dear viewers, I haven't taken a bath in half a month," said the female host, still carrying herself with elegant poise despite being bare faced, her smile strained but genuine.
"What a coincidence, I haven't bathed in a month either," the male host added with a microphone in hand, his chuckle raspy. Thus, the opening began, a moment of shared, gritty humanity.
That evening, power supply was guaranteed nationwide so every household could enjoy a reunion dinner and happily watch the Lantern Festival Gala, a temporary island of normalcy in the dark.
Jing Shu and her parents went to her eldest uncle's house for the reunion dinner. This was their family tradition, New Year's Eve at her grandparents' house, Lantern Festival at her eldest uncle's. Tradition persisted, even now.
Since vegetables were scarce, Su Lanzhi brought some dried goods, eggs, tomatoes, bean sprouts, cabbage, garlic shoots, preserved pork, and even a 2 liter bottle of Sprite. She packed them with care, each item a significant offering.
Ordinary things in the past had now become treasures in demand, their value utterly transformed.
Jing An even wanted to bring two fish from their pond, which had bred another batch. Jing Shu had fried many crispy fish with plenty left over. Jing Shu had been about to refuse, seeing it as too much, but Su Lanzhi refused first, her voice low, "That's enough already. If my sister in law knows we have so many good things and don't share, she'll whisper complaints again." Her expression was pinched, protective of their bounty.
The truth was that Su Lanzhi bore grudges like a small minded woman. She still resented how her sister in law had acted when they borrowed money, the slights and condescension stored in a mental ledger she couldn't forget.
Jing An drove through the quiet, hot streets, and the three of them arrived at her eldest uncle's in the afternoon.
Her eldest uncle's home was in the old district of western Wu City. It was crowded, low rise, with poor living conditions and yet absurdly high housing prices. The floods of the second year hadn't reached here, but in the third year, an earthquake buried her uncle's whole family of three under the rubble. Their end had been extremely tragic, a memory that sat cold in Jing Shu's stomach.
To prevent Su Lanzhi from reverting into a doormat again, a role she had fallen into in the past life, Jing Shu had resolved that she must keep her uncle's family alive this time. It was a silent, fierce vow.
When Jing Shu's family arrived, there were already two other groups there, voices murmuring from within.
"Oh, you came, but why bring so many things? That makes us feel embarrassed! Still, you're much better than certain people who freeload for free."
Her aunt Wang Fang opened the door and quickly took the things from Jing An's hands, her movements swift and proprietary. When she saw the tomatoes, cabbage, and preserved pork, her eyes lit up. She couldn't stop smiling, her delight unmistakable. Finally, for New Year, they could eat fresh vegetables and even save some for later, a rare luxury.
"Come, come, hurry inside. This year, my eldest brother Wang Gang is celebrating with us. This is my sister in law Liu Shufen, you know her, and their daughter Wang Can. She's already 25, and thanks to my brother, she got a small leadership post up above." Wang Fang boasted proudly, then realized it sounded a bit inappropriate and waved a dismissive hand.
For the holiday, her aunt's family had carefully cleaned themselves up. They had wiped down with water, washed their faces, and changed into clean clothes, but hadn't dared waste water on washing hair. Who would've thought that Jing Shu's family, apart from a little dust on their clothes, were spotless. Their hair wasn't oily at all, and they even smelled faintly of Blue Moon laundry detergent, a clean, out of place scent.
Compared to themselves, no matter how they dressed, they still carried a rustic air, a patina of struggle that couldn't be washed off.
Jing Shu's family greeted them and stepped inside. The three bedroom, two living room apartment had been finely decorated back when Jing An paid for it. Now it had grown shabby, the wallpaper fading, and carried an unspeakable foul odor, a mix of closed spaces, old food, and stagnant water. Containers of water were everywhere, lining the walls like blunt sculptures. The small bedroom had been crammed with a large freezer. Through its glass door, one could see it still held half a load of frozen meat, a grayish mass.
Only the kitchen light, the living room TV, and the air conditioner were on, leaving the place a little dim, pockets of light fighting the gloom. Every household now had a power quota, and if you exceeded it, the electricity would've been cut off, a threat that hung over every extra minute of comfort.
"Sprite! Jing Shu, you actually brought a 2 liter Sprite? That's amazing!" Su Long, her eldest uncle's youngest son, rushed up with eyes shining like a hungry wolf, trying to snatch it away from her grasp.
Su Long was 17, wore glasses, and was short and skinny from snacking too much since childhood. He was the very brat who, in the previous life, insisted on returning home during the earthquake, dragging his family into their tragic death, a fact that made Jing Shu's jaw tighten.
Jing Shu held him back with a finger on his forehead, stopping his lunge. "This is for everyone to drink together with the meal. Not now." Her voice was firm. In fact, Jing Shu hadn't wanted to bring the Sprite. Sprite was too versatile now, Sprite with lemon, Sprite with sour plum juice, Sprite with milk, each mix had its own unique, refreshing flavor, a small alchemy of comfort she was reluctant to give up.
"Tch, what's the big deal," Zhang Hanhan sneered, hugging Wang Can's arm and glaring at Jing Shu with open hostility. She whispered something into Wang Can's ear, her lips barely moving. Neither of them seemed to mind the heat, even though the air conditioner was set only at 28℃ to save power. Outside was still a blazing 47℃, a furnace against the windows.
Zhang Hanhan was Su Meimei's daughter. Today, she had purposely worn a red dress, tied her hair in a bun, put on makeup, and sprayed perfume to mask her odor. Jing Shu thought art academy girls all ended up with the same influencer style face after dressing up, a homogenized prettiness. Ten years ago in her past life, Jing Shu had also liked to dress this way, a thought that now felt distant and strange.
Unexpectedly, Su Meimei and her husband Zhang Zhongyong were also here, sitting somewhat apart on the sofa. Weren't these two supposed to have fallen out? The tension between them was a thin, cold line. Zhang Zhongyong had even wanted to trap Su Meimei in a pig cage… the memory of that vicious rumor made their current, civil presence all the more unsettling.