Third Aunt Jing Lai supported Eldest Aunt Jing Pan, who entered the house bruised and swollen, her clothes dusty and a shallow scratch visible on her cheekbone. Wu You'ai pulled a suitcase with a wobbly wheel behind her, the sound a rhythmic thump thump thump on the tile floor, holding several rotting apples, their brown skins soft and yielding, in the crook of her arm.
"Oh dear, what happened? Eldest, are you alright?" Grandma Jing dropped the kitchen knife onto the cutting board with a clatter and rushed over, her hands still faintly smelling of ginger and scallions. She pulled her dust covered eldest daughter to sit down on the wooden stool by the door. Only after carefully questioning her, turning her wrists and checking her pupils, and confirming she wasn't seriously injured did Grandma Jing finally relax, the tight line of her shoulders softening.
"When we arrived, Eldest Sister was in the stairwell struggling with a few women over the apples. The fruit was rolling everywhere underfoot. When those women saw reinforcements coming, they grabbed what they could from the ground and scattered down the concrete stairs. They should be tenants from that building, but I didn't see clearly what they looked like," Jing An said regretfully, setting the broken cart against the wall.
Jing Lai brushed dirt, little clods of dry mud and gravel, off her clothes in the stairwell before wiping herself clean with a damp towel, slightly gray from use, inside. She added, "We called the police. They said they would just take a record and settle things later. Now there are too many robberies, and they don't have the manpower to handle cases where no one was injured. They told us to be more careful when we go out." She wrung the towel out over the sink.
Jing Shu thought to herself that in the early days of the apocalypse, all police resources were focused on requisitioning supplies, on trucks and warehouses and quotas. They had no time to deal with petty theft, which was why two or three months later robberies and murders grew increasingly rampant, spilling from dark alleys into broad daylight.
Eldest Aunt Jing Pan, though honest and strong from years of farm work, her hands calloused and broad, now looked shaken, her eyes darting to the closed door. "If they hadn't been women, I would have run already. But alone I couldn't beat them. The apples scattered everywhere, and I only managed to bring back two boxes. Such a waste." She stared at the spotted fruit on the table.
Grandma Jing wiped the dirt, a smudge of grey like ash, off Eldest Aunt Jing Pan's temple with a clean corner of the damp towel. "Rotten apples can be mashed into paste, mixed with flour, and fried into sweet and sour pastries. Delicious, nothing wasted. Next time don't act without a word. Is the countryside still fine?" She began gathering the apples into a plastic basin.
"The city is worse than our town. Back home every household has plenty stored in their cellars, grain and vegetables too. Soldiers deliver water every day in green trucks. The government requisitioned our apples, but we kept half a cellar, enough to eat until next year. Liu is too busy to leave, so I came alone. Mom, why don't you return to the countryside for a while? Here even apples get robbed," Eldest Aunt Jing Pan said, accepting a cup of warm water.
Grandma Jing explained the situation on this side, the water rations, the new house, the need to stay put. "Eat a cooked meal here today. Tomorrow I will have Jing An drive you back, and we will also go home to gather more things and bring them here. Did you deliver apples to Second Child? Is she doing alright?"
Eldest Aunt Jing Pan hesitated for a few seconds, her fingers tightening around the ceramic cup. After Third Aunt Jing Lai, sitting beside her on the sofa, gave her a discreet kick under the low table, Eldest Aunt Jing Pan finally said, "Yes, I delivered them. Everything is fine." She took a quick sip of water.
Jing Shu noticed this reaction, the pause, the averted gaze. Something was definitely going on. She pulled Wu You'ai aside by the sleeve, into the narrow hallway, and asked, her voice low, "What happened with Second Aunt?"
Wu You'ai, eyes still glued to a panel of her comic book, whispered back, the paper rustling, "She sold tobacco and liquor at high prices. Got caught. Everything was confiscated, and she was dragged in herself. I heard they also bought a villa in Wu City, and now they are strapped for cash. Who knew house prices in Wu City would crash to the bottom? Second Aunt lost several hundred thousand." She finally looked up, her expression matter of fact.
Jing Shu's expression showed sudden understanding. No wonder Second Aunt had been dropping hints about repayment earlier, her messages always circling back to old debts. Luckily she had already returned the money in advance, transferring the sum last month, or who knew how they would slander her later.
Still, being caught like that, Jing Shu wondered whether Second Aunt's name had been recorded in some official ledger. If she was blacklisted, it would be disastrous for the whole family later on. In her previous life, she had been too busy surviving, scrambling for a single packet of instant noodles, to ever pay attention to Second Aunt's fate.
That night's cooked meal was extravagant. Su Lanzhi worked overtime until six, the sky outside the office window deepening to indigo, before Jing An picked her up in the old sedan. The promotion results hadn't yet been announced, but her old leader often took Su Lanzhi to inspect work at the crop cultivation center, walking through rows of hydroponic lettuce under artificial suns.
"Mom, this looks promising. That leader probably wants you to oversee that section," Jing Shu guessed, setting out bowls and chopsticks. She knew the power here was enormous. Whoever controlled the distribution of crops, the tally sheets and the warehouse keys, in the apocalypse essentially held real authority.
Su Lanzhi sighed, rubbing the back of her neck. "Wu City's thirteen districts are competing. If things grow well, everyone is happy. If not, if the yields dip, I will be the scapegoat." She untied her work lanyard and hung it by the door.
"Don't worry. Our family has already grown excellent crops." Jing Shu's voice was firm.
The dinner table was filled with spicy crawfish in a glossy red mound, braised pork knuckle gleaming with sauce, crispy fried fish fillets golden and brittle, sweet and sour pork with vibrant bell peppers, pork rib lotus root soup steaming in a large ceramic pot, dry fried potatoes seasoned with cumin, and stir fried crown daisy, green and glistening. For the main dish, Grandma Jing made pastries, small golden brown discs, fried from flour mixed with apple puree.
Su Lanzhi poured red wine, a deep ruby color, into everyone's glasses. The whole family happily enjoyed their celebratory meal, the clink of utensils and low chatter filling the room. Only Jing Shu wasn't full, the rich food sitting lightly in her stomach. Back in her own villa that night, under the cool light of a single lamp, Jing Shu ate two bowls of seafood congee packed with shrimp and scallops, a whole vacuum sealed braised chicken, tearing the tender meat from the bone, five fragrant tea eggs, and one large watermelon, the sweet red flesh disappearing slice by slice.
The watermelon rind, pale and hard, the chicken bones picked clean, and the eggshells went straight to the pigs in their pen, nothing wasted.
Her Cube Space of 125 cubic meters was down to just 2 cubic meters of free space again, the remaining void a narrow corridor between stacks of supplies. The old 64 cubic meters had once felt cavernous, but now even the fifth level 125 cubic meters was too small, crammed with bags and boxes and containers. Jing Shu knew she needed to work harder to level it up. She still planned to stuff more inside, to compress and rearrange.
It had taken Jing Shu two months of daily mental focus to master the fifth level cube. She had now spent another two months practicing the sixth level cube, its internal geometry more complex, and had only reached proficiency. Promotion was still a long way off.
So she decided to devote an extra hour each night, in the quiet of her room, to Cube Space practice, her brow furrowed in concentration, hoping to advance soon.
The twelve plots of farmland inside were incredibly productive, the soil dark and rich. Not only could she eat fruit every day, a peach or a handful of grapes, she could also secretly replenish the family's vegetable basket, adding a fresh cucumber or two among the store bought ones.
Jing Shu juiced watermelons and oranges, the electric juicer whirring, preparing enough clear, sweet liquid to fill rows of glass bottles, enough to serve as water for the next eleven months. She planted six coconut trees in six plots, the young saplings with their long, slender leaves. Considering the large root system, she decided to start with just six. If later she could fit more fruit crops around them, she would add strawberries or other plants that didn't take much space, trailing close to the ground.
She planned to harvest coconuts in a month and make fresh coconut milk blended with the surplus of milk from the dairy section. Not only was it delicious, it would save water during this dry year. Watching the water tank in the villa's basement slowly empty, the gauge dipping lower, still made her anxious, but she didn't want to lower her quality of life. Preparing a variety of drinks, sweet and refreshing, was a very good solution.
The remaining six plots she planted with corn, the seeds pushed into the warm earth, planning to make various corn based foods later, muffins and porridge and pancakes.
The next day, Jing An took Grandma Jing, Grandpa Jing, and Third Aunt Jing Lai back to the countryside to gather supplies from the old house, and also dropped off Eldest Aunt Jing Pan in her home town. Wu You'ai stayed at Grandma Jing's new house reading comics on the sofa, while Jing Shu worked tirelessly at her villa, the rooms echoing with her activity.
With the Spirit Spring's water humming in her veins, Jing Shu's strength was becoming terrifying. She could easily knock down several grown men, her fists swift and sure. But her appetite had grown too, a deep hollow needing constant filling. She needed something filling, easy to eat on the go from a pocket, and not suspicious, nothing that would draw questions.
So Jing Shu focused on making Thai style fried rice. The rice was first steamed until fluffy, then stir fried in hot oil with minced garlic and seasonings, the grains turning golden and crispy, each one separate. A handful popped into her mouth released a fragrance of rice mixed with savory flavor, with a taste similar to crunchy scorched rice from the bottom of a pot. It was so addictive, the more she ate, the better it tasted, the crispness giving way to a soft chew.
She used two woks at once on the large stove, the gas flames blue and high. After several days and ten full bags of fragrant rice, each bag weighing 10 kilograms, she finally produced one cubic meter of fried rice, stored in large, sealed plastic bins. These would serve as her snacks, a handful here and there, enough to last for some time.