Click.
Click.
Several camera flashes popped, stark and bright in the hazy greenhouse light, capturing a kindly, middle aged Director Niu Mou pointing warmly at the wriggling frogs in Jing Shu's hand, then a few mischievous kids, freed from boredom, crouching to peer and count them. Photos of parents and children interacting with the "natural pest control" were taken. Director Niu Mou gave a short, earnest talk on "innovative, sustainable agriculture and how to grow safe vegetables in the dark," which visibly moved the assembled staff families. These precious, staged moments of normalcy and progress were all dutifully recorded by the department's photographer.
With her pant legs rolled up and mud on her boots, Jing Shu stood in the raised planting bed transplanting seedlings, playing the part of the diligent, down to earth technician. In front of the camera, she kept a graceful, polite smile plastered on her soot darkened face until Director Niu Mou finally said, with a nod of dismissal, "Thank you for your hard work. You can all go write your pieces now."
Only after the photographers and reporters had packed up and left did everyone in the greenhouse seem to exhale. The formal atmosphere evaporated, and curiosity about the frogs burst out in a chatter of voices. Quite a few school aged kids, brought along for the "educational visit," dropped their stiff restraint. If not for the low guardrail around the bed, they would've jumped in to grab the frogs already.
The aunties, practical and sharp eyed, came forward with their kids in tow. A cluster of men, treating cigarettes like precious treasure they couldn't smoke indoors, headed outside for a puff. Even cigarettes had become a rare luxury, traded in back channels.
"How do you sell these frogs? Ever since we ran out of mosquito repellent and the medicated oil, carrion scavenger keeps flying in through the vents. If I don't watch closely, they lay a whole clutch of larvae in a damp corner. It gives me a headache," one well dressed auntie complained, fanning herself with a notebook.
"My ornamental fish tank got an outbreak of carrion scavenger larvae. Wiped out all my guppies. If only I had had a frog or two earlier, it wouldn't have turned out like this," a man in a polo shirt added, shaking his head.
Everyone chimed in with similar complaints. It was obvious they all knew one another, part of the same privileged circle. Director Niu Mou, standing to the side, even gave a subtle, approving wink at Jing Shu.
Her eyes lit up. These families, connected to the system, still lacked for nothing vital at the moment. Keeping a few frogs in their spacious, still supplied apartments would be easy. It wasn't like the situation in the general community, where people could barely get enough drinking water to survive, let alone care for an amphibian.
Since Director Niu Mou had given the hint and created the opportunity, Jing Shu needed to deliver a performance.
"My frogs," she began, adopting a slightly mournful tone, "they tolerate the daytime heat and endure the nighttime cold. They're bearing a pressure no creature their age should have to bear. I care for them every day like they're my little grandchildren, with the best water I can spare and the choicest bugs." She had just started to sell with a practiced sob story when an impatient auntie with a sharp chin cut in.
"Enough, girl. Just say whether you want grain, or water, or what. Name your price." Her tone was brisk, no nonsense.
"One little frog costs three bottles of mineral water." Jing Shu's soot darkened face split into a big, white toothed grin as she raised three fingers.
Director Niu Mou's mouth fell slightly open in genuine surprise. This black hearted girl really dared to ask. Three bottles of sealed water was a significant amount now.
But buying and selling in this new economy followed its own rules, the seller opens with a sky high price, the buyer hacks it down until the seller feels the pain. Only then does the buyer feel accomplished and satisfied they got a deal. Jing Shu knew these aunties and their psychology all too well from market days long gone.
"The frogs are good, just a tad pricey. With so many of us buying together, give us a discount," another auntie bargained, arms crossed.
"I will take two more. Give us a group price, buy one get one free or something."
"If your frogs really work and keep the bugs out, we'll come back for more and tell our friends."
Director Niu Mou's mouth fell open again, this time in amusement. This black hearted crowd really dared to bargain hard. It reminded him of his own terrifying, spendthrift "tigress" at home, who could haggle a street vendor to tears.
With a convincingly pained face, as if parting with her own children, Jing Shu finally set a "group buy" price after much back and forth, one small frog for two bottles of sealed mineral water, including a bundle of her handmade frog tether rope and a simple container, with "after sales service" and a "seven day free exchange if deceased" guarantee. Everyone left happy, feeling they'd negotiated a victory.
Jing Shu patiently taught each family how to adjust the slipknot rope and shared basic frog raising tips, keeping them hydrated, not overhandling. The aunties added Jing Shu on WeChat, the app still functioning intermittently on the local network, and promised that if the frogs worked, they'd spread the word to their circles. Almost every family bought at least one little frog; even the usually high and mighty, elegant aunties couldn't resist the practical solution.
They happily carried off their glass jars with several meter lengths of frog tether rope dangling, chatting amongst themselves. In a blink, Jing Shu had transformed in their eyes from an online live streamer (a cover story she'd used) to a useful "frog seller."
Jing Shu looked at the pile of more than one hundred bottles of mineral water that Director Niu Mou had fronted from a department stockpile for the transaction and felt deeply satisfied. Worried that Director Niu Mou might think Jing Shu's price was exploitatively high, Su Lanzhi, standing nearby, deliberately scolded, "You child, those are for… could you not sell them a bit cheaper? Do you not know water is scarcer than grain now?"
Jing Shu countered, her voice earnest, "I'm saving these frogs, giving them a purpose. If I sell them too cheap, people won't cherish them. They'll think, 'it was cheap, if one dies, I'll just buy another.' A higher price means they'll take better care, and the frog is more likely to survive and do its job." It was a perfectly logical, if cynical, market argument.
Director Niu Mou laughed, a rich sound. "Jing Shu's right. Survival economics." He then turned more serious. "I was actually about to ask you to sell a larger batch of frogs to the research department itself. We want to set up a dedicated breeding program so we can scale up frog based pest control. Every drop of pesticide we have is being diverted to the infested fish farms and to protect the reservoir construction site. Wu City's only remaining clean reservoir mustn't be polluted. And we'll run out of stockpiled insecticides one day."
He hesitated, then lowered his voice. "You know what happened in Xinshi District yesterday with the riots. An emergency meeting last night decided to push the mutated oyster mushroom mass production project as soon as possible. In half a month, these experimental mushrooms will be provided free to the public in designated districts. The news will be released today. The hope is that once people have something, however unappetizing, to fill their stomachs, they'll stop rioting out of sheer hunger."
Thinking of that fuzzy, green tinged, genetically monstrosity of an oyster mushroom, Jing Shu shivered internally. In this life, she must never, ever be forced to touch it again.
"I understand the urgency," Jing Shu said, nodding solemnly. "If my humble frogs can contribute in any small way, I'm honored."
In the end, Director Niu Mou took thirty of the healthiest small frogs from Jing Shu's stock, paying sixty bottles of mineral water from the department's allocation, and also pre ordered her next batch for official use.
Beaming, Jing Shu loaded the last twenty plus frogs and the precious carload of mineral water, now more valuable than gold, onto the scooter trailer to take home. Half a year into the apocalypse, water would only grow scarcer. She had underestimated just how much water the villa's expanded operations, animals, greenhouse, extra people, would consume.
The public water truck's daily ration had been cut again, now to one liter per person per day, down another 0.5 liters. Before, people in the community cooked with miserly spoonfuls of water. Now even drinking meant tiny, careful sips. People were starting to die of thirst related illnesses. Never mind the small scale mushroom grows or potted vegetables people had tried at home, without water, they'd all withered and died.
As for washing pots and bowls, before, people could still wipe them down with a precious piece of tissue or a rag. Now that food was so tight, a grim "advice" was circulating on local networks, everyone was encouraged to use their tongues to lick plates and pots clean to save every calorie and drop of water.
They said, with morbid humor, that if you train this skill long enough, it makes the tongue more flexible, increases your partner's pleasure, and strengthens marital affection during these hard times. Jing Shu didn't understand why anyone would say or believe such a thing, but it highlighted the depths of absurdity and deprivation.
The Zhetian Gang supermarket raid incident had only been the fuse. It tempted countless others who were itching to act but needed an example. The next day, news spread through the grapevine that more than a hundred people had suddenly rushed the You Hao Supermarket in another district. But after they broke in, smashing windows, they discovered the shelves were nearly empty. To prevent exactly this kind of mass looting, the supermarket had been quietly shipping in grain day by day, just enough for the sanctioned queues.
Even so, the brazen attack shocked and terrified the city. The feeling was palpable, There is no law anymore. The world has completely descended into chaos. The social contract was tearing.
[Wang Qiqi, No. 13]:"@everyone Last night, there were hundreds of casualties at the You Hao Supermarket riot. All big supermarkets in Wu City are closed indefinitely now. There are many more people robbing on the roads today. It's a complete mess out there. Don't go out if you can help it. Stay home, bar your doors."
Wang Cuihua sent a voice message, her voice ragged with stress. "Those damned bastards. Now we cannot even buy grain at all. What are we supposed to do? Just starve waiting at home?"
[Fat Girl, No. 25]:"Does anyone have any mosquito repellent or strong alcohol left? Another sack of my rice got infested and eaten by carrion scavenger. If this keeps up, the little stores I have at home will be gone in a week."
[Zhang Bingbing, No. 4]:"A new batch of carrion scavenger flew out from the abandoned farm to the west. They're everywhere in our house now. No matter how many we slap dead, more pop out in the blink of an eye from the baseboards. We're being eaten out of house and home, literally."
Seeing the desperation in the chat, thinking she should move the remaining frogs quickly to those who might actually protect them, Jing Shu typed out a message. She needed parts for the family vehicles more than water from these neighbors now. "@everyone I'm selling the last of my current batch of carrion scavenger eating frogs. In exchange for energy truck tires (new or lightly used), shock absorbers, engine oil, transmission fluid, and other vehicle parts. DM me." It was a niche ask, but someone with a broken down vehicle might have parts to trade for a chance to save their food.