Silence fell all around, heavy and complete. The employees at the Planting Industry R&D Management Department were all civil servants with families and connections, used to a certain order. Su Lanzhi had never struck them as forceful, her authority previously quiet and administrative, but today, more than half the staff saw another side of her, a steely core exposed by violence.
As soon as they reached the department, the staff gossip circles were already buzzing, a low hum in the corridors, about what happened: Director Su's daughter shot people and possessed terrifying strength, the image of her with the gun vivid, Director Su's husband ran over a dozen robbers with the car, the vehicle becoming a weapon, and those robbers had been summoned by Yu Caini. Director Su was going to bring Yu Caini to heel, and so on. The story grew with each retelling.
Among the thirteen districts of Wu City, only the development zone's Planting Industry R&D Management Department was responsible for vegetables for all civil servants in Wu City, a crucial, narrow supply line.
As director, Su Lanzhi's duty was to provide 500 kilograms of vegetables daily to 5,000 civil servants, and 500 kilograms of vegetables daily to 500 leaders, with custom selections for certain leaders according to their tastes, a delicate balance of needs and favors.
That meant every official employee could receive 100 grams of fresh vegetables per day, a meager but precious allotment. Compared with other departments that had to cultivate hundreds of thousands of tons of mold mushroom to feed hundreds of thousands of people, this was the difference between a small communal pot and a big communal pot, a world apart in quality and hope.
The department pooled resources to cultivate vegetables under rows of bright lights, with twelve hours of uninterrupted power humming through the generators. In a few days, they would begin supplying the first batch of greens, tiny leaves pushing through the hydroponic trays.
From a distance, Su Lanzhi watched Yu Caini making fertilizer in the open pit, the woman a small, struggling figure, and munched on almonds, the crunch audible. The big floodlights drew swarms of flying bugs that circled around Yu Caini in a dense, buzzing cloud.
Even with rain boots and a mask, the stench couldn't be blocked, a thick, earthy rot that carried on the air. She stood in the dung pit, mixing manure with ash, Epsom salts, and dry grass with long-handled farm tools. The manure had to be crushed and fully aerated, turned into a homogenous paste. At first, she stomped with angry vigor, her movements sharp with resentment, but soon she ran out of strength, her shoulders slumping.
Before long, it was lunchtime. The department provided one meal per day, served in a communal hall. Lately it was rice mixed with soil for bulk, plus a simple dry-fried lettuce, a few dark green strands. A meal with vegetables was rare now, so security guards fought for the chance to get assigned here, the post a coveted privilege.
"If you don't finish that today, you don't eat, and you don't clock out," Su Lanzhi called from afar, her voice carrying clearly across the yard.
Yu Caini threw down her tools in fury, the handle clattering against the pit's edge, and stomped over, leaving muddy footprints.
Jing An had just set up a small folding table and stools in a patch of shade. Jing Shu opened an insulated box, the latch clicking, and took out a towering stack of beef steaks drenched in glossy black pepper sauce, a dish of sweet-and-sour pickled radish cut into fine slivers, a big bowl of crispy fried fish, golden-brown, a big bowl of bean sprouts stir-fried with thin slices of pork, and a simple spinach-and-dried-shrimp soup, steam rising gently.
"What, planning to strike?" Su Lanzhi frowned. The smell coming off Yu Caini was overpowering, cutting through the food aromas.
Jing Shu lifted a steak with her chopsticks, the meat thick and juicy, bit off half in one go, chewed deliberately, followed with a crisp bite of bean sprouts, then sipped soup from the bowl's edge. Yu Caini had marched over ready to argue, her mouth opening, but the sight and smell derailed her completely, her eyes locked on the food.
In the blink of an eye, Jing Shu had eaten three steaks, half a bowl of fried fish, and most of a bowl of soup, a display of casual, satisfied consumption.
Breathing in the rich, meaty aroma, Yu Caini swallowed hard again and again, her throat working, especially at the steaks. She recognized them all: the ones with bone were T-bone, there was also eye of round, and two precious sirloins she had saved in her own freezer long ago, which had later sprouted maggots and been eaten by carrion scavengers in the power outages, a memory of loss.
The last time Yu Caini had eaten meat was two months ago, when that old man from supplies had given her some frozen pork, a tough, gristly piece.
With a wail, Yu Caini burst into tears, the sound raw, gulping back saliva and brimming with grievance. She wanted to snatch the food, her hands twitching, but Jing Shu kept the gun casually trained on her from where it lay on the table. She didn't dare come closer, the threat a cold barrier.
There were sixteen steaks in total. Jing Shu ate ten while Yu Caini watched from start to finish, her mouth unconsciously opening and closing as if she could taste it, mimicking the chewing. She'd nearly forgotten what meat tasted like, only that it smelled so, so good, a torment.
Life should have style. As for enemies, Jing Shu's favorite sight was watching them drool while she ate steak. Too pleasing, a small, sharp pleasure.
"I can find people too. The ones I find aren't so gentle. Ever heard of the Zhetian Gang? Their hobbies are torture and rape," Jing Shu said idly between bites, letting the words chill Yu Caini, hang in the air between them.
Jing Shu had decided not to let Yu Caini die easily. Sometimes, living was the harshest punishment, day after day.
The third robbery attempt came right after Jing Shu's family finished eating, as they were packing the containers. While Yu Caini's stomach rumbled loud with hunger, an empty ache, sirens and gunshots sounded outside the compound walls, sharp and sudden.
The two sides weren't even in the same league. Dozens of men and women charged with cleavers, a disorganized rush, only to be met by standard-issue police rifles from the guards posted outside. The officers fired precise, controlled shots, and the battle ended in under a minute, leaving only echoes. The attackers didn't even make it over the gate before they broke and scattered into the night, shadows fleeing.
One thing was now certain: the ordinary people of Wu City had no food left at home, their pantries truly empty. Some chose robbery, the quick, violent path. Others stripped bark from trees or looked for bugs to eat, crawling things. Wild greens didn't exist in this deadly heat that barely spared humans or animals, the ground baked hard. Only tough, bitter weeds still clung to life in cracks.
That night, back at home, the air still tense, Jing Shu learned that First Aunt Jing Pan's family had been robbed. All they knew, from a fragmented phone call, was that First Aunt Jing Pan's leg had been slashed. With the county hospital closed, shuttered and dark, they could only bind it with strips of cloth and hope it didn't fester in this brutal daytime heat, a desperate gamble.
Grandma Jing packed her things immediately, a small bundle, to go check on them the next day. Jing An couldn't dissuade her, her worry a palpable force, so he planned to drive Grandma Jing to visit First Aunt Jing Pan, the journey a risk.
The next morning, after dropping Su Lanzhi at work, Jing Shu returned with three black pigs, their dark forms lashed tightly inside the big cargo box on the car roof, snuffling and shifting. The whole family stared from the doorway, jaws dropping.
"Where did you get so many pigs?" Jing An asked, bewildered.
"From the same man who sold me the black pig last time. Someone tried to rob his home the day before yesterday. I saved him, and these are his thanks. Grandma, we still owe First Aunt and Third Aunt one hundred thousand yuan. Money is worthless now, just paper. Let us settle the debt with a black pig. Meat is more precious than gold. You couldn't buy this for hundreds of thousands." Jing Shu patted the side of the cargo box.
Jing An scratched his head, a familiar gesture of puzzlement. "How do you always stumble into everything?" He looked at his daughter, this sudden provider.
Grandma Jing gripped Jing Shu's hand, her own hand thin and strong, full of love. This clever child always knew what she worried about. Her eldest daughter's home had been robbed and had no grain. Grandma Jing was terrified her daughter wouldn't have anything to eat. Jing Shu brought a massive pig to ease her fear, a tangible solution.
"Meat is too precious. Why not send a few sacks of rice to settle the debt? There is no rice for sale outside either. Keep the pork. I will braise it for you," Grandma Jing said, her heart still biased toward Jing Shu, wanting the best for her own household. She knew her youngest son's household didn't lack vegetables or rice, the basement full.
To Jing Shu, the Thai jasmine rice stored in the basement was far more valuable than pigs. A black pig could produce ten piglets in half a year and needed little care, just space and scraps. Rice had to be planted, harvested, and hulled, each step labor under the sun. It was maddeningly troublesome.
Besides, a few months ago First Aunt Jing Pan had risked herself to bring them three crates of apples when things were hard. They had borrowed her money and she had never asked for it back, not once pressing. Jing Shu couldn't pretend there was no debt. It was with that borrowed money that they had bought so many supplies and built this good life, the foundation of their security. The extra black pigs were part of the plan anyway, meant for trade or gift.
In the end, Jing Shu insisted, her tone leaving no room. They kept two boars in the makeshift pen and strapped the sow firmly to the car roof for the visit. She also brought Yunnan Baiyao in its little red bottle and a packet of antibiotics, precious medicines.
They sped along the cracked road, the landscape barren. With Jing Shu, Grandma Jing, Grandpa Jing silent in the back, and Jing An driving, escorting the fat pig that grunted occasionally, they finally reached First Aunt Jing Pan's courtyard at the county seat, the familiar gate ahead. Only to find a crowd gathered at the sealed gate, a mass of perhaps twenty people, shouting about seizing a landlord's property and dividing his grain, their voices angry and hungry.