In the tenth year of the apocalypse, looking back, China's strict weapon and knife control policies, initiated early, had indeed drastically reduced the scale of bloody, chaotic incidents compared to the anarchic reports from other regions. This quiet, systematic disarmament was a foundational pillar.
This must have been the essence of their second, strategic step, and the third step would likely be far more brutal and direct when it came, but this was the necessary softening.
What surprised Jing Shu most, with her hindsight, was how early they'd begun the transition, replacing the worthless yuan with a work point system. Those who just exchanged their seasonings and fabrics today had their points recorded directly onto their ID cards as virtual credits. These digital points could be used at the major distribution points to buy slightly better food and would gradually replace paper currency altogether. Over time, printed money would become useless trash, replaced entirely by these digital credits tied inextricably to one's identity and behavior record.
Staff members in blue vests explained prices in bored tones while processing exchanges, pointing to a handwritten board.
"Two points for one serving of plain white rice. Half a point for one serving of fried rice with oyster mushrooms."
"Your bag of pepper is worth half a point. Half a bottle of soy sauce, one point. A spoonful of cumin powder, one tenth of a point. Half a bag of sugar, three points." The valuations were precise, stripping sentiment from objects.
"A full bedding set is worth one point. A single piece of clothing is one tenth of a point."
Someone near the front of the fabric line asked, "How many points for a steamed bun or a piece of meat?" The hunger in the question was palpable.
The staff member didn't look up. "Only knives and metal tools can be traded directly for buns or meat. They're scarce resources, and even if you bring weapons, we can't guarantee they'll still be available if you come late." The message was clear: act fast, or lose your chance.
This was clearly designed to push people to hand over knives and other dangerous tools voluntarily, leveraging immediate hunger against long term security.
That was all it took. The calculation was simple for many. They decided to trade away some of their spare knives and weapons. Some even rushed home to scrounge through every drawer and corner to find more to exchange. After tasting a fresh, soft white bun or a bite of salty braised meat, no one wanted to go back to the moldy, gritty mushroom rice that made them gag. Once people had that taste, the craving wouldn't stop. It was a psychological hook.
At Ai Jia Supermarket, the old checkout counters now featured bulky ID scanners wired to portable batteries. Stainless steel vats brimmed with steaming, fragrant white rice, its clean, starchy aroma far more enticing and stomach clenching than the measly, greasy portions of rice fried with mushrooms from before.
Nearby, separate vats of dark oyster mushrooms simmered in a thin, foul smelling broth. Sometimes the broth was unbearably salty, other times, completely bland, reeking only of earth and mold. It was the punishment option.
A separate shelf held stacks of steaming white buns under a mesh cover, and a small pot of dark, braised meat sat on a hot plate, filling the immediate air with an irresistible, fatty, savory aroma. The sound of collective stomachs growling echoed under the canopy, silencing those who had once complained loudly about the food. Reality, and hunger, were persuasive.
The meals available now were objectively better, but they came at a clear price, surrendering goods. Eventually, everyone's surplus supplies would run out. Then what? People began realizing, with a dawning anxiety, that maybe the free, terrible meals weren't so bad after all. At least they were free.
Yes, eventually there'd be nothing left to trade. What would they do then? The question hung in the hot, dusty air.
It wasn't hard to figure out. Many had died already. People would simply raid the empty homes of the dead. They'd also scour abandoned factories and shuttered stores. But soon, they'd discover most shops had been cleaned out long ago by their owners or earlier looters, who had already traded everything in for supplies. The easy pickings were finite.
The government's dilemma, how to reassert control, gather resources, and identify malcontents, had been solved with elegant, brutal efficiency within days.
Jing Shu's family squeezed through the jostling crowd from the goods recycling area over to the water collection station. They discovered a new sign: they could now spend points to get extra water beyond the basic ration, half a point for an additional 500 ml, equivalent in cost to a serving of the mushroom fried rice.
From a cold, economic standpoint, wasn't this stimulating consumption and accelerating the flow of the new currency? People only worked hard to earn points when they had strong, immediate motivation to spend them. Effort to earn more (through labor soon to be mandated) would raise the collective output, the new GDP, and with a higher output, people's quality of life would eventually, theoretically, rise. It was macroeconomics applied with a survivalist twist.
Grandma Jing, clutching their single water bottle, whispered to Jing Shu, "Shh. We don't have extra supplies to trade. Every bit we hand over is gone forever. Trading our last seasonings for a little extra water isn't worth it. We manage." Her old world frugality was now a survival strategy.
Jing Shu nodded in agreement. The water shortage was worst during this first year, the adjustment shock. Later, the acute scarcity would shift to other resources, medicine, fuel, specific tools. Still, it seemed things were about to get dramatically worse again, and soon. The Science Channel's daily, grim predictions about carrion scavengers taking over the planet were on the verge of becoming a very physical, swarming reality.
That day, back home, their community chat group buzzed with excitement over the bounty Wang Qiqi's group had secured. Most hadn't eaten proper meat in ages, and now, with a few precious pieces of braised pork in their bowls, they felt a fleeting, desperate happiness.
Messages of thanks to Wang Qiqi flooded the chat.
[Fat Girl No. 25]:"Thank you so much, @Wang Qiqi No. 13! Everyone was jealous when they saw us trading for meat. From now on, I'm sticking with you. I'll never go hungry again!"
[Wang Qiqi No. 13]:"We raided twenty deceased neighbors' homes today and collected over sixty knives and tools, all of which we traded for meat. Bedding, clothes, and other items brought us a total of ninety points. Twenty seven of us participated. Everyone gets three points each, but I'm taking three shares, nine points and three cuts of meat. Moving forward, whenever I organize events like this, I'll take three shares. I'm stating this upfront."
[Young Master with Baby No. 13]:"You deserve it. No matter how those neighbors died, you were the one who registered their bodies and managed their keys and belongings. Without you, we wouldn't have found so many knives or enjoyed this meat today."
[Wang Xuemei]: "I don't mind." Her response, from 'Crazy Wang,' was terse but significant.
[Zhang Bingbing's Elder Husband]:"You've done nothing but give orders. Why should you get three shares? Fine, take three today, but why should you always take three from now on? Didn't you already get one jin (about 500 g) of rice for registering each body? How much have you pocketed by now?"
[Zhang Bingbing's Younger Husband]:"I agree. Why should you always get three shares? Am I right, everyone?"
The group fell silent for a moment, the digital space holding its breath.
Jing Shu had been focused on Wang Qiqi's move. He was clever and understood power. The fact that he dared to claim three shares publicly showed his confidence in his position and the group's dependency.
After half a year of working tirelessly, organizing water, communicating announcements, and managing deaths, Wang Qiqi had won a certain trust and reliance. This was a calculated move to formalize his leadership and reward, and it was working so far. Even Jing Shu, watching coldly, couldn't argue the point, his contributions and organizational effort did justify a premium, in the harsh calculus of the group.
But then her attention sharpened on the usernames of the challengers. Zhang Bingbing's Elder Husband? Younger Husband? What? If she remembered correctly, Zhang Bingbing was the woman who had been brutally raped in her home a while back, a victim.
Wang Cuihua sent a voice message, her tone sharp with concern and suspicion: "Bingbing, when you gave me a ride that time, you told me you didn't have a man. I know you were assaulted not long ago. Why'd you suddenly find two? What's going on? Are you being forced?" Her motherly protectiveness was immediate.
[Zhang Bingbing's Younger Husband]: "Mind your own business, old hag. Bingbing likes serving us both. She loves the thrill of two at once. Especially when it's the three of us together."
[Zhang Bingbing's Elder Husband]: "Why don't you come over and join us? See for yourself."
Wang Cuihua snapped back in text, her fury evident: "You shameless perverts! Disgusting bastards! What do you think you are?"
Sensing things were escalating dangerously, Wang Qiqi quickly sent a separate message to a few people, including Jing Shu, whom he considered the most intimidating and capable. He rallied them to meet, armed with clubs, to head to Zhang Bingbing's home and intervene. "Something's not right," his message read.
"I'm pretty sure Bingbing is being coerced. Who would willingly take on two men like that in this situation? And neither of them seems normal," Wang Qiqi muttered to the small group as they gathered under the blistering sun, his face grim.
Jing Shu, already drenched in sweat from the mere walk, wore a thin tank top and tiny shorts, her skin gleaming. She gripped her spiked club, the metal warm to the touch. The temperature had risen another two degrees since morning, the air wavering with heat, reaching 46°C. If her memory was correct, June marked the grim start of the true extreme heat wave. From now on, every day would be hotter than the last, a furnace stoked. The social heat, it seemed, was rising in tandem.