While Jing Shu was busy drying vegetables over those few days, the work methodical under the hot sky, the ever growing flood of eggs and milk inside the Cube Space gave her a headache, a logistical puzzle.
It had to be admitted, the Cube Space was a very tricky "raising" game. A single misstep threw things out of balance. Either this ran short, or that piled up, a perpetual state of surplus and deficit.
The last batch of salted duck eggs, stored in clay jars, was almost gone. Grandma Jing happened to start another batch, the ducks providing a steady supply. Crack one open for breakfast, the yolk rich and oily orange, and you felt energized all day, a small luxury.
As for quail eggs, tiny and speckled, no matter how many there were, Jing Shu could braise them in soy sauce, seal them in vacuum pouches, and eat them slowly, a protein reserve.
But chicken eggs were already stacked high in the villa's pantry, in careful pyramids. Jing Shu's family fried eggs, steamed eggs, boiled eggs, and rotated through every egg dish daily, the repetition bordering on monotony.
Because No. 1, the enhanced hen, laid twenty eggs a day, and a dozen more hens were laying, there was no way Jing Shu's household could finish them. Midway through, Jing Shu even sent one laying hen and a basket of eggs to her eldest aunt's family, a gesture of kinship and surplus management.
Here Jing Shu had to give Xiao Dou proper praise. Xiao Dou ate all sorts of random things, from bugs to kitchen scraps, and still managed to lay so many eggs, a model of efficiency.
And then there was the dairy cow, a placid beast. Fed on mixed leaves and hay from the Cube Space, it produced dozens of kilograms of milk daily. She had already made two batches of yogurt shaved ice, the tangy cold a relief, and three batches of coconut milk, experimenting with flavors.
Luckily, the problem didn't plague her for long before a perfect solution presented itself, delivered by gossip.
The foolish son of Wu City's richest man, Qian Duoduo, wailed for ice cream in the relentless heat, a childish demand. He traded precious petroleum with the government to redeem pre apocalypse ice cream from a cold storage facility, a transaction of great value. The boy took one bite, declared it tasted "mixed" and bad, then tossed it to the bodyguards, a casual discard of a treasure.
The lucky bodyguard was Luo Hao from Jing Shu's community. Back then, Zhu Fan had pulled two others to go guard for Qian Duoduo because guards got two meals a day, a coveted position.
Later, one of them was kidnapped and tortured to death by the Zhetian gang. Zhu Fan lacked real skill and was dropped. Only Luo Hao remained, surviving by being useful.
"Tsk tsk, you cannot imagine a rich man's life." Luo Hao bragged later in the group chat, his voice a mix of awe and bitterness. "Five people in the family, and three hundred of us take care of their five."
"He took one bite of a cone and did not want it. Said it tasted mixed. I thought it was heavenly. I will never forget that flavor. It…" He trailed off, the memory bittersweet.
"I heard his dad is scouring the world for more ice cream. The government flipped every cold storage these days and came up empty. Word is he plans to hire people to make ice cream himself." The rumor was a seed planted.
As Luo Hao bragged in the group about the taste of ice cream, Jing Shu, the perpetual lurker, her eyes lit up, a plan crystallizing.
She didn't know much about Qian Duoduo, only that his older sister was the wife of a high leader in the capital and very well connected, a pillar of influence.
He had made a fortune in petroleum in Wu City and owned many wells. After getting rich, he laundered the operation, folding it into the state oil base. Private became state owned, yet he held a large stake, a kingmaker in the shadows.
After the apocalypse, Qian Duoduo used connections to secure extraction rights. While others were requisitioned, he expanded again. When people couldn't afford to eat, he was rich to overflowing. The name Qian Duoduo, meaning 'Money Many Many,' fit perfectly.
Jing Shu happened to be short on diesel, the black gold for her future RV. Once the RV arrived, considering the migration distance and back and forth calculations, at least ten tons would be needed, a significant amount.
"Decision made. I will make ice cream in every flavor." The resolve was firm.
In the past, she always felt it was too much trouble, a frivolous endeavor. Now that it could be turned into real value, there was no such thing as trouble. She wouldn't admit the tub of Haagen Dazs ice cream she had was already half eaten and that she wanted to make more for herself. In a few years people would freeze to death and would never eat like this again. The thought was a private justification.
The essence of making cream was to whisk sugar and egg whites like crazy with a mixer until foamy peaks formed, then add milk, sugar, and oil to complete step one, a foundational process.
Whipping cream and cream were nearly the same. The key word was whisk. Milk had to be heated and stirred repeatedly until thick, a patient labor. Then egg yolks, cream, whipping cream, and milk were all combined and stirred into an ice cream base, the mixture smooth and pale.
Jing Shu made multiple flavors: strawberry using mashed fruit, chocolate with precious cocoa powder, matcha from green tea, and original vanilla. Finally, Jing Shu poured each flavor into the freezer, taking the pans out once an hour to stir, breaking up ice crystals. After five or six rounds, it was ready, the texture creamy. When you wanted some, you scooped a spoonful and one scoop could last a long while, rich and cold.
After working for several days, Jing Shu used up all the milk in the house and almost all the eggs, and finally produced two cubic meters of ice cream, stacked in containers.
Ice on the tongue, cool in my heart. The first taste was a burst of sweetness and cold, a shock to the senses.
The flavors were rich and sweet, no worse than Haagen Dazs. In this heat, one bite was absolute bliss. Jing Shu felt perfectly satisfied, a creator's pride.
She packed the ice cream into 1 liter sealing jars, wide mouthed and practical, and snapped on high end lids with a satisfying click. Instantly the jars looked premium, a product worthy of luxury. "If I don't sell these at a hundredfold markup, I would be letting the Cube Space down." The thought was only half joking.
Of course she wouldn't foolishly run up and say, hi I'm here to sell ice cream. That would cheapen the product, make it seem common.
Better to make people come begging. Only then could the price be raised, the scarcity manufactured.
As the saying went, the flower sedan is lifted by people. With smart people, you didn't need to say a word. They would carry you up. Jing Shu happened to have the perfect person in mind: Niu Mou, who owed her and understood value.
The next day, she took a small cooler, packed the ice cream into fist sized glass jars, perfect for a taste, and brought a bag of strawberries from the Cube Space for Niu Yanben, Niu Mou's son. The little one had a birthday. It was a gift. The moment the child tasted the ice cream, his eyes went wide, and Niu Yanben's smile bloomed like spring, a father's delight.
On the third day, as anticipated, a Maybach, long and sleek, appeared at the villa gate. Jing Shu, a country bumpkin by her own admission, didn't recognize the emblem. Looking it up quickly on her phone, Jing Shu sucked in a breath. The pre apocalypse starting price was six million, a fortune on wheels.
Minister Niu Mou didn't disappoint. He stepped out of the car, his suit impeccable despite the heat, and said at once, "Do you have more of the ice cream you gave my son yesterday? It was amazing." His tone was eager, a customer already hooked.
Jing Shu lifted the corners of her mouth, a modest, pleased smile, and nodded. "I just messed around and made some at home." The understatement was deliberate.
"Great. Bring more and come with me." Minister Niu Mou gestured toward the car.
Minister Niu Mou and Jing Shu met eyes and shared a knowing look. The deal was already half made.
So Jing Shu tucked the 1 liter jars into a larger cooler, packed with ice, and got in the car with Minister Niu Mou, the leather seats cool against her skin.
The car was a luxury model. The driver was spotless in a black suit, and the air conditioning was on full blast, a cocoon of chill. Compared with ordinary citizens sweltering in their homes, the gap was enormous. In the apocalypse, even the richest man's driver lived far better than common folk, a stark hierarchy.
All the way there, Jing Shu and Minister Niu Mou barely spoke. A few glances were enough. Jing Shu spent more time examining the luxury interior: the wood inlays, the silent closing of the doors. It was nothing like normal cars, a world apart.
She had expected to go straight to see how huge Qian Duoduo's Xishan Villa was, but the car drove into a research institute instead, a compound of low, modern buildings.
When Minister Niu Mou brought Jing Shu in, she saw the true depth of Qian Duoduo's wealth for the first time. There were over thirty men at the gate alone, all fierce looking, eyes scanning constantly, likely his personal bodyguards, a stark contrast with the five or six regular security guards in ill fitting uniforms nearby.
Inside, the air was cool and smelled of chemicals. There were jumbled experimental setups and instruments everywhere, beakers and tubes on benches. It really was a research institute, or a very convincing facade.
Jing Shu saw, sitting in the center on a leather chair, a middle aged man in a silk Tang jacket with a drooping figure eight mustache, sweat beading on his brow despite the air conditioning. Four bodyguards stood rigidly behind him, a human wall.
The mustached man, Qian Duoduo, frowned while listening to a man in a white lab coat, who was speaking rapidly, gesturing at a tablet. Several other anxious looking people, likely managers or scientists, stood around.
"Mr. Qian, we are here. The ice cream is here too," Minister Niu Mou said with a cheerful smile, stepping forward, breaking the tense atmosphere. All eyes turned to them.