In the blink of an eye it was August. The heat refused to drop, a solid, shimmering weight pressing down on the world. Coastal countries everywhere braced for the flooding that rising seas would bring, fortifying seawalls with desperate haste. One far-off Western nation had already relocated its entire population inland, a slow, dusty caravan on news broadcasts. The second wave of migration out of Hainan continued, a trickle of the determined and the desperate. A certain island nation was negotiating temporary resettlement in Korea, its delegates visible on screens, faces drawn.
The science channel kept circling the same old questions, the anchors' voices a familiar, weary soundtrack:
1. When will Earth's Dark Days end? Since the dustfall is decreasing, some predict that when it stops entirely, the sun will return, a faint hope repeated like a mantra.
2. When will this extreme heat end? The World Alliance has developed a new propulsion system that can use magnetic fields to adjust Earth's orbit back to where it was, the animations sleek and unconvincing.
3. Water is running out. What now? Construction of the artificial sun is underway and projected to launch in early October. The pure energy from nuclear fusion will be inexhaustible, they said, the words hanging over footage of skeletal scaffolds.
On the news channel, arrests had dwindled to occasional brief items. Aside from a few lucky criminals who were never recorded, the ones logged by Big Data were basically all dead, their cases marked closed.
Recent reports focused on drought severity across regions, maps bleeding from yellow to deep, alarming red. Wu City was not the worst, but some places had over-pumped groundwater and seen half a city collapse into sinkholes, jagged scars on the landscape. Others dug private wells against regulations and had their water confiscated, the plastic barrels carried away by grim-faced officials. Lately even digging wells was pointless. The aquifers were dry, yielding only dust.
Jing Shu knew the two hardest months of year one had arrived, when water deprivation was extreme and the earth split with thirst, fissures opening in barren fields like parched lips.
[Wang Qiqi]:"@Everyone, the city's free water allotment is reduced from 500 ml per person to 300 ml. Water prices are up. One 300 ml bottle costs 2 work points. Limit daytime trips if you can, or cut a meal."
[Fei Niu]:"In this heat, no water. Do they want us dead. My horned frogs are dying."
[Zhang Cuihua]:"A while back you could still earn over ten work points a day catching maggots. If I had known, I wouldn't have traded them for rice. Now maggots are worthless."
[Wu You'ai]:"Any wood items, kitchen knives, or steel tools at home can be traded for work points. It also helps build the artificial sun. The sooner it is done, the sooner water won't be scarce."
[Zhang Bingbing's younger husband]:"I used to be able to pee for three seconds a day. Now it is two drops."
[Da Tou]:"I even pried off my door to trade for work points. My place is bare. There is nothing left to trade. I swallow more spit than I drink. Three hundred milliliters isn't enough. This will kill people."
Some who had held back knives, hiding them under floorboards or in ceiling cavities, eventually traded them for water in this extreme shortage, the metal passing into official hands for a few days' reprieve from thirst.
After three months of collection, the campaign to recover knives and metal weapons was basically complete. Ordinary households across China had no more lethal tools. It laid a solid foundation for the next ten years of order. The scariest weapon you might see would be a brick or a glass bottle, a sad, blunt arsenal.
People who had stretched to two meals a day were back to one, the saved work points going to buying water, or they really would die of thirst, their bodies found curled in the shade.
No matter how noisy things were outside, life in Jing Shu's home stayed steady, a bubble of relative calm. Within days, Third Aunt Jing Lai brought home good news, her steps lighter.
"The director says I did well as a team lead. If nothing goes wrong, I will be promoted to supervisor. In a year I can be made permanent staff and get daily vegetables." Jing Lai gulped down a bowl of yogurt, the cool liquid a balm. Staff at the unit only got 300 ml of water a day. She was parched, her throat scratchy.
Grandma Jing hosted a little celebration the next day, a few extra slices of cured meat on the table. On day three, Third Aunt Jing Lai came home like a frost-bitten eggplant, her shoulders slumped, the earlier joy evaporated. Jing Shu asked around and learned someone in her team had edged her out by gifting the director a bunch of spinach, a limp, precious offering.
Jing Shu handed over a tray of vigorous garlic sprouts, their green shoots straight and strong, and two bottles of clear mineral water. "Auntie, even an announced list can 'need a correction,' like a misspelled name. These garlic sprouts regrow after you cut them. Better than spinach. And think about it. In a time like this, who can still bring out mineral water. Your director knows whether to offend that or cultivate it. If that is still not enough, do you think my parents' jobs aren't intimidating." She spoke plainly, laying out the calculus.
A tap with a stick and then a date in the palm. Jing Shu had mastered the move. Smart people would act accordingly. It also kept people from taking a benefit and stiffing you. When give and take are balanced, the other side doesn't dare play games. If not, they show fangs.
So she rarely bothered to play the helpless pig who eats the tiger.
"Thanks, Jing Shu. I know what to do." Jing Lai had self-awareness. She didn't want to be the family's dead weight. Jing Shu was right. When there is a banner to wave, wave it. With a tiger skin like this, why not use it. She straightened her back, the defeat replaced by a cooler determination.
Jing Lai would never forget the greedy, delighted look on the bald director's face when she walked in with that lush, green tray of garlic sprouts, the color a shock in the drab office.
"Jing Lai, you are too polite. But the list is already posted…" The bald man's words stuck in his throat when she set down two bottles of mineral water beside the tray, the plastic gleaming.
Looking closer, he noticed that although Jing Lai was tanned from outdoor work, her lips were moist with no peeling. What did that mean. They were not short of water. So these two bottles were not her precious hoard, but a casual token.
"Jing Lai, what does your family do. How do you have garlic sprouts looking this good." The bald man eyed the tray with increasing appreciation. It showed no sign of drought stress, each sprout robust.
"My younger brother works at the Livestock Breeding Center with chickens. My sister-in-law Su Lanzhi is a director at the Planting Industry R&D Management Department. My daughter is currently the community's Consolation and Counseling Specialist."
"Ah, the best posts. You came at the perfect time. Sit, sit. I was just about to find you. The canteen forewoman job doesn't suit you. I will transfer you to lead the Materials Recovery unit. Easier work." The words tumbled out, smooth and rearranged.
…
By mid-August, hundreds died daily in Wu City from heat and thirst, the municipal carts making grim rounds at dawn. Cracked lips said everything about the shortage. If people couldn't drink, plants and animals had even less. Whatever stubborn life had survived on Earth now edged toward extinction, a silent, wholesale retreat.
People later called this month Deathly August, the name spoken with a hollow reverence.
China faced a new test, its systems straining under the dual siege of heat and drought.
That evening Jing Shu's family held a meeting around the kitchen table, the air still and warm. Of the five tons of water they had traded for earlier, only one ton remained in the sealed storage drums. The rooftop tank was down to a quarter, its water level visible through the translucent plastic, even with Jing Shu adding to it every day from her private reserves. The greywater system still had recycled water for household use, but none of it was drinkable, its faint, soapy smell a constant reminder.
"I propose we bathe once a week from today. Wipe down the rest of the time. Don't wash clothes for now. We have enough changes. Wash the dishes every three days," Su Lanzhi said first, her voice practical, listing the austerities.
"Good. We can save water for feeding livestock and watering the fields," Jing An added, his hands clasped on the table. "In this heat we have to water and run the lights every day. Otherwise everything dies." The unspoken weight of their green courtyard, their hidden bounty, hung in the air between them.