"You country bumpkin, don't you understand science? Digging wells is illegal, and even if you dig, there's no water. Wells draw from underground water, alright?" Zhang Lingling's voice took on a condescending, lecturing tone, her patience visibly thinning.
"But my distiller extracts moisture from the air. If it can get water from the desert, don't you think it will work here? It's cheap, efficient, easy to use, and works fast. Isn't it better than digging a well? If we weren't classmates, I wouldn't even be giving you this deal." She framed the refusal as a personal favor withheld.
Everyone did some quick mental calculations, their eyes darting as they thought. They realized they only needed to introduce ten people to break even on their initial twenty-point investment. If those ten each brought in one more person, they would earn ten more work points, equal to five precious bottles of water. And if each of those ten people introduced ten more, the numbers spiraled, promising a hundred points, a small fortune.
Greed and desperate desire clouded their minds. What could a hundred work points buy? Fifty bottles of water, fifty servings of plain white rice. No more eating maggots. If they worked the system hard, they could drink as much as they wanted every day, eat real rice, live like kings in this hellscape. The thought alone was intoxicating, a siren song in the dust.
Jing Shu saw in their eyes the same hollow, hungry look she once had in her past life. Even though they might worry about scams or suspect it was too good to be true, Zhang Lingling's next words, delivered with confident authority, wiped away the last shreds of doubt.
Zhang Lingling took out her phone, the screen glowing brightly, and opened an app called "Baping Tianxia."
"What are you hesitating for? Our company is legitimate. Download this app and register. There are just over twenty of you here; we can split into five groups. One person buys first and sends invitation codes to the rest. You save four work points that way." She laid out the plan like a seasoned organizer. "Anyone without enough points can write me an IOU. I will front it, but with one point of interest." She smiled, as if this were generosity itself.
That offer, the willingness to lend, made the remaining skeptics relax their shoulders. They crowded around her, the sour smell of their bodies pressing close, asking Zhang Lingling about the process, their voices eager.
"Just scan my invitation code and download the app. Then we will go to the supermarket to deduct the points from your account. If you don't have enough, I will lend you the rest. After that, you come to my place to get your distillers. Once you have them, you can invite others. Any successful purchase will automatically record the bonus points in the app." She made it sound seamless, automated.
If she were a scammer, would she lend them her own precious points? And they were all longtime classmates; surely she wouldn't lie to their faces. The logic, flimsy but comforting, settled over them.
Due to rampant inflation, the government had introduced virtual currency for purchasing water and food at designated outlets. Recently, limited point-to-point trade had been allowed, but only within the system at designated supermarket trading zones, under official eyes.
Wang Chao spoke up, a note of confusion in his voice. "But this virtual currency is only recorded in the app. It doesn't work in supermarkets or for meals." He held up his own government-issued ration card.
Zhang Lingling explained smoothly, "That's because the government hasn't officially opened virtual currency trading yet. By next year, it will. Once you have accumulated ten work points, come find me. I will take you to the supermarket to cash them out." She waved a hand, dismissing the concern as a temporary technicality.
With that, her plan was complete, the hook set. Everyone was convinced it was a guaranteed way to earn points, a ladder out of their misery. They took out their phones, the screens cracked and smudged, and downloaded the app she mentioned. Money had no value now, so they didn't even worry about viruses. They followed her instructions step by step, their faces lit by the blue glow.
The app was simple, even crude: a list of people you invited, how many virtual points they earned you, your current balance, and a withdrawal request button that was currently grayed out. It was basic but gave everyone the powerful illusion of money multiplying itself, a digital carrot.
Then, as a group, they headed out of the mall and toward the nearest functioning supermarket to transfer their hard-earned ration points to her account via the official terminal.
For an ordinary household, having a few virtual points saved was already good. These classmates each had around seven or eight, painstakingly saved. They planned to borrow more from Zhang Lingling to make up the sixteen-point down payment she now asked for, the initial twenty discounted for the "group buy."
"Jing Shu, Yao Zixin, you two aren't buying?" Zhang Lingling asked after tallying everyone up under the supermarket's harsh fluorescent lights, realizing only they had not stepped forward to transfer points. Her brow furrowed in displeasure. "Everyone else got one. Why aren't you? What is that supposed to mean?" Her voice carried a sharp edge, invoking social pressure through peer influence.
This was the squeeze. Yao Zixin coughed softly, avoiding eye contact. "A-alright, I will take one too." He capitulated, not wanting to stand out, to be the target.
The group fell silent for a moment, then all eyes turned to Jing Shu, some curious, some envious of her apparent wealth, some openly disdainful of her refusal to join.
In her past life, Jing Shu had been one of them, dreaming of earning virtual points, of drinking as much water as she wanted, of eating bowl after bowl of white rice. What happened?
She had roped in her uncle's family and Su Meimei's family, each of them buying distillers at sixty work points for their three-person households. They then dragged in more relatives and friends, a spreading web of obligation and hope.
After much effort, calling in every favor, they finally earned twenty virtual points back. The problem? The distillers, buried in the parched earth, barely produced enough water in a day to wet their lips, a cruel trickle.
When her uncle and Su Meimei realized this, they were in too deep. Instead of admitting the scam, they doubled down, claiming their distillers worked fine. They kept pulling others in, desperate to cover their own losses, to get their points back from the next layer of suckers.
Jing Shu, younger and more naive then, had finally stood up at a gathering like this and called it what it was: a pyramid scheme, a scam. The others attacked her viciously, swearing their distillers worked fine, ganging up on her until she left the group entirely, shamed and angry.
Later, two things happened:
First, the artificial sun had been activated long enough that its energy powered large-scale desalination and atmospheric processors. Water was no longer scarce in the same way.
Second, the scheme collapsed under its own weight. Too many people had been tricked, spending twenty points each to rope others in. When water became plentiful, there was no one left to recruit, no new buyers, and they all lost their points, the digital numbers worthless.
The government eventually traced the fraud ring and shut it down, arresting a few at the top, but it was too late for the masses at the bottom.
One percent of people at the very top earned thousands of points. Ten percent in the early layers barely broke even. The rest, the vast majority, were scammed. Those who had made money spent it long ago on real water and food, leaving nothing for the losers.
Su Meimei's family and her uncle's family even blamed Jing Shu afterward, saying, "Why would you trick your own relatives? We spent sixty points and didn't even get it back." The betrayal had stung for years.
And now, in this life, Zhang Lingling dared to ask, what is that supposed to mean?
"This distiller barely produces any water a day. I won't buy it. If I introduce it to friends and they're disappointed, they will blame me," Jing Shu said calmly, her voice clear in the tense silence. She wanted to expose the whole scam, to shout it, but were there no clever people here? Of course there were. They just chose not to see.
Some people weren't short on water themselves, but they still chose to buy distillers just to recruit others and earn the two points per person. She remembered how aggressive, how personally invested people had been last time when she called it a scam. They needed to believe.
This was all she could say without starting a war.
"Jing Shu's right." Mu Xiaoxuan's voice, hesitant but firm, spoke up from the side. "I heard solar distillers need strong sunlight and actual moisture in the air. There's no sunlight now, and barely any moisture. How will it work? Forget it, I don't want one." She took a small step back from the group.
Zhang Lingling's smile stiffened into something brittle. "Mu Xiaoxuan, you already registered on the app. I have reported your details, and the twenty points have been transferred to me. You can't back out. Just invite others." The tone was no longer friendly; it was a demand.
"But if it doesn't work, wouldn't I be scamming them?" Mu Xiaoxuan shook her head, her expression troubled. "I don't have points to begin with. Forget it. I won't do it."
Wang Chao, who had been eagerly calculating his potential earnings, turned on her, his face flushing with anger. "Mu Xiaoxuan, if you back out, I will lose two points, and Xie Zihao will lose one. How could you do this?" His accusation was immediate, personal. The pyramid was already exerting its pressure, turning classmates against each other for the sake of phantom points.