Wu City wasn't like the magic city or Guangdong where every inch of land was worth gold. If you had real money, buying a few mountains wasn't a problem at all, a local reality. No wonder it was called Xishan Villa. It turned out all the mountains west of Wu City's western side belonged to Qian Duoduo, a private kingdom.
The main villa sat halfway up the central mountain like a sprawling castle, its lights glowing against the dark slope. From afar, Jing Shu felt stunned, her eyes wide. She couldn't help thinking of that ridiculous talk during the Zhetian robbery about hitting Qian Duoduo. They probably couldn't even find his home, which was why they later switched to the softer target of the oil base, a practical adjustment.
"Thirteen calling, where is the young master? Over." A voice crackled from the driver's two-way radio.
"Eleven here. The young master is in the haunted house. Over." The reply was immediate.
So Jing Shu was led by a waiting attendant to the haunted house, a separate structure designed for entertainment. It was really just a set of elaborate props, though everything inside, the fake cobwebs, the faux-stone walls, was as lavish and detailed as before the apocalypse, a preserved piece of play.
According to the driver on the way, when there had still been sunlight and normalcy, routine monthly expenses for the estate's water, electricity, groundskeeping, and labor ran about 300,000 RMB. If they held a banquet or opened any of the amusement projects, that was an extra charge. After the apocalypse, they had trimmed the budget a bit, but the scale was still immense.
"Criminal. It is you."
The sudden, theatrical shout made Jing Shu jump, her shoulders tightening. The figure sitting with his back to the room at a large table whirled around in the chair and pointed a dramatic finger at Jing Shu, roared.
Jing Shu: "???"
She stood still, the cooler in her hand.
"Reasoning has no real hierarchy and no winners or losers. Because… the truth is always only one." The fourteen or fifteen year old boy was completely absorbed in his own world, delivering the line with intense conviction.
Jing Shu suddenly realized this must be the landlord's so-called foolish son. Compared to that imagined baby-faced chubby type, he looked far more delicate and refined, with fine features. He didn't much resemble his burly father. He stood about 1.6 meters tall when he hopped off the chair, the same height as her
Still, this bear cub, with his mischievous glint, looked like he deserved a good spanking.
"Why are not you clapping?" Without the expected praise and applause, the landlord's foolish son pouted, his lower lip jutting out.
When dealing with a child whose brain might not be screwed on straight, whose logic was his own, patience was essential, she reminded herself.
Clap clap clap.
Jing Shu applauded hard, the sound sharp in the quiet room, and offered a flat compliment. "Bravo."
Only then did the landlord's foolish son crack a wide, satisfied smile. "See, foolish children are easy to coax. Yeah, right." He seemed to be quoting something, pleased with his performance.
Oh, and thanks to the driver's earlier chatter, she learned his name was Qian Shengqian, and he had an older sister named Qian Qianjin, the names a play on words meaning "money produces money" and "money in gold."
"Does she weigh a thousand jin (about 500 kg)?" Jing Shu asked in mock surprise, playing along with the absurdity.
The driver had worn an indescribable expression then, a mix of embarrassment and resignation. She understood. The whole family's names were something else, a statement of wealth and whimsy.
"Where are your tools for eating?" Qian Shengqian asked, peering at her empty hands.
Jing Shu set the heavy cooler on the ornate dining table with a thump. "The ice cream is inside."
Qian Shengqian pressed a small, ornate bell on the table. A group of people in full butler and maid costumes entered silently, each carrying a silver-domed plated dish, a procession.
Emmm. Jing Shu had a line she wasn't sure she should say. By "tools for eating," did he not mean the life-saving ice cream he supposedly craved? So they were actually having a full, proper meal? The misunderstanding was clarifying.
Qian Shengqian pulled a pair of sleek chopsticks, apparently real ivory, and a small jade bowl from his pocket. "No personal utensils, no meal. Guests must bring their own bowls and chopsticks. House rules." He recited it. "My dad said to thank you for making such delicious ice cream, but I still have to follow the rules." He looked a little pleased with himself for remembering.
Played.
Wasn't the landlord's son supposed to be foolish? Maybe Jing Shu's definition of "foolish" was off. This seemed more like eccentric, performative behavior.
Fortunately, her Cube Space, always prepared, had everything.
Jing Shu smiled, a tight curve, opened the cooler's lid, and reached in as if into its depths, pulling out her own simple bamboo chopsticks and a ceramic bowl from the hidden space. "Good thing I brought them." She placed them beside his.
Qian Shengqian burst out laughing, a genuine sound. "Those dishes are fake." He flipped one of the lifelike silver-domed plates over and shook it hard. It was a lightweight plastic prop, hollow.
Jing Shu: "Heh." I won't stoop to argue with someone this dim. Calm. Stay calm. She took a slow breath.
But it was getting hard to maintain patience. Why did this brat love pranks and theatricality so much?
Qian Shengqian clapped his hands smartly twice. "Change the set." Then with a click he hit a switch on the wall. Hidden motors whirred, and part of the wall slid aside. "Now we start the Tom and Jerry scene. You are Jerry the mouse. I am Tom the cat. I am going to catch you. In a minute you let me catch you, then %@#?!" His words dissolved into excited, unintelligible planning.
Jing Shu's expression turned strange, one eyebrow lifting. "You sure?" The question was loaded.
…
Forgive Jing Shu. Playing the mouse in the ensuing chaotic chase through the connected playrooms, she accidentally, perhaps not entirely accidentally, gave the cat, Qian Shengqian, a few thorough beatings with a sofa cushion. She even let herself be cornered, then used the moment to flip him with a practiced twist and pinned him to the carpeted floor for a light pounding.
Qian Shengqian cried until real tears streamed down his cheeks, his theatricality giving way to genuine upset. "That isn't the plot we agreed on." His voice was muffled against the floor.
Jing Shu exhaled in quiet satisfaction, sitting back. "On TV, whenever the mouse gets caught, doesn't the mouse usually beat the cat up in the next scene?" She offered cartoon logic.
Qian Shengqian hiccuped mid-sob, considering. "I think so." The memory seemed to check out, calming him slightly.
"Miss Jing, so sorry." A burly man with a distinct, nasal, ducklike voice burst into the haunted house, looking flustered, and explained the situation in a rush. "Mr. Qian originally invited you for a formal dinner, but the young master somehow found out and intercepted you. Mr. Qian searched all over before learning you were here. The young master didn't make you do anything strange, did he?" He glanced at the crying boy on the floor. "Oh my little ancestor, why are you crying?"
They were in the middle of this bizarre playacting when the brute arrived and laid it out plainly.
Jing Shu suddenly felt like she had entered a mental hospital where a self-appointed director ordered her to do bizarre tasks, only for the real director to rush out and say, "actually, the person who received you just now has mental issues, my apologies."
Jing Shu kept a straight face, mastering her expression. "The young master is performing a crying scene. Isn't he not doing well? Shouldn't you clap?" She gestured toward the boy.
The burly man blinked, caught off guard, then applauded at once, the sound flat. "Young master, that was very realistic. Very good."
Qian Shengqian beamed through his drying tears, the compliment working.
Jing Shu covered her own face with one hand on the side, hiding her expression. No wonder she had been summoned for no clear reason and told to act for no reason. The landlord's foolish son wasn't just foolish in a simple way. The wiring upstairs was also a bit off, a unique constellation.
As it turned out, she had indeed been meant to dine directly with Mr. Qian in the main residence. But the schedule got delayed, something urgent came up with the energy requisitions, and the meal was canceled. At least Qian Shengqian was very satisfied with the spicy-strip ice cream, eating two bowls. To apologize for the mix-up, Qian Duoduo added an extra half-ton of diesel to the trade and promised through the assistant to host her properly next time, a rain check.
"Next time we switch. You play the cat, I will be the mouse." That was what Qian Shengqian said at parting, clinging to the game as Jing Shu was shown out.
Jing Shu smiled with crescent eyes, a sweet, empty expression. "Of course." If there was a next time, she would make it unforgettable for Qian Shengqian, a thought she kept to herself.
For now, Qian Shengqian didn't need more ice cream with his father's stocks secured, and Jing Shu didn't need more diesel with her tanks and hidden cache full.
Her own ice cream stash, made from surplus milk, would be enough for this lifetime. When the days turned bitterly cold next year, she wouldn't be eating frozen treats anyway. The milk stored at home, plentiful, should be turned into stable milk powder and solid milk tablets for travel and trade.
During this stretch of relative calm, she became a diligent little bee, working from dawn to dusk. In the last two scorchingly hot months of what she knew would be a decade-long apocalypse, she dried every vegetable, fruit, and food that could be sun-dried on the rooftop racks, to prepare for the coming migration and for daily use later when fresh would be scarce.
For example, Su Lanzhi's favorite little white apricots from the courtyard tree were picked in one batch to eat fresh and another batch sliced thin to dry. The yard had trays of apple chips baking in the residual heat, and the greenhouse yielded trays of strawberry chips and raisins and more, the air sweet and concentrated.
Coconuts in the Cube Space had been growing for half a year, maturing on a five-day cycle with astonishing yields. Besides drinking them constantly for hydration, Jing Shu processed the remaining coconut meat and water into a total of three cubic meters of canned coconut milk and shredded pulp. Then she felled six of the oldest coconut trees for lumber, replanted six cubic meters' worth of assorted fruit saplings, and went into a final frenzy of making dried fruit, filling storage containers to the brim.
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钱多多 (Qián Duōduō). 钱 is the surname Qian (money), and 多多 means "lots and lots," so the name implies "Lots-of-Money Qian."
钱生钱 (Qián Shēngqián): 生钱 (shēngqián) means "to generate money" or "money makes money."
钱千金 (Qián Qiānjīn): 千金 (qiānjīn) literally means "a thousand pieces of gold." It's a classical term for a large amount of money, but it is also a very common and elegant way to refer to a daughter or young lady (e.g., 千金小姐 - "a young lady of a good family").