Wu You'ai gathered everyone in the main open area of Cave No. 5, her voice raised to carry over the constant drip of water and murmur of worried conversations, and announced the official news.
"The government plans to recruit more than ten thousand salvage workers immediately, with the possibility of converting some top performers into official civil servants with permanent status. Requirements: must be a good swimmer, familiar with Wu City's layout, open to all genders. Daily work is moving submerged municipal supplies from the flooded downtown, food, medicine, machinery. Pay is 4 virtual coins a day, housing will be assigned in the new zones, but if performance does not meet standards you will be dropped from the program.
You can sign up here with me. We will shortlist candidates in a few days. A word of warning," her voice turned grave, "this is dangerous work. If you drown or die by accident in the water, the government won't be responsible. Sign at your own risk."
The announcement shocked many, but also sparked immediate interest. People who could swim well, especially younger men and some women, were already itching to sign up. After all, what was so dangerous about diving to fetch supplies from familiar stores? It seemed like straightforward, if wet, labor.
What did full-time civil servant positions offer now? Guaranteed housing, daily meals, and a steady income of virtual coins. That was an iron rice bowl in this apocalypse, a lifeline to stability.
Wu You'ai, seeing the mixed reactions, also shared more broadly applicable news. "If you don't get shortlisted for the salvage corps, don't be discouraged. The city's high-rise downtown area is submerged under several meters of water. It might not recede for months, but the stuff in the city, non-perishable goods, tools, materials, has to be salvaged or it will rot and be lost forever. Ordinary people can register to go out with the official salvage boats to recover goods on a freelance basis. Items you personally recover can be exchanged at a government depot at a discount for virtual coins. It's a chance to earn enough to pay off those housing loans."
Loans, she noted, were a bittersweet luxury only a few relatively well-off communities like Banana Community could even complain about. Many refugees had lost everything and owed nothing; they just needed a roof.
When everyone learned, through the grapevine and confirmed by Wu You'ai, that the flood wouldn't recede quickly and that relocation was likely permanent for many, the reality sank in: they might lose their original homes forever. Who knew if they could ever reclaim or even rebuild in the same place once the waters eventually dropped? The submerged city center might be written off.
So owning a house now in a safe zone, one that didn't require sharing space with a dozen strangers, made you part of the new "house-owning" elite in everyone's eyes. No wonder Jing Shu's classmates in the chat were buzzing with jealousy when they discovered her home was in the coveted Banana Community.
The scale of the disaster was staggering. The flood had displaced millions in Wu City in the blink of an eye. Tens of thousands were simply missing, unaccounted for. The news broadcasts barely reported the missing numbers anymore because people didn't have the luxury of time to grieve. The only important thing now was how the living would survive the next week, the next month.
On January 4, the situation in the shelters worsened. Hongshan Ecological Park, strained beyond capacity, served only two meager meals. With the pervasive cold and damp in the caves, people caught chills and fevers, and hundreds more, mostly the very old or very young, died quietly in the night, their bodies removed at dawn.
The heavy rain outside never stopped. Some lower caves began to fill with seepage water. People couldn't sleep, forced to stand in calf-deep icy water. Yet paradoxically, the designated higher ground in Wu City, Xishan old town, the development district, remained dry, confirming the government's geographical assessment.
The government made a decisive call: on January 5, they would start the massive logistical operation of assigning people to the new residential points. The caves were no longer tenable for long-term habitation. Worse, the red nematodes in the floodwaters had become a major, visible hazard. Their mating rituals created a constant, unsettling sizzling sound audible near the water's edge. Under any light, dense, pulsating swarms of red nematodes jumped and tangled on the water's surface, a living, wriggling carpet.
Red nematodes were poised to become one of the biggest early dangers and headaches for the salvage teams.
Jing Shu remembered the phenomenon clearly from her past life: you took one step into the water and countless bugs tickled the soles of your feet. Within two or three seconds, swarms of red nematodes would entwine themselves around your ankle and calf, not to bite, but to continue their frantic mating, indifferent to the giant disturbance. Do you think they were attacking? No.
Red nematodes had a single-minded purpose:
You want to eat us? Sorry, we are mating.
You stepped on us? Sorry, we are still mating.
Whatever you planned to do, they wouldn't be stopped from reproducing.
So when salvage workers later dove in to move goods, they could easily have a limb or their torso wrapped in a thick, living mass of red nematodes. In the murky water, these masses looked like drifting aquatic plants, and no one knew how many early, unprepared salvage workers had been accidentally strangled or pinned by them.
The cave where Jing Shu and her family stayed was far better off because she had made people lay bricks and built a sunken square trough with piled stones for the fires. That raised, dry central area made it far superior to other caves. By the time others realized the value of dry flooring, loose tiles and bricks were gone. They were left shivering in cold water, standing or sitting on soaked bundles.
Because many people in other, less organized caves had died the night before from exposure, the government distributed a small amount of coal today for heating, and Cave No. 5, due to its order and Wu You'ai's management, received a fair share. Combined with their prepared fire trenches, Cave No. 5 was comparatively warm.
In this relative comfort, a sense of solidarity and gratitude began to crystallize. Wang Qiqi, a respected older woman in the community, stood up with her scorched metal pot and said loudly, "Today I drink water as wine to thank the family from the villa district. They have helped us a lot. Jing Shu once saved many lives at the supermarket. The reason we can sleep in a relatively dry cave at night is thanks to her ideas and her family's initiative.
We have got bigger, drier spaces and more organized food distribution because of them. We all know from the announcements that from tomorrow, more people, more civil servants, even wealthy families and powerful figures from other villa areas will be moved into our assigned community.
But whatever happens, wherever we are placed, I pledge my loyalty to Jing Shu's family. If anyone targets her home or her family, I will do my part to help." It was a bold statement of alliance in the uncertain times ahead.
"Count me in," the young master holding a small child shouted from the back. "My family of three owes our lives to Jing Shu's rescue at the supermarket. If anyone messes with her family, I will contribute what I can."
"Me too," Wang Xuemei, a quiet woman, stood up from her corner.
"Me as well," the once-plump, now thinning Fatty Niu raised her chipped enamel bowl.
A scattered community, about to be flooded by unknown newcomers, was naturally banding together around a common benefactor. Wang Qiqi was shrewdly using Jing Shu's reputation and deeds like a banner to rally people and secure mutual loyalty for the coming upheaval. In turn, Jing Shu's family earned genuine gratitude and a network of allies in the chaotic new settlement.
"Amazing, Jing Shu is really impressive. So beloved," Wang Fang said to Su Lanzhi with a mix of admiration and envy.
The family all gave Jing Shu subtle thumbs-up or proud nods.
Jing Shu stood and offered a simple, gracious thank you to the cave. Fewer people causing trouble, more people willing to watch each other's backs, was always a blessing in the apocalypse.
Still, even having thought of so many ways to improve their living conditions, no one slept truly well that night. The tiled cave floors, wooden boards, moisture-proof mats, sleeping bags, and tents kept out the worst of the wind and water but couldn't block all the pervasive smells of unwashed bodies, damp wool, and decay.
At four in the morning, Jing Shu woke from a shallow sleep to a familiar, gut-churning stench cutting through the cave's baseline odor. It wasn't just their section; the whole cave seemed filled with it.
The smell was an indescribable mix of rotten eggs, burnt durian, and acrid tear gas.
Jing Shu gritted her teeth in the dark. She had lived through this before in her past life, yet here it was again: someone, driven by desperate hunger, was roasting red nematodes to eat. Who the hell was stupid or hungry enough?
"What is that smell? Ugh, so bad. It's burning my eyes," someone groaned.
"It's coming from the next cave over, Cave No. 8," another voice answered, muffled by cloth over their nose. "They have got a fire going and they are hungry, so they are roasting red nematodes. Think they are cooking shrimp."
"That smell shouldn't be this strong. It's toxic."
"I heard some were told not to, that the bugs might be poisonous or carry parasites, but they didn't listen. They said protein is protein. Now other caves have started roasting them too, says if one cave farts we all get to smell it."
Great. A few caves roasting the foul-smelling bugs together. The stench was unbearable, creeping into tents and clothing.
Jing Shu's whole family, with their more sensitive noses from cleaner living, couldn't stand it. They made a unanimous, groggy decision: they packed up their essential gear quickly and headed straight back to the villa. They were planning to return today anyway to check on the animals and retrieve more supplies. "That amphibious shark submarine is yours. We're driving back first," Jing Shu said to Wu You'ai, who nodded, understanding.
They slipped away in the pre-dawn greyness, leaving Wu You'ai and Jing Lai to represent them in the cave. The rest of the community would wait for the morning government meal distribution before beginning their own treks back to their assigned areas.
They waded through the flooded streets in the shark submarine, the water still high. Grandma Jing peered out the window, still worried. "There is so much water. Are you sure the villa won't be submerged?"
When they finally reached their community and approached the underground garage entrance, they found it sealed tight from the inside, a security measure Jing Shu had engaged.
"Why is the underground garage door locked?" Jing An asked, puzzled.
"Then let's go in from above," Jing Shu said, steering the submarine toward the main ground-level entrance, which was also secured but which she could open with her codes. The familiar, silent villa awaited, a dry fortress in the endless wet.