Jing Shu asked for five cars first as a strategic opening bid because she intuitively knew five vehicles worth of parts would not be enough for the scale of her planned RV refit. If it fell short later, she could always add more during the auction. Bidding for all ten at once felt a bit excessive, and might signal too much desperation or wealth, attracting the wrong kind of attention.
"Five cars? Is she crazy? What does she possibly need that many for?" a woman from the wealthy row whispered behind a hand to her companion.
"Classic case of misaligned markets," her companion murmured back. "The truly rich here do not need more vehicles; the ones who need them cannot afford them. Charging an energy car's batteries costs several virtual coins every cycle from the public grid, and if a complex system breaks, you cannot get it fixed. Who has coins to burn on garage queens?"
"And she wants that many fuel burners too. How much diesel or gasoline does her family have stockpiled to even run them?"
Even though Jing Shu had spoken quietly, her bid resonated in the hushed room, leaving many stunned.
Chen Nan was perhaps the most shocked. She had put these vehicle lots up mostly to add variety and a touch of pre-apocalypse nostalgia to Su Mali's event, never expecting a serious bid. Worried no one would bid at all and it would be awkward, she had even included one fully electric luxury SUV in the mix and slashed the prices to what she considered a semi-giveaway level. She had absolutely not expected someone to open with a bid for a bundle of five. Chen Nan's heart momentarily dripped blood, this was a significant loss on paper.
Su Mali, observing from the head table, snorted a quiet, amused laugh. Yesterday, Chen Nan had sworn over tea that even at these bundle prices, they would never sell. "Who would buy that many wrecks at once?" Chen Nan had said. "Even car enthusiasts turned scavengers would have to give me face and not lowball me so publicly."
"What is it?" Jing Shu asked, her voice low but carrying in the quiet. "You're not selling?"
"No, no, of course we are selling!" Chen Nan recovered quickly, a professional smile returning. "I just want to ask, out of curiosity, will you drive all of them yourself?" It was a polite way to probe the intent behind such a large purchase.
All eyes in the room tilted toward Jing Shu again, waiting. She thought it over swiftly. The Conqueror RV's existence was not a secret anymore, not after its noisy arrival. Its refit would need piles of specialized hardware. The people here, especially those like Chen Nan, might even help her source rare parts or have the tools she lacked. Transparency might serve her better here than secrecy. So she said:
"I'm planning to do a major refit on an RV, a large one. I need to boost its functionality, off-grid capability, and safety significantly. I will need a lot of high-end components, electrical systems, and perhaps armor plating. Standard junkyard parts will not match the spec or scale."
Now many of the more technically minded guests, especially in the wealthy row, understood. With no specialized supply chains and all remaining factories closed to civilians, you could only cannibalize other high-end machines. Scrapyard parts from ordinary cars would be useless; they would not match an RV's requirements for load, vibration, or integration.
"Never noticed before, but now it's clear. Jing Shu is real money," a man murmured with newfound respect.
"Buying luxury cars at 800 virtual coins is not to drive them, but to strip them for parts for an RV. That's some serious, focused wealth."
"Jing Shu already has the shark submarine and that red BYD she drove before. Her family also has an RV? I circled her villa district yesterday and noticed a massive warehouse structure out back. I bet it's full of vehicles and parts."
Chen Nan exhaled a silent sigh of relief. The explanation made sense and gave her an honorable out from looking like she was selling at a total loss.
"That makes perfect sense," Chen Nan said, her voice warmer. "Better to have a fortress on wheels ready in case another disaster hits, so you can run. How about this," she offered, thinking on her feet to salvage both face and a better deal. "My family still operates a specialized vehicle conversion and repair shop from the old days, fully equipped. Instead of you buying these five cars and doing the stripping yourself, why not let me cover all the RV refit materials from our inventory? It would be better than piecing together random parts from different models, right? You can come to the shop, point to whatever you want from our stocks, sheet metal, wiring harnesses, inverters, glass, insulation. I will only provide the materials. The labor for the actual conversion is on you or whoever you hire."
She had done a quick mental calculation. Providing raw materials from her shop's inventory would lose her less face and potentially fewer resources than selling five complete, iconic vehicles for a pittance.
Jing Shu's expression went subtly odd, a mix of appreciation and wariness. She coughed lightly. "That might not be a great deal for you. My RV is on the particularly large side. It will take a lot of material. What if we settle by the actual materials used, with a fair valuation?"
Chen Nan waved a hand grandly, projecting confidence. "How much can it possibly take? You think it will be more than five luxury cars' worth of components? I doubt it."
"How about we count it at the ten-car bundle price, 1,400 coins," Jing Shu countered gently. "What I need is really not a small amount. If the materials used exceed that value, I will make it up to you later in goods or coins."
Since there was an active, professional conversion factory with proper tools and inventory, she decided she would not be shy. Her dream of a lift-up, two-story, steel-clad mobile mansion could finally become a reality.
Hearing that Jing Shu was not just being polite but was serious about the potential scale, Chen Nan finally asked the key question, her curiosity overriding business caution. "Oh, right. What kind of RV is it, exactly?"
"German MAN base, Armadillo XT conversion. The model is called the Conqueror F."
"Conqueror?" Chen Nan blinked, the name vaguely familiar from pre-apocalypse auto shows.
"Old news now," a man from the wealthy row supplied, sounding impressed. "Before the apocalypse the top spec went for over ten million. It's several times larger and heavier than a normal Class A RV. More like a mobile research outpost."
A soft chorus of sharp intakes of breath ran through the classmates' row. Ten million was a mythical number to them now.
Chen Nan's mouth fell slightly open. It was not the pre-apocalypse price that stunned her, anyone sitting in her row had been worth hundreds of millions before the fall. It was the sheer physical size and implied material consumption. That rig would gobble steel, wiring, and components like a beast.
"I don't remember Wu City ever having one of those," Chen Nan said, her voice faint, nearly in tears at the potential scale of the "favor" she had just grandly offered.
Jing Shu coughed again, a little apologetic. "I just had it brought back from overseas a few days ago. It's newly acquired."
Chen Nan took a deep breath, squaring her shoulders. In for a penny, in for a pound. Her reputation was on the line now. "A promise from the Chen family is a promise. Eight hundred virtual coins. Whatever materials you need for the conversion from my shop, I will cover it." Even losing a few thousand virtual coins worth of stock was pocket change to her family's deep reserves. Face and honor in this circle mattered more.
"Alright, thank you then. I appreciate it," Jing Shu said graciously. Since Chen Nan insisted on the original bargain, she would let it stand for now. Later, she could discreetly tally the actual materials used and repay the difference in kind, perhaps with some Spirit Spring-enhanced produce or other rare goods. Debts of favor, especially public ones, were the hardest to clear, and she preferred clean accounts.
With most of the major RV materials seemingly settled, Jing Shu's mood lifted considerably. Today had definitely been worth coming, even with the earlier drama.
The third course was served, interrupting the business. It was caviar steamed egg. Delicate eggshells, their tops carefully removed, had been carved with decorative toothed rims and tiny patterns. Inside each, a perfectly seasoned custard had been steamed, then topped with a thumbnail-sized dollop of vibrant red salmon caviar.
A tiny mother-of-pearl spoon was provided. The technique was to scoop a bit of caviar with some of the silky custard. Slurp. The combination was sublime, salty, briny pop from the roe against the rich, smooth egg. Perfection.
Legend had it that exactly thirteen small spoonfuls made the flavor linger longest on the tongue, stretching the experience.
By Jing Shu's second contemplative spoonful, many of the classmates were already scraping their shells clean, desperate to savor every molecule. She narrowed her eyes thoughtfully. Maybe she should look into sourcing some roe or breeding fish herself. This was too good.
"The third auction lot," the announcer called, drawing attention back, "is a leftover batch of specialized high-tensile steel alloy from the national artificial sun project. The quantity is not large, only a few dozen metric tons. Cutting and basic processing services are included. Single price: 4,000 virtual coins. Also open to trade for aviation-grade kerosene or diesel."
Su Mali added helpfully, "A friend in the project asked me to help sell it fast. They are consolidating assets."
"The price is actually good for that grade," a man in a suit remarked to his neighbor.
"But what would you even do with it? You could not flip it. No one is building anything new."
"My family is shifting entirely to secured agriculture. We plan to expand our underground hydroponic fruit and vegetable production this year. No use for steel."
Steel had endless theoretical uses, but with all major factories shuttered, the demand was niche. Aside from the ongoing, secretive artificial sun work, no major construction projects remained. People could barely feed themselves. Who would commission a steel structure?
It was about to pass with no bids when Jing Shu, seeing the announcer ready to move on, said softly but clearly, "If no one else wants it, I will take it."
She truly had not wanted to stick her head up again so soon, but the destroyed boulders in her Rubik's Cube Space were a fresh lesson. A month of sweat, gone in one blast. The incident had proved how effective dense, heavy objects were as a last-second, secret weapon for defense and blast mitigation. Proper steel plate would be far better. Harder, more reusable, more destructively effective when launched, and this might be the last batch of military/aerospace-grade alloy ever available. It deserved to be called a strategic treasure.
"Total tycoon," someone muttered, shaking their head.
"She really has money to burn."
"What on earth does she need that much specialty steel for? Building a tank?"
"She clearly has a use. Four thousand virtual coins without even batting an eye. Her family is definitely not lacking food."
"No kidding. She probably has a whole aquaculture pool of those crayfish somewhere. You think someone like that lacks for anything?"
…
The fourth course arrived, a small copper cocotte for each person. Inside was boeuf bourguignon, a rich, wine-braised beef stew.
"I counted exactly three pieces of beef in mine," Shi Lei whispered mournfully after a quick inspection. "I chewed each one forty-nine times and it was gone."
"Two chunks of carrot, one sprig of cilantro, one whole peeled garlic clove, and maybe one sip of wine's worth of sauce," Wang Chao catalogued.
"I dabbed each piece of beef in the sauce a dozen times before I finally dared to eat it," another classmate admitted, his voice thick with the effort to make the luxury last.