By the fourth course, the initial ravenous hunger had been blunted, and everyone, even the most desperate classmates, unconsciously switched to a more measured, refined pace of eating. They savored each tiny bite, making the experience last.
Alright, you win, the atmosphere seemed to say. The sheer quality of the food demanded respect.
The high school classmates no longer cared about the odd, pitying, or disdainful looks from across the aisle. Let the pot break and the shards fall where they may. These dishes would have been considered excellent even before the apocalypse. After the collapse, they might never taste anything like this again in their lifetimes. Social embarrassment was a small price.
The fourth auction lot turned out to be live aloe vera plants, presented in small decorative pots. Aloe was famously easy to keep alive; pinch off a tip and it would readily root. Unfortunately, most household plants had died during the first year's brutal drought and heatwaves, so surviving specimens were now rare.
There was no need to list aloe's many benefits. Beauty and skincare, slap the gel on a cut to stop bleeding and promote healing, good for inflammation and, crucially, for treating frostbite. Jing Shu wanted to plant some now so that when temperatures later plunged to a hypothetical minus 70 degrees Celsius, she would have the remedy ready. Her Spirit Spring could likely help it thrive.
Jing Shu's villa courtyard had one huge, often overlooked advantage: a degree of climate buffering and consistent temperature provided by her modifications and the geothermal mass of the hill behind it, which allowed her to grow many things others could not.
A relatively constant temperature was the most luxurious condition in the apocalypse. Day and night temperatures typically swung wildly, preventing many crops and plants from growing at all or surviving extremes.
"One healthy aloe shoot, with root ball, for 200 virtual coins. After you grow it for a while, it can be propagated and used medicinally too," the announcer stated.
Jing Shu said simply, "Then I will take one."
The fifth lot was premium, pre-apocalypse brand cigarettes, sealed in cartons. "Fifty virtual coins per carton," the announcer said. "Word is the consignor's family ran a major tobacco company." Jing Shu considered asking later, after the trading ended, whether they might have tobacco seeds as well. Grandpa Jing was a pipe man, and homegrown tobacco, enhanced by the Spirit Spring, might be a unique luxury.
Jing Shu said, "How about ten cartons?" It was ironic. She had lacked the means to buy such luxuries for her grandfather before the apocalypse. Funny that after the world ended, Grandpa Jing might finally get to try the truly good stuff.
Also, with their improved circumstances, Grandpa Jing could no longer cadge smokes from Jing An as he used to. Grandpa Jing's mood had been noticeably poorer lately, and he argued with Jing An over trivial things daily. Jing Shu figured a stash of premium tobacco might help restore the old, more harmonious dynamic.
Seeing the looks from every direction growing a little strange, a mix of awe, confusion, and outright disbelief at her spending spree, Jing Shu decided to consciously stop buying for a while. She really did have the habit, she realized, of spending every last virtual coin the moment there were a few in hand, treating them as a tool for immediate acquisition rather than hoarding.
Luckily, the later lots did not pique her immediate interest. Most were non-essentials: fine antique furniture, luxury perfumes and skincare masks, and other oddities from a vanished world, all asking for virtual coins or trades in bulk food, cooking oil, or coal.
A few lots were rare foods and live poultry. The little white goose that had been a gift earlier had a sibling, which sold for 1,000 virtual coins. A proven laying hen also fetched 1,000. Ten kilograms of vacuum-sealed, pre-apocalypse frozen prime beef sold for 2,000.
Jing Shu fell into thoughtful silence watching these prices. What would a live, breeding black pig bring now? The thought of pigs led her mind to Aunt Jing Pan's family. After checking the flood maps Wu You'ai had access to, she had found their rural homestead sat on significantly higher ground, likely unflooded, so she had not told them to evacuate to the chaotic shelters.
A few days ago, Grandma Jing had finally gotten through to them. As expected, they were fine and had even managed to save quite a few animals from the flooding Livestock Breeding Center near them. That counted as real merit in the current system. They would have a firm footing there now, and life would not be bad. With a breeding sow already, a little discreet help from Jing Shu, perhaps some enhanced feed or a rooster, would be enough to set them up sustainably. Uncle was a capable, practical man.
From the looks of the auction, the wealthy were not living as effortlessly well as Jing Shu had sometimes imagined. They were actively turning hoarded non-essentials and luxury assets into hard calories and staples. Clearly, they did not feel entirely confident about the long-term future either and wanted to stockpile more fundamental resources.
"This is the fourteenth course. Burp. I'm actually full," Shi Lei whispered, patting his stomach in wonder.
"This one is dessert."
"Wow, macarons! The food of legend? Mmm, so sweet, so good."
"Idiot, macarons are meant to be nibbled slowly, to savor. One should take half an hour to finish a single one," Yao Zixin chided gently, though she too had eaten hers quickly.
As the extravagant meal finally drew to a close, all the major showcase lots had been auctioned. Only three or four niche items remained unsold, withdrawn by their owners.
"With that, the formal auction segment ends," Su Mali announced, standing again. "Next is the open exchange period. Please check the big screen for the complete list of items offered by guests. Browse, find anything that interests you, and barter directly. If you need an official appraisal or wish to conduct a virtual coin transaction, please find Ah Yu."
"Oh, before that," she added, remembering the logistics, "please settle any outstanding auction payments with Ah Yu first. He will handle the transfers."
Since only Ah Yu, as a designated official, had access to the government's transactional big-data system here, anyone paying in virtual coins had to run it through him. It was still far more convenient than trekking to a government office or the makeshift supermarket bank.
"Who is first?" Ah Yu asked pleasantly, holding up a tablet. "We will start with the largest total. Jing Shu, your purchases: vehicle materials bundle at 800, specialty steel at 4,000, aloe plant at 200, ten cartons of cigarettes at 500. Total: 5,500 virtual coins." He held up his personal phone, which displayed a dynamic QR code for the transfer. "Just scan this, and authorize the amount."
A crowd of onlookers, especially Jing Shu's classmates, pressed in curiously. For them, twenty virtual coins would cover their basic food ration for over ten days. Jing Shu had just spent 5,500 in a blink, a sum that represented pre-apocalypse tens of millions. The scale was incomprehensible.
Jing Shu hesitated internally. Last night, Li Yuetian had said the award of 6,000 coins would arrive within 24 hours. There were still about three hours left in that window. The coins should be in her account by now, right?
Please let it be in. Otherwise, this would be monumentally awkward.
Steeling herself, Jing Shu pulled out her own phone, opened the government services app, and scanned Ah Yu's code. She entered the amount and submitted the transfer request.
Murphy's Law, it seemed, was in full effect. The very outcome Jing Shu did not want landed squarely on her head.
Ah Yu's tablet emitted a soft, distinct error chime. He glanced at it, then coughed discreetly, leaning closer to murmur, "The system is indicating insufficient balance."
The room, which had been buzzing with post-meal chatter, fell into a stunned silence, then erupted in whispers.
Nima Sang's voice rose above the murmurs, sharp with vindication. "What? She bought all that and doesn't even have the coins? She was just showing off!"
"Yeah, good thing they did not transfer the goods first. Can the sales even be backed out now?" someone else added.
Yao Zixin tried to defend her. "Stop shouting. Maybe the coins are in her parents' account, or there is a delay."
Nima Sang crowed, "Look at Jing Shu! The higher you lift her up, the harder she falls. How is she going to end this? I heard auction sales are final, no returns."
Su Mali stepped in immediately to cover for her friend. "Jing Shu, you found those rare Chinese herbs for me last time. I still owe you for that. Let us call it five thousand virtual coins. I will transfer them to you right now to cover this." It was a blatant save, inventing a debt on the spot.
In truth, aside from Nima and a few jealous whispers, the reaction was not uniformly hostile. Notably, seller Chen Nan spoke up. "What a small matter. Forget my 800 for the car materials. Consider it a housewarming gift to Su Mali, through you."
The representative for the steel lot, a serious-looking man, said, "The steel is still yours. The transfer can wait. If you can source me a breeding pair of crayfish as well, I would add another thousand to the price. How about it?"
Alright then. It was not the catastrophic, reputation-destroying humiliation she had feared. In fact, people's character showed clearly in their reactions. Some were petty, others pragmatic, and a few were unexpectedly generous.
Jing Shu was not sure whether her social reputation had actually risen from this fiasco or if her own heart had simply hardened, but what would have felt like a mortal, crushing embarrassment in her past life now felt like a minor logistical hiccup.
After a moment's reflection, she understood why. This time, she had the Rubik's Cube Space. She had grain, livestock, medicine, and resources. She did not panic because she had real, tangible wealth to back up her promises. Even if the 6,000 virtual coins never arrived, she could simply go home, grab a few of her Spirit Spring-fed hens or some preserved meat, and settle the bill in kind. That was how solid her foundation was.
"Why don't you process everyone else's payments first," Jing Shu said to Ah Yu, her voice calm and steady, cutting through the noise. "Mine will likely arrive in an hour or two. There appears to be a system delay. Don't worry. I still want all my items. I'm not backing out of any purchase."
"She thinks she is who exactly?" Nima Sang muttered, not quite sotto voce. "Do bank transfer delays even exist now? The system is instant." Her dislike had started as petty jealousy over Jing Shu's closeness with Yao Zixin. Later, it curdled into pure resentment. Jing Shu's performance today, calm, capable, wealthy, connected, was too perfect. Nima wanted to tear it all down, to see the facade crack.