Jing Shu initially assumed the beaming, wrinkled man at the gate was some forgotten acquaintance, his welcome so effusive it tricked her into a reflexive nod. Then the cognitive gears ground, total stranger.
Zhou Bapi ushered her inside with the pride of a prospector who had just struck a motherlode. His smile carved deeper canyons into his aged face, and his eyes raked over her as if appraising a vein of rare ore.
If Su Mali hadn't been perched on the porch steps, snickering, Jing Shu's fist might have already introduced itself to his solar plexus.
"Ah, how rude of me! I forgot to introduce myself. My surname is Zhou. You can just call me Pharmacist Zhou…"
Su Mali let out a cackle that scattered the evening gloom. "Pharmacist? This is that miser Zhōu Bāpí! The one who swore up and down you couldn't grow astragalus in a pot. He even bet he'd livestream himself eating shit if you did!"
"Nonsense! My name is Zhou Bàqì! Zhou Bàqì! Don't you dare call me that other name!" Zhou Bapi flapped his hands, desperately trying to herd his dignity back into the pen. First impressions were critical, especially with this particular young woman. Why did Su Mali have to be a human wrecking ball?
Jing Shu's eyes cleared with understanding. So this was him. She'd wondered about his absence from the earlier gathering. Zhou Bàqì… or Zhou Bāpí? The pun was almost too perfect.
Determined to reclaim the high ground, Zhou Bapi drew himself up. "Young lady, your potted astragalus is… remarkable. I am the Vice President of the Wu City Branch of the Chinese Medicinal Herb Association, Zhou Bàqì." He delivered the title with a flourish, certain its weight would impress. Associations sounded official, prestigious.
Su Mali doubled over, wheezing with laughter. "An 'association' with seven people and three vice presidents? Sure, that counts. I have nothing more to say." She had fully embraced her role as the little demon of demolition.
Jing Shu: "???"
This was starting to smell like a scam. In her past life, the Medicinal Herb Association had been a formidable, sprawling entity. How could this one have only seven members? Wu City was rich in botanical knowledge.
Was this some kind of legend, gather seven people to summon a dragon?
Seeing the open skepticism on Jing Shu's face, Zhou Bapi coughed into his fist. "Ahem. What Su Mali stated is the formal, registered membership. Seven individuals. But there are many, many more applicants waiting for admission who haven't been approved. Jing Shu, I came today to ask you directly: were these specimens of astragalus and honeysuckle truly cultivated by you after the climatic shift?"
Jing Shu gave a single, definitive nod. "Yes."
Zhou Bapi's hands trembled. He rubbed them together, the dry sound like rustling parchment. "Splendid. Absolutely splendid. Jing Shu, would you… would you consider joining our Medicinal Herb Association?"
Joining the association had been part of her original calculus. Her expertise wasn't in pharmacology, but in cultivation, a skill arguably more vital now. Still, Su Mali's description made it sound less like an institution and more like a book club.
Noting her hesitation, Zhou Bapi grew agitated. "Please, don't be misled. Upon joining, you would be a full member with voting rights. We oversee a network of hundreds of unofficial growers and foragers. The government has plans to consolidate all regional associations into a unified national body, integrating resources from other cities as well."
"What would the daily responsibilities entail? Are there strict quotas?" Jing Shu had never held a conventional job; the apocalypse had arrived before her résumé did.
"Freedom. It's a position of great freedom. As long as you can successfully maintain a few designated medicinal plants each month, you fulfill the core duty. You can even grow them at your residence. The benefits, I assure you, surpass most civil service posts.
Those of us at the leadership level handle technical crises, blights, unexplained withering, that sort of thing. At your tier, simply keeping the plants alive is an achievement. Post-cataclysm cultivation is… brutally difficult.
The old industrialized farming models are gone. We're back to inefficient, scattered individual plots. But what choice do we have? The environmental variables are too chaotic now."
Zhou Bapi sighed, the sound full of the weight of a lost world. "Thankfully, Wu City still has some reserve stockpiles from the old days. But those are for critical, lifesaving interventions only. Once they're depleted, survival rates will plummet below those of pre-industrial eras."
It was the stark truth. Now, a common cold or fever was a test of constitution. You endured, or you died. Chronic conditions like hypertension or heart disease, without medication, became death sentences waiting for a trigger.
His wrinkled face reconfigured itself into a hopeful smile. "Tell you what. Come with me tomorrow to visit the association's greenhouse. See it for yourself before you decide."
Jing Shu pulled herself from her thoughts and nodded. "Alright."
If it checked out, membership could be useful. At the very least, her mother could boast to the neighbors: "My daughter holds a formal position with the Medicinal Herb Association."
"Excellent! It's settled then. I'll stay at Mali's place tonight," Zhou Bapi announced, already making himself at home.
Despite Su Mali's half-hearted attempts to persuade her to stay for dinner, Jing Shu left only the two potted plants behind and headed home.
Zhou Bapi declared he would sleep beside the herbs, like a knight guarding a relic, and transport them to the association greenhouse at first light for further study.
Jing Shu felt no anxiety about the Spirit Spring's secret being uncovered. When Qian Duoduo had his foolish son tested after the ice cream incident, even prolonged analysis had revealed nothing anomalous. She doubted Zhou Bapi's methods would fare any better. The Spring's essence was subtle, it enhanced vitality and function within living systems. Unless someone directly assayed the water source itself, she was safe.
Back at the villa, dinner was on the table. She ate with focused haste while Grandma Jing fretted over the afternoon's alleged "errands." Wu You'ai, now glued to her reclaimed phone, offered vague, distracted answers between chapters of her manga.
Thankfully, her family didn't follow Douyin and remained blissfully unaware of the digital firestorm she'd ignited and quelled.
"It's fine, Mom. All resolved. Look, they're both safe and sound. A reporter even interviewed me this afternoon," Jing An added, unable to suppress a note of pride. Being the anonymous "Concerned Citizen Mr. Jing" had a certain ring to it.
"Look at the news, Africa is completely flooded! The death toll is catastrophic!"
Everyone turned toward the screen, the mood shifting.
"It's horrific. The continent's average elevation is so high, yet even the savannahs are underwater. All those people who dug shelters deep underground during last year's heat… they were trapped when the water poured in. Couldn't even get out," Su Lanzhi murmured, her voice soft with horror.
"The extreme heat last year drove people to excavate tunnels over ten meters down. It was livable, even comfortable. Hainan in China considered a similar model, but our leadership forced a relocation instead. Truly foresighted," Jing An said, shaking his head.
"How many millions will be lost? A tragedy beyond words," Grandpa Jing sighed, the weight of the world in his breath.
The news reel continued. Japan was gone, fully claimed by the rising seas. Only the iconic peak of Mount Fuji remained above the waves, a lonely tombstone for a nation. Other island chains had simply vanished, erased from the map.
China's Taiwan Island, with its higher central mountains, had fared slightly better, though half of it was submerged. The casualties were severe, but not total.
Yet nothing compared to the scale in Africa. Its elevation had been its curse, not high enough to stay dry, but high enough that the floods didn't simply swallow it whole; they rushed in over the plateaus and filled every basin, every valley, every deep-buried shelter, drowning a continent in a slow, inescapable deluge.
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周扒皮 (Zhōu Bāpí): This is a cultural reference to a famously exploitative landlord from the novel The Rent Collection Courtyard. It's used as a nickname meaning "miser".
周霸气 (Zhōu Bàqì): His real name, which sounds almost identical to "Zhou Bapi" (扒皮 vs. 霸气). It means "Zhou Domineering/Awe-Inspiring Aura." The translation keeps the pinyin "Zhou Bàqì" to maintain the crucial pun and explain why the mispronunciation is so embarrassing for him.