An eighty-eighth birthday banquet in the middle of the apocalypse? The mere concept was so surreal it took Jing Shu a moment to process. If Yang Yang's family could still organize something like that, with guests and food and ceremony, they clearly weren't just "not ordinary," they were operating on a different plane of reality entirely, where scarcity was a suggestion, not a law.
Wait. The thought of a formal celebration sparked a practical connection in her mind. She suddenly remembered she should start brewing some wine. Red or white, it didn't matter; homemade alcohol worked for gift-giving, for trading social favors, or for drinking at home on the long, dark nights. Especially in the extreme cold they all knew was coming, a little every day would warm you right up from the inside.
While Jing Shu was internally debating whether to use her next Cube Space planting cycle for another batch of Red Globe grapes for a bold red or go with Muscat for something lighter, Yang Yang, as if reading her distraction, steered the conversation back. "Don't worry about Wang Dazhao," he said, his tone shifting to something more official. "He performed exceptionally. This time I'm putting him in for a first-class merit. He'll be officially entered into the rolls as a second lieutenant in our Armed Police First Detachment. As for me," a flicker of satisfied ambition crossed his young face, "I'm about to be promoted from major to lieutenant colonel."
Yang Yang was only in his twenties. He had the family connections, that was obvious, but he clearly had the ruthless ability to match. His rise through the ranks was frighteningly fast, almost catching up to a seasoned operator like Li Yuetian.
"Alright, I won't see you out then," Jing Shu said, her attention already pulled away by the new toy at her feet. Delighted by the mecha suit, she slipped and revealed a fraction of her true strength. Without a second thought, she bent down, hooked her fingers under the suit's armored carapace, and with one smooth, powerful motion, swung the entire several-hundred-pound construct up onto her shoulder as if it were a bag of rice. She carried it, balanced casually, toward the villa door.
The rough, seasoned men standing behind Yang Yang in the drizzle swallowed hard, their eyes wide. Two of them had strained together to haul that mecha out of the truck bed, and this compact, unassuming girl had just lifted it one-handed like it was made of plastic?
Wang Dazhao, standing slightly apart, watched Jing Shu's retreating back with a complicated, unreadable expression. He turned to Yang Yang, his voice low. "Why did you tell her we failed to secure the shipment of machine guns and heavy weapons? I think giving them to her would be a good investment. Only someone like Jing Shu could truly draw out the full potential of equipment like that."
Yang Yang didn't look at him, instead turning and sliding into the passenger seat of the waiting military jeep. The engine was already running. "We give it to her when she really, desperately needs it," he said, his voice cool and pragmatic through the open window.
"Otherwise, it's too eye-catching and just brings her, and us, unnecessary trouble. Our biggest mistake this time wasn't the weapons; it was letting 'Zero' escape back to China. Now he's caught the scent, he knows where this shipment was headed. What do you think happens next?" He didn't wait for an answer, nodding to the driver. The vehicle pulled away, leaving Wang Dazhao standing in the mist, the weight of that unspoken threat hanging in the damp air.
…
Back inside the villa, Jing Shu spent the better part of an hour meticulously wiping down the mecha suit until its composite plating gleamed under the living room lights, all while narrating the events of her first day at the Medicinal Herb Association to her captivated family.
Grandpa Jing observed the futuristic armor with a craftsman's critical eye. He smacked his lips and shook his head slowly. "It looks flashy," he pronounced, "like something from one of those old science-fiction tapes. But does it seem very useful? Where's the leather strapping? The articulation points look stiff."
"In the old days," he mused, his mind already working, "good armor hung on a custom wooden frame to keep its shape. I'll make you one. A proper hanger for your… mecha." He said the foreign word carefully.
"Great! Thank you, Grandpa!" Jing Shu's grin was genuine. "I'll put it right in my bedroom." Having a grandfather who could look at any problem and literally build a solution felt amazing. In the apocalypse, there was no manufacturing chain, no online shopping. If you needed something, you either found it, traded for it, or you made it yourself.
No one else in the family really understood what something straight out of a pre-collapse movie could actually do, but that didn't dampen their collective curiosity. When Jing Shu finally, carefully, suited up, the plates clicking and whirring as they sealed, the sensation was incredible. Her already formidable strength felt amplified, channeled and supported by the servos and frame.
She took an experimental step, and the floorboards groaned. She felt like a one-woman tank, her combat potential rocketing off some internal chart, her defense now a solid wall of technology. That deep, visceral sense of safety she constantly craved settled warmly in her chest for the first time in years.
Yet, the more satisfied she grew with the mecha, the more she fretted over the adjacent problem, what to give Yang Yang's grandfather for his birthday. The gift had to strike a impossible balance. Too cheap or common would be unworthy of Yang Yang, who clearly had a personal and professional stake in this relationship. Too rare or extravagant would be awkward, potentially stealing the spotlight from the host family and raising too many questions.
While she was still mentally weighing grams of gold against liters of homemade wine, Su Lanzhi came home, the front door closing with a heavier sigh than usual. Jing Shu didn't need to ask. The answer was written in the weary slump of her mother's shoulders. It was the red nematode egg crisis.
On the second day of the full-blown outbreak, it had finally clawed its way to the top of the priority list, drawing the frantic attention of everyone in authority. The logic was terrifyingly simple, if nothing could remove the eggs, then nothing could be grown. No crops meant no future.
"Orders from above," Su Lanzhi said, her voice thick with bitter frustration as she hung up her damp coat. "They've urgently halted all new soil-based farming projects. No new planting until the egg problem is solved, period. Other management departments are already pivoting to mushroom cultivation in sealed basements. At least if there are red nematode eggs in the substrate, the mushrooms themselves aren't afraid of them. The eggs will just hatch in three or four days and have nothing to eat."
She sighed again, the little dried white apricots she usually snacked on sitting untouched in a bowl. "But our Development Zone management department is specifically responsible for the government leadership's fresh vegetable supply. Those half-grown vegetables we've got in the hydroponic racks, they're basically going to die." The failure tasted more bitter than any apricot.
Cutting off the vegetable supply to the leadership carried consequences with a capital C.
"At noon, the government issued a system-wide bounty," Su Lanzhi continued, leaning against the kitchen counter. "Whoever finds a verified, replicable solution gets a full-time civil service appointment on the spot. Existing full-timers get bumped up one full rank. Jing Shu, you're clever. Help your mom think of something. If we can't supply this next batch of vegetables, even Minister Niu will get dragged down with us."
Jing Shu thought it over, the gears turning. Her mother didn't know about the morning's success in the greenhouse. "Mom," she said slowly, "I'll go with you to your department tomorrow. A… friend of a friend has a method. I tested a version of it at the Medicinal Herb Association today. It works. At least for a salvage operation."
Su Lanzhi's eyes, tired a moment before, lit up with desperate hope. "Ah, my girl. You always have a way."
The evening news broadcast confirmed the scale of the crisis, dedicating a full segment to it. The whole country was scrambling for answers. It wasn't just an agricultural problem anymore; it was about sheer survival, about people's most basic livelihood. Even ordinary folks who had never tilled soil cared deeply, because if grains and vegetables could be grown again, they wouldn't have to eat processed red nematode protein cakes every single day. After more than a week of it, everyone, from leaders to laborers, was sick to death of the wriggling things.
At least, Jing Shu thought as she watched the report, the massive undertaking of settling Wu City's displaced population was finally complete. Every corner of the Banana Community, once a model of suburban order, was now stuffed to bursting with people. The once-quiet streets and orderly compounds now buzzed with a chaotic, desperate energy day and night.
Through the villa's reinforced windows and via the small security camera feeds, she could see people passing by their fortified fence from time to time. Their eyes held different intentions, some were merely curious about the strange, well-kept house by the lake, some were openly sizing it up with a scavenger's calculation, and some, in the grimmest violation, saw the deep overhang of their porch canopy as a luxury toilet. Compared to defecating in the open rain, a dry, semi-sheltered spot felt like a five-star hotel bathroom. In the pitch-black of the perpetual overcast, who would notice?
After Jing Shu mentioned the issue, fuming, Jing An grabbed a stout walking stick and charged out to drive the offenders off with shouted threats. That very same day, Grandpa Jing, muttering about the decline of public decency, dragged his tools out and raised the perimeter fence even higher, closing off the front yard entirely with a lattice of salvaged metal and wire.
Ever since Jing Shu had gotten the corrupt Distribution Director removed the day before yesterday, the position had been left dangling, a juicy piece of meat three starving dogs wanted. All three district governments that now partitioned Wu City wanted to insert their own puppet, and each time one was proposed, the other two districts immediately objected, creating a perfect stalemate.
In the end, someone in a smoke-filled back room had devised a compromise that sounded democratic. They would hold an election. Whoever got the most votes from the Banana Community residents would become the official Distribution Director.
For the sake of "fairness," the announcement declared that anyone could apply, provided they had written sponsorship from at least three current civil servants. It was a complete joke, a thin veneer over the same old power plays. Everyone knew it would come down to which of the three district governments could mobilize the most supporters or apply the most pressure. Banana Community was probably in for several days of bizarre, low-level campaigning, with precious food scraps and promises used as currency to lure votes.
History, Jing Shu realized, had changed again at that moment. In her previous life, she'd been powerless, invisible. None of this had happened. The corrupt director had stayed firmly in his seat, squeezing the community dry until the very end. This time, the election, however flawed, was a tangible benefit she had fought to secure for the people just by tearing the old rot out.
Whoever ultimately took the post didn't matter too much to her, as long as they didn't cross her family's path. If they did, well, she'd removed one director already. She could do it again.
She hadn't expected Wang Qiqi to eye the position with the focused intensity of a tiger spotting prey. That very night, he showed up at their gate, carrying a heavy-duty metal cutter from who-knew-where and a pile of specialized tools, precise calipers, tiny saws, clamps, all scavenged from an abandoned light industrial factory.
Jing Shu didn't know whether to laugh or cry at the offering.
"I know food and security aren't problems for your family," Wang Qiqi said, his voice serious, his eyes sharp. "But these things… they won't be produced anymore. Your grandfather is a master craftsman. He'll find a use for them. So I brought them to you."
"Think it through," Jing Shu cautioned, setting the tools aside. "Even with my family's recommendation, you'd only be qualified to apply. All three district governments are fighting over this. It's their game."
Wang Qiqi's expression didn't waver; it grew more determined. "Right now, while they're all tearing each other apart, I can slip through. I can muddy the waters. If I catch the right wave, it's a carp leaping the dragon gate. My life is too hard as it is. I have to fight for this, or I won't even have a handful of fresh vegetables to look forward to each day." She leaned forward slightly, her voice dropping. "And for you, a small investment in me might pay off big. At the very least, with me in that office, your family's voice in the Banana Community will carry more weight. I won't forget who helped me jump."
Jing Shu studied his face, the hunger there wasn't just for food, but for agency, for a place in the new hierarchy. It was a look she understood. After a moment, she nodded.
"Alright. I'll invest."