If they wanted to solve the egg problem at the root, for now only filtration systems could remove the eggs, the tiny clusters clinging stubborn to everything. The awkward part was that all the equipment had been flooded, warehouses submerged deep.
Before the apocalypse, this wouldn't have been a problem. They could have rushed out a batch of ultrafiltration units, lines humming in factories. In America, every household drank straight from the tap because the factories filtered it in advance, pipes running clear. Over there this wouldn't even count as a problem.
Now, producing these units was nearly impossible, especially the precision components, parts small and exact. Raw materials were hard to find, scattered under water. Even the unit and the filter cartridges weren't made in the same place. A single device required hundreds or even thousands of kinds of materials, sourced far and wide.
So the only option was to salvage pre-disaster equipment, divers pulling them from the depths.
But there were only so many units to go around. Too many monks, too little porridge. At first, people could drink water full of eggs without obvious issues, the liquid sliding down easy. Soon, when the eggs evolved, that water would mean constant stomach pain, diarrhea, even dehydration, bodies weakening fast. Before, at least poops landed in solid piles. Soon, the streets would be smeared with puddles. Ugh. The news said it was a reaction between bacteria and the gut, like food poisoning, cramps twisting sharp.
At that point ultrafiltration, or even plain bottled water, would become priceless, bottles clutched tight. Those with access would live comfortably. Those without would grit their teeth and endure, faces set hard.
Still, the clever kept experimenting, hands busy in makeshift setups. Bit by bit, people found ways to filter out some of the eggs, water clearing slow.
"Mom, if a filtration system can remove eggs, then our ancestors' methods can remove eggs too," Jing Shu said lazily, stretching in the chair.
"What method? We can't install our household filter at work, and the trickle we filter at home is nowhere near enough to irrigate all those vegetables, the plots waiting dry.
You mean something else? We've already tried wilderness survival filters, straws and pumps in hand, but they don't remove the eggs cleanly. Researchers say the eggs are like invisible bacteria. Can anything that tiny be filtered out?"
Beyond ultrafiltration, people were desperate for something that actually killed eggs, the source stubborn. Zhu Chuangshi's solution had turned him into a national celebrity, interviewed by TV and invited everywhere to remove eggs, cameras flashing around him, but his method didn't cure the root and was hard to scale, buckets limited.
There were also attempts at ultraviolet disinfection and chemical disinfection, lamps glowing purple and solutions mixing strong. Those knocked down part of the load, but the remaining eggs still kept seeds from sprouting, soil barren.
"Come on. Let's go up the back hill for materials. I will try something at your department tomorrow," Jing Shu said mysteriously, eyes glinting.
Su Lanzhi was skeptical, brows drawn. With technology this advanced, what could an ancient method do? It certainly wouldn't meet drinking-water standards.
It didn't need to. As long as the water could be used to grow crops, leaves green and reaching, it would do.
Jing Shu dragged Su Lanzhi up the back hill for an afternoon of rummaging, boots crunching on the path. They collected all kinds of minerals and stones, even yellow clay, hands dusty from the haul.
They hauled home a full cart, wheels creaking under the weight. At four in the morning, Su Lanzhi, itching to try, yanked Jing Shu out of bed for work, the sky still dark outside.
First, at the faucet, Jing Shu wrapped soil in layers of cloth, the fabric folding tight, stacked in large, medium, and small particle sizes. Water seeped down through the three stages, dripping slow and steady, trapping red nematodes and their eggs outside. The soil bundle had to be replaced daily, clumps discarded fresh.
Then she spent the whole day building a super-sized pool, bricks stacking high under her hands.
Water that passed the first stage flowed into a pool shaped like the character "凹", channels carved clear.
The first compartment held big rocks, large pebbles, small pebbles, rubble, fine sand, and yellow clay, layers settling firm. After sedimentation, the water entered the second brick compartment filled with charcoal and fine sand, black chunks absorbing deep.
Su Lanzhi hesitated, watching the flow. They'd tried something like this before, and the results hadn't been great, water still cloudy.
Still, that brought the water through basic filtration. The third compartment was a large storage pool, surface calm. At the top was a wooden stopper, grain rough under fingers. Once full, water wicked through the wood and overflowed into four small basins, passing a second round of filtration, drops beading slow.
Most households could stop at the third pool and remove a significant share of eggs, the count dropping sharp. The fourth step wasn't busywork. It was waiting for the eggs in the third pool to grow, time passing quiet.
The smallest known bacteria are larger than 0.1 micrometers, and within two or three days the eggs would swell to that scale, visible in the light. If they couldn't filter them today, they would wait until the eggs grew a bit, then filter. Some suggested skipping straight to filtering adult red nematodes and letting old nematodes eat the larger eggs. That worked, but it was painfully slow. Here, releasing old nematodes was only for cleanup, the creatures wriggling in.
"Every day we need to catch old nematodes and release them into the third and fourth pools to clean up the eggs that have grown," Jing Shu said, pointing to the basins.
There would still be escapees in the fourth basin, but they could lay out sheets of vegetable roots on the surface, leaves floating green. Half the eggs would gather there. Once they grew, the old nematodes could eat them.
It was pig-farming logic. Let them grow, then harvest.
A drain hole opened in the middle of the fourth basin, positioned exact. The final outflow ran into a fifth compartment, clear and waiting.
With the hole in the middle, sediment settled at the bottom, eggs gathered on the vegetable leaves up top, and the water in the middle was the filtered fraction, basically clean enough for growing vegetables, flowing steady.
This tiered filtration existed as early as the Chongzhen era in the Ming dynasty. In the previous life, someone improved it and found that the "凹"-shaped chain truly worked. One stage fed the next, links interlocked. It was more efficient than a single filter, output building day by day.
"Mom, the downside is that filtration is slow. One pool of water will take about a day. But one pool should be enough for your irrigation, right?"
"Enough, enough. My girl may not have been great at exams, but everything else she does is marvelous," Su Lanzhi said, hands on the brick edge.
After Jing Shu taught Su Lanzhi the principle, steps clear in the sun, the department finally stopped running dry for several days, tanks filling steady.
They began planting a new batch of vegetables, seeds pressing into soil. Jing Shu had a feeling Su Lanzhi would set a strong example for Wu City this time, plots greening visible.
While the other twelve departments stuck to raising simple mushrooms, caps clustering thick, only Su Lanzhi's Development Zone used this old-school filtration to get usable water and still managed to grow crops. Slower, yes, but undeniably a major contribution, rows straight and promising.
As for ordinary people's food, there'd been a small improvement lately, steam rising from pots.
The government couldn't grow many other crops, but water was abundant, so the first batch of mushrooms came out, all covered with eggs, clusters white on the gills.
They looked terrifying, stacked high in bowls.
Layer upon layer of mushrooms were speckled white with eggs, like blackheads dotting a face. After the canteen aunties boiled them, pots bubbling hot, they tasted bouncy. Bite down and they popped like fish roe, texture springing on the tongue.
Mushrooms boiled with eggs, 0.2 coins a serving. Add a ladle of batter, 0.5 coins, thick and warm.
But if you voted on the big data app for Zhao Shupi to become Distribution Director, you got an extra ladle of batter for free, the scoop generous.
In no time, Zhao Shupi became a sensation in Banana Community, name buzzing on screens, racking up support. Lines formed at the batter window, people queuing patient. Cast a vote, get a ladle.
That very day, Wang Qiqi brought Jing Shu 500 coins borrowed from all over. "How do I maximize the benefit of 500 coins?"