The rest of the auction moved with brisk, practiced efficiency. By the second year of the apocalypse, the value hierarchy had fully solidified. Raw, unprocessed grain, rice, wheat, corn, had become the foundational hard currency, the gold standard of survival. Processed foods and long-discontinued pre-collapse snacks, on the other hand, were now luxury treasures on par with gemstones, their value purely nostalgic and symbolic.
A single, unopened bottle of Xiao Laojiao liquor, its label slightly faded, sold for 600 virtual coins. A sealed case of twelve small boxes of Wangzai milk, a childhood staple, went for 500. Ten boxes of assorted, foil-wrapped chocolates, likely scavenged from a flooded supermarket stockroom, were auctioned for a cool 1,000. Listening to the bids, Jing Shu couldn't help but feel a surreal sense of power. She was, in a way, now rich enough to rival small nations, just taking out a tiny fraction of the snack stockpile she had hoarded in her Cube Space would make her a queen in this new economy.
But the apocalypse was long, potentially endless. No matter how much she had, Jing Shu always felt a deep-seated anxiety that she never had enough snacks, enough variety, enough security against the bland monotony of survival rations.
Gradually, even everyday seasonings were becoming rare commodities, their industrial production chains shattered. At this very auction, someone donated a pristine "ToToLe" seasoning gift pack, a festive box containing small bottles of chicken essence, light soy sauce, vinegar, oyster sauce, and dark soy sauce. It sold for 600 virtual coins, more than many people earned in a month of hard labor.
Two sealed, 5-liter barrels of pre-collapse peanut oil went for 1,000 virtual coins together, making them even pricier, ounce for ounce, than the rendered lard Jing Shu had been selling. All these items were wildly inflated in price, but that was the new economic reality, things became precious simply because they could no longer be produced. Without reliable, intense sunlight for photosynthesis on an industrial scale, future mass production of many agricultural derivatives was impossible.
Take vinegar, for example. Its traditional production required dozens of meticulous steps. Rice or glutinous rice needed to be steamed, gelatinized, liquefied, and saccharified to convert starch into sugar, then fermented with yeast into ethanol, and finally acetified. It wasn't that it couldn't be done on a small scale, but the energy and grain cost was now astronomically high. In times of extreme grain shortage, the state had outright banned the "waste" of staple grains for condiment production. Wealthy families with stockpiles could theoretically try making their own in bathtub-sized vats, but even the rich had their limits. In the apocalypse, very, very few entities had the surplus, knowledge, and stable environment to truly produce their own complex seasonings from scratch.
Thinking ahead to four or five years later, when everyone else would be choking down flavorless protein cakes or boiled grains with nothing but a grudging sprinkle of salt, while her family could quietly enjoy a private pot of red-braised pork or cola chicken wings, Jing Shu felt a wave of smug bliss just imagining it. That was why the very first thing she had done after being reborn was not just stockpile food, but a veritable decade's worth of every sauce, spice, and condiment she could get her hands on.
Her foresight, she felt, was truly unmatched. And even if they eventually ran out, she had the ultimate backup plan, she could grow the necessary crops inside her Rubik's Cube Space and secretly, slowly, make more herself. When it came to food, Jing Shu, or rather, all the people of China, never shied away from trouble or complexity.
In the end, everything from their "family" table wasn't included in the public tally, but all other donated items were sold off. The final total raised was an impressive 100,000 virtual coins, which was immediately and ceremoniously transferred to waiting government officials to purchase rice from the strategic reserve. The rice would be cooked in centralized kitchens and distributed as simple bowls of free white rice to the public within days.
But seeing that number, she also realized with cold clarity what a drop in the ocean it truly was. 100,000 virtual coins sounded like a staggering fortune, and the items had even been auctioned at somewhat "friendly" rates, but it only bought enough bulk rice for perhaps seventy to eighty thousand people to have a single, modest bowl. In Wu City alone, there were over a million registered residents who technically qualified as having gone ten days or more without eating plain rice.
So, Jing Shu thought all she could really do was take care of herself and her immediate family first. She could help others within her means, like supporting Wang Qiqi's campaign or donating a mushroom. But trying to put on a grand, self-sacrificing show of generosity by giving away everything wouldn't save many people in the grand scheme. Worse, it might leave her own family vulnerable and get her scolded by her own grandmother. Not worth it.
Still, this gathering wasn't a disappointment. During the lulls in the auction and over tea, Wang Dazhao, loosened by a few drinks, told her many wild, off-the-record stories about their operation in America, with Yang Yang occasionally interjecting a dry correction or adding a crucial detail.
It turned out the man who lost his hand in the explosion, the one whose injury had been so hastily treated, had been sitting in the front passenger seat of the targeted vehicle. At last, Jing Shu understood how the RV they had given her had ended up with a gaping, shredded hole where the passenger seat should have been.
She also learned that this entire cross-continental raid had relied on the precise cooperation of several teams, perfectly executing a strategy of "luring the tiger away from the mountain" to pull off the heist under the noses of preoccupied local militias. Hearing the details, Jing Shu's heart burned with a restless, competitive excitement. It sounded like the ultimate challenge.
Yang Yang, noticing her expression, gave a slow nod. "We might go again. Next year, if conditions allow."
Jing Shu's eyes lit up like a predator spotting movement. "When?"
"That depends on intelligence from the higher-ups and resource allocation. But by then, the targets will be well prepared, expecting a repeat. So next time we'll have to go after something different, or hit a different place." Yang Yang was distractedly poking holes into a pile of damp tea leaves with a medical syringe, creating some odd little pattern, a nervous habit.
"By then, you can bring me along, right?" It wasn't really a question.
Yang Yang nodded, a faint smirk touching his lips. "We might really need you. We need a human… steamroller. Someone who can create a path through unconventional obstacles. I think you fit the role perfectly. The so-called 'special-grade' fighters sent by the capital's last observation team weren't half as effective as you, and they strutted around like peacocks. Couldn't stand them."
"Fine," Jing Shu agreed instantly. "As long as I can bring my combat armor, there's nowhere I can't go. Just tell me in advance, alright? Don't make me miss out for another half a year like this time because I didn't get the memo."
Jing Shu quickly calculated the timing in her head. If it really was next year, the trip would likely coincide with the period of the great earthquake she remembered. By then, her villa's defenses and self-sufficiency should be running smoothly, and if her parents and other family members had advanced enough in their official positions, they would have their own layers of protection. She wouldn't need to stand guard over them constantly.
Her family wasn't weak, either. After drinking Spirit Spring water for so long, their enhanced vitality and strength were evident. Grandpa Jing practiced with his heavy crossbow daily in the backyard. And with her anticipated position as vice president of the Medicinal Herb Association, their household would wield both martial readiness and considerable political clout.
Beyond that, she had allies she could genuinely rely on in a pinch, Li Yuetian with his military resources, Niu Mou in the civil administration, and Yang Yang with his shadowy operations. She had connections she could further develop, like Zhou Bapi in the scientific community. And she had potential "golden backers," like the mysterious Qian Duoduo, though that depended on whether his seemingly foolish son could ever prove himself useful.
The one person Jing Shu least wanted to have to rely on was Su Mali, with her terrifying, chaotic brilliance. But if push came to shove, asking Su Mali for a favor was always a last-resort option. The girl really was that impressive.
Externally, the earthquake was the next major threat. Her villa, built on solid bedrock with reinforced foundations, should remain safe; in her past life, this entire hillside had never collapsed. But her uncle's family in a different community had been crushed to death in their apartment block. This time, she couldn't let that happen again. She'd have to ensure their evacuation or reinforcement.
In just a few moments of internal planning, she had already laid out the logistics for leaving her family secure and the benefits of going abroad, proof of just how eager she was. She had never left the country in her whole previous life, not out of deep patriotism, but because of simple poverty and lack of opportunity.
Even though America had been in the grip of its own apocalypse for years now, it should still hold plenty of forgotten, high-value resources worth scavenging, advanced medical supplies, rare earth materials sealed in labs, maybe even military tech that hadn't been completely looted. Jing Shu felt she absolutely had to grab some of it. Thinking of this, she was even more motivated to push for the next upgrade of her Cube Space, the higher the level, the greater the volume, the more "junk" she could haul back from across the ocean.
"Relax," Yang Yang said, his earlier gloom replaced by a spark of shared anticipation. "The next trip will be quicker. We've already mapped out the major players and dead zones over there. If possible, we'll even circle around to a couple of neighboring regions." Yang Yang, who had looked melancholic all day about his lost fish and leeks, couldn't hide a sharp, eager grin now. Like Jing Shu, whenever he spoke of going abroad on a mission, his fingers itched with the desire for action. There were still so many places, so many vaults and warehouses, waiting for him to explore and exploit.
…
After Old Master Yang's birthday banquet ended and the news crews had their footage, Wu City News immediately broadcast the story of the "old soldier's great deed" donating grain to the masses. This sparked a brief, managed trend of public figures and organizations donating virtual coins to various relief funds. His actions, whether calculated or genuine, truly did set a wave of officially sanctioned positive energy in motion.
Rumor had it that Old Master Yang didn't end up kneeling on a washboard that night after all. Word from the servants was he personally made a delicate soup from the remaining carp and a sliver of the precious blood mushroom for his wife, making her beam with joy. And sure enough, the legendary effects seemed to work on her too; the elderly couple were reportedly seen holding hands in the courtyard the next morning, seeming to have entered a sudden, sweet second honeymoon phase.
Meanwhile, Jing Shu, her mind buzzing with plans, piloted her amphibious shark submarine away from the lit oasis of Xishan and back toward the dark, flooded silhouette of the city center, arriving just in time to catch the last salvage shift of the night. This time, her goal was clear and twofold, find any reported missing divers, save them if possible to maintain her useful-hero reputation, and then… well, then she could finally, legitimately, go hunting for her starter culture in the very same wreckage. Heh.
Besides, this time she had changed her strategy. Passive waiting was for losers. She was going to make her own luck.