After observing things inside her Rubik's Cube Space, the air still and quiet around the pools, Jing Shu realized leeches loved eating larvae, their bodies wriggling quick through the water, and they ate a lot, segments swelling visible. After the apocalypse, some species went extinct while obscure ones evolved and rose, even invading new habitats, surfaces slick with their trails. Earth itself was left full of scars, cracks running deep in the ground. Who knew when it would finally perish?
And what was most abundant this year? Red nematodes, twisting thick in every drain. The fact that red nematodes could feed over a billion people in China said everything about their numbers, piles heaping high in buckets. No wonder those leeches had all gotten so fat, bodies plump and dark in the tanks.
Rubbing her chin, fingers pressing against the skin, Jing Shu suddenly remembered the four massive catchment tanks at the villa gate, concrete sides rough and wide, used to collect rainwater and red nematodes, water sloshing inside. Right now, Jing An went out every day to dredge drains, check filters, and haul batches of red nematodes to the canteen to sell, nets dipping heavy.
It had been raining for nearly a month, drops steady on the roof. The exchange rate for red nematodes had dropped from 1 virtual coin for 10 jin (5 kg) to 1 virtual coin for 200 jin (100 kg), the scale tipping low. A family of three could fish up enough in a day to trade for 1 virtual coin, lines pulling steady. At least they could swap for other food and not starve.
Jing An could trade about 3 virtual coins a day and did it with gusto, steps quick on the path. After he turned over all his official income, this was his only private stash of money, coins clinking separate. Saving a bit of secret cash was every man's dream.
Jing Shu was probably about to crush that dream.
Because she planned to raise leeches, tanks bubbling faint. Ordinary leeches would never consume that much, but with the nourishment of Spirit Spring and large-scale breeding, the math might work, numbers adding up in her head. Anything that had soaked in Spirit Spring, whether human or livestock, turned into a bottomless pit, appetites growing wide.
Even the two snakes in the space had become voracious, coils shifting constant. She wondered when those two would finally have offspring, scales gleaming close. She still wanted to make medicinal wine. It had rained for a month straight, and even the villa was feeling damp, walls cool to the touch. She worried about the elders' health, joints stiff in the wet.
Li Yuetian had asked several times when the wine would be ready, voice rough over the phone. His old cold legs were acting up again, steps slower on the ground. She even considered improving the snakes' living conditions to speed things along, enclosure wider in the space.
Speaking of the government's never-ending red nematode buyback, trucks rumbling regular, Jing Shu had to give them credit. At the start of year two of the apocalypse, when it rained nonstop for a month and crops couldn't be mass-grown because of insect eggs, fields barren under water, everyone figured that even if food couldn't be grown, they could always eat red nematodes and not starve, worms boiling in pots. Yet the government still bought red nematodes at a low, steady price, scales balancing even.
First, it gave ordinary people something to do, nets dipping daily, stoking the desire to work. The government would never hand out free food for long, to avoid breeding laziness.
Second, it was precautionary. Think of last year's carrion scavengers and maggots, swarms thick in the heat. Their numbers were terrifying. Everyone thought they had enough to eat for a lifetime, and after only a few days of rain the world was ruled by red nematodes, drains overflowing red. The government worried the next bug might not be as edible as red nematodes. What a pity they hadn't mass-produced dried maggots back then. Those would definitely taste better than red nematodes, crunch drier on the tongue.
Third, stockpiles saved lives. Reserves had to be expanded, warehouses filling slow. No one knew how long the darkness would last. So governments everywhere received orders to process a food called "compressed red-nematode cakes," presses thumping loud.
Every day, dozens of tons of red nematodes were shipped to factories, ground by machine, cooked, and pressed into cakes, shapes flat and dense. Whenever people evacuated, these cakes were standard government rations, packs light in bags. They were convenient and cheap, and the state had indeed stored a great many during the year, stacks rising high.
To be honest, when you're starving even feces smell fragrant, but even then these made Jing Shu gag, her throat tightened at the memory. The fishy stench was too strong, lingering thick. If not chopped, you swallowed them whole with their gut contents, sliding down rough. If chopped, the guts ruptured and squeezed out piles of filth. Calling them "compressed feces cakes" felt more accurate.
Still, those bug cakes kept the people of China going for a long time, rations passed hand to hand.
So Jing Shu decided to raise leeches for a year, water rippling in the tanks. Later she wouldn't have the conditions to do it. However many she could raise this year, she would, numbers building steady. Afterward, she could cure them like pickled meat and trade for free labor.
Ahem.
What she cared about most, though, was the blood mushrooms, caps vivid in the soil. She transplanted the last two blood mushrooms that only had roots left into the middle of the ten-plus blood mushrooms inside her space, soil parting soft, then dripped in a single drop of Spirit Spring water, liquid beading clear.
She separated out three thousand from ten thousand leeches and put them in the courtyard catchment tanks, bodies dropping in with plops. This way she didn't need to feed them, and it was convenient, rain filling natural. She only had to check on their condition regularly and clean their waste, nets scooping careful.
Banana Community had been crammed full of people, voices carrying over walls. Grandpa Jing rebuilt the fence even higher, posts thumping firm, circling the villa again, boards solid and tall. Outsiders couldn't see into the grounds now, so there was no worry about anyone stealing the leeches from the tanks, water hidden deep.
"What? You brought up a bunch of leeches from the water and want to raise them? Those things are terrifying. Several people in the community were sucked dry."
"The president said to raise them? And that counts as medicine too?"
Over dinner, steam rising from dishes, Jing Shu explained her plan to raise leeches, words steady around the table. At first, Su Lanzhi objected, saying it was too dangerous, chopsticks pausing mid-air. After some persuasion, she reluctantly agreed, warning Jing Shu to be careful, eyes fixed serious.
"You can do what you want. We won't object. But you must protect yourself," Jing An said sternly, fork pointing firm. "If you're keeping them in the catchment tanks, I'll check them daily. If any jump out and hurt the family, that's on me."
Jing Shu nodded like a pecking chick, head bobbing quick. "We'll press a mesh over the top," netting stretching tight.
And so, she successfully put her leech-and-blood-mushroom plan into motion, tanks settling quiet. Things were already on track.
Around this time, Wang Qiqi's election was entering its final stretch, votes ticking up on screens. Thanks to a breakout performance, he had become the top seed, a real dark horse, numbers climbing fast.
Just as it was about to end, Zhao Shupi played his trump card. Anyone who voted for him could draw a prize, guaranteed 100 percent, from 0.3 to 3,000 virtual coins, wheel spinning digital.
It was a platform-hosted lottery, taps quick on phones.
Which meant anyone registered under Banana Community could vote, fingers swiping easy. Zhao Shupi's move roped in the former holdouts who refused cafeteria meals, the so-called middle class, and got them firmly on his side, support locking in.
Everyone checked the Big Data app on their phones daily, screens glowing in hands. News, auctions, all kinds of information were in there, scrolling steady.
When many people saw the vote, they tapped it casually, then pulled the lottery, prizes landing random. They didn't need to know who Zhao Shupi was. That didn't stop them from drawing a prize. Whether it was 0.3, 0.5, or even 1 virtual coin, money was money. It was like grabbing a red envelope. Whether you were a millionaire or an ordinary person, you would tap to try your luck, notifications pinging bright.
In just two days, he was about to overtake Wang Qiqi, gap closing tight. With only one day left, he had already done everything possible, going door to door delivering fragrant pan-fried mushroom-and-egg bug omelets, scents wafting warm. It was still useless. The market was saturated. Everyone who could vote had already voted.
Out of options, Wang Qiqi found Jing Shu, steps hurried to the door. "Jing Shu, please think of a way. Otherwise everything we've done will go to waste."