"Yes, exactly. If a small price now can keep us from getting the zombie disease, why wait until we're sick and then treat us? Su Mali, that would take a lot of medicine. If there's that much medicine, could it be donated to people who already have the zombie disease?" Wang Chao said, his forehead beaded with sweat that stung his eyes as it rolled down.
Jing Shu couldn't help a snort of laughter. She honestly couldn't tell whether Su Mali was helping them or arranging for them to keep suffering in the apocalypse. Those who caught the zombie disease often wished for a quick end; there she was, ready to spend a fortune to keep them going.
Su Mali answered earnestly, her gaze steady. "I'm only willing to treat you because we're classmates. But you must accept punishment for what you did. Accepting punishment and running from it are completely different. That's that. I hope you truly change. If you fall ill later, contact me any time."
The classmates stared at her, their eyes wide and expressions incredulous. Was something wrong with her head?
Li Bailong chuckled, his shoulders shaking slightly. Plenty of people came here to "pull strings," but he hasn't seen someone pull strings like this. He waved a hand in a dismissive gesture. "Since you have all agreed, when will you start eating? The canteens have already set aside places for you. Finish what you must, and you can go home."
Xia Liu's face pulled into a grin at the side. "This method is best. If anyone offends again, they should reap what they sow the same way. Enough with the funeral faces. Someone has already promised to look after you afterward. Eat with peace of mind."
Who on earth could eat poison patties with peace of mind?
Jing Shu, though, liked this tooth-for-tooth approach. She had heard that in a certain country, if a man violated a woman, his sentence was to be thrown into prison and be violated in turn. As for how a man got violated... ahem. The thought made her lips curl in a dark, silent smile.
Amid the chorus of despair, Su Mali left the room with Jing Shu. Everyone had assumed this would be her moment to flex her deep pockets and put on a show, at least to throw down a grand "I'm saving these few." Thunder rolled in heavy, low booms, and a thin drizzle fell through the air. The ending was this instead.
The next day, Jing Shu finally brought her gastrodia and goji berries into the kitchen. She sat down to a Michelin three-star chef's gastrodia pigeon soup and crispy roast squab. Steam rose from the bowl, carrying the rich, medicinal scent of the herbs.
The pigeons were roasted to a golden sheen, each about the size of a fist. One bite, and the skin crackled with a distinct snap while the meat beneath was tender and delicate. A gentle tug with her lips and the flesh slid off clean, a whole bone coming free. Some parts were fried to a deep amber; they could be chewed and swallowed with the bone.
Those caramelized bones crunched with a satisfying sound between her teeth. Bone marrow and roast aromas bloomed across her tongue in a rich wave of flavor. It was so good Jing Shu almost swallowed her own tongue.
Slurp. Outrageously fragrant.
She wanted to buy some live birds to raise, but they wouldn't sell any. These days it was all supply and price. A butchered pigeon went for 1,888 virtual coins per bird. Breeding hens were out of the question. One bite was worth a flat in Banana Community. If she couldn't get breeding stock, she would have to settle for the occasional indulgence or barter hard later.
Selling quail would absolutely be a road to riches too, but in the apocalypse, she didn't play that game. Enough for her family was enough.
Still, the pigeon sellers had to be fretting over feed, right? With red nematodes gone, where would they turn? A spark flashed in her mind, a sudden realization of a new opportunity.
"The high school chat exploded, did you know?" Su Mali gnawed at a drumstick, her chin glistening with oil. The young lady who used to drink yogurt without licking the lid was now licking bones clean.
Jing Shu shook her head. "Zhang Lingling's exploits?"
Holding her phone with greasy fingers, Su Mali held up the photos on the glowing screen. "They're at the main canteen entrance eating red-nematode patties with handcuffs and shackles on, placards hanging in front of them. Crowds gathered to watch. Some threw stones that skipped off the pavement. Some splashed filth from buckets. Someone captured the whole scene of them eating. Boom."
The photos showed a row of people squatting by the doors, weeping as they ate stinking red-nematode patties. When someone couldn't force down another bite, kind citizens helped by stuffing patties in and pouring water after. If someone accidentally spit a piece out, the same kind souls would pick it up and shove it back in. They made sure not a crumb was wasted.
The authorities had arranged the display to vent the public's anger. After all, countless people were still afraid, wondering whether the patties they had eaten would turn them into zombies. A thick sense of panic hung over the days.
She watched four or five people pin Zhang Lingling and stuff patties into her mouth. A pity the apocalypse had taken her hair; she was as bald as the others. Otherwise, there would have been a fine hair-pulling scene.
That version of Zhang Lingling made the class group. Many said she deserved it. Others were simply relieved they hadn't followed her lead. If she made it out alive and saw these posts, Jing Shu wondered what would go through her head.
The zombie disease scare faded quickly. If half a month passed with no symptoms, it likely wouldn't strike. The fallout lessened. The three hundred people finished their allotted patties in a few days. They were overfull every day. Those with lighter involvement, like Wang Chao, were done in three days.
The surprise was that after eating the most, she didn't contract the zombie disease. The one who ate the least, Nima, came to Su Mali a month later with a pale, hollow face. She seemed to have it.
Even so, the panic over the disease was dying down. China, and the world, faced the real problem. Red nematodes were effectively extinct. With China's staple food source gone and daytime temperatures in October down to five or six degrees Celsius and nights dropping below zero, people now faced survival itself.
"Jing Shu, when will our Red Nematode Feed Processing Factory start selling patties? The canteen patties are up to 0.7 each. We're going to make a fortune. You had the eye. You built that factory when red nematodes were everywhere." Wang Fang couldn't hold back and called, her voice high and urgent over the line. She had truly eaten bitterness for half a year, and the sweet days were finally coming.
Jing Shu rolled her eyes at the phone. "Aunt, the canteen's are fine-processed for people. Ours are coarse-processed for poultry. Unless there's an even worse famine, feed should be sold to those who keep birds. And it isn't time yet. Wait a little longer."