Jing Shu did some quick math in her head. A price tag of fifteen thousand virtual coins worked out to about a hundred tons of red nematode patties. That was enough to feed every refugee in Xuanwu Lake Park for a whole day—all one hundred thousand of them.
People's appetite for grain was terrifying in its scale.
That hundred tons might sound like a lot, but she thought about how much she had already poured into her stocks. She had been buying red nematodes at 200 jin per coin, throwing in hundreds of thousands of coins. The patties she made from that filled almost an entire warehouse. Reconciling the accounts on both ends of the transaction had taken her days of tedious work.
She still had an edge, though. The government's stockpile was refined and meant for people. Hers was crude, produced for poultry feed. But in times like these, who the hell cared about the difference between people food and animal feed? If it filled a stomach, it was good enough. She was sure the government wouldn't split hairs over the quality either.
Honestly, after this transaction, she figured they would never invite her again. Their warehouses were already crammed full of that foul, vomit-inducing stuff.
"Sixteen thousand." Jing Shu raised her paddle. One strike, heavy and sharp.
Rocket launchers weren't as hot as weapons requiring mandatory ammo. They were single-use weapons, intended more for offense than defense. Everyone in this hall was wealthy enough to own property in the apocalypse. Who would lug around a rocket launcher to go kill people? What they cared about was protecting their own supplies. Handheld guns were far more practical for that.
But her needs were different. She already had guns, grenades, and even a cannon with a one-kilometer range. She had close-range and long-range encounters covered. What she lacked was a mobile, destructive, armor-piercing weapon. The RV's cannon did area damage, but the rocket launcher was specifically for armor-piercing.
It was perfect for blowing apart tanks or anything thick-skinned. Cannon shells wouldn't cut it against heavy plating. But rockets—those could cripple armored threats and destroy enemy fortifications.
And she didn't just want it for human fights. In her last life, she had run into something far worse. Post-apocalypse, thanks to the reckless use of hormones and DNA splicing, some creatures thrived while others went horribly wrong. The successes ended up on human dining tables. The failures became monstrosities; they were Darklife nightmares.
The original idea had been to create high-protein livestock. Instead, humanity paid for the mistake in blood. These things grew insanely fast. They started palm-sized but ballooned ten-thousandfold within a year, thanks to spliced panda genes and dark-element nutrients.
In one year they were tank-sized and fully mature. To make them "safe," scientists had stripped their minds, leaving them without thought or pain. That also meant anything else could take control of them. That was why people called them the most "successful" synthetic species ever created.
And yes, they were useful. In the freezing world, they worked as mobile shelters, housing seven or eight people easily. If a person was hungry, they could simply cut some meat from the inside and eat it. The creatures didn't feel pain. If a person needed to move, the beasts would haul themselves along. For humanity, they seemed perfect.
But in the end, that gift went to the Darklife. The creatures became walking fortresses, letting hordes of horrors survive the deep cold.
Guns and grenades barely scratched their thick hides. Even with her arsenal, Jing Shu's best cannon would need several direct hits to bring one down. That was way too wasteful.
In her past life, she had stumbled into them a few times. The tanks themselves weren't the danger; it was the monsters living inside that were the threat. She had barely escaped each encounter. This time, she was determined to be ready.
"A tank-sized beast has got to be a few tons of meat, right? Imagine how much that would sell for. And these things don't die easy. As long as the heart stays intact, even a lump of flesh can grow back. If I could capture a few, I would have a never-ending money printer." Her mind was buzzing, her mental abacus beads clattering. To her, this wasn't just survival. It was business.
She had heard millions of those palm-sized Darklife tanks were bred. Two-thirds died, but the survivors kept growing. The biggest were as tall as buildings—they were walking mountains. For humanity, that spelled disaster.
"All money on legs," she muttered. "Rocket launchers are non-negotiable. The more, the better. Early investment never hurts." She already saw it: she would raise a few of those beasts herself. She was gunning for the title of the apocalypse's biggest farm owner.
Captain Yan chuckled. "Anyone raising the bid? If not…"
"Twenty thousand."
The suit guy next to her snapped his fingers.
The room buzzed to life. Just like that, the awkward, reluctant mood turned to fiery excitement. Chinese folk loved a lively scene.
"Thirty thousand." Jing Shu didn't hesitate. She had to win this rocket launcher. Maybe America stockpiled plenty, but she couldn't risk depending on that. Most important of all, she had to spend her credits today.
The suit guy blew on his nails and started grooming them. He raised an eyebrow at her. "Hey, helmet auntie, the lowest spender is only at twelve thousand. You don't need to fight so hard."
"Auntie?" Jing Shu sneered. She ripped off her gas mask, revealing a face so stunning it made the room catch its collective breath.
In her own words, she had no strengths except her looks. She was bad at studying, had no special talents, and her personality was average. But she was undeniably beautiful.
The heavy winter coat and padded pants couldn't hide her natural charm. Two braided pigtails framed delicate features and porcelain skin. Even the spoiled daughters of tycoons couldn't compare to her.
People often said clothes made the person, but with her, it didn't matter what she wore. She always looked flawless.
She was normally low-key, but the suit guy had been pissing her off all night.
"Pretty face, sure. So what? Forty thousand. Listen, little master is loaded. Compete with me? You're not even close." He had been shaken for a second, but his arrogance snapped right back.