The dino-chicken was honestly exhausted every day. Once the novelty and excitement wore off, he started realizing that this whole business wasn't as great as it first seemed.
But Grandma Jing wouldn't have any of that. Right now, the dino-chicken was the only rooster in the yard, and the family was counting on him to stay full of energy, mate with all the hens, and hopefully lay eggs with at least a ten percent chance of hatching into mutant chicks.
So every day, Grandma Jing arranged several "sessions" between the rooster and the hens. Skipping wasn't allowed, and faking it wasn't acceptable either.
With her hands on her hips, Grandma Jing could make even the proud dino-chicken tremble. Seriously, what a ridiculous sight—doing the job was one thing, but having someone stand over him, supervising and giving pointers afterward? No wonder the poor bird was getting soft.
On the other side of the coop, Xiao Dou had already come to terms with things and even felt a certain satisfaction and sense of superiority. That pride came from food.
The dino-chicken, the mutant hens, and all the others could all digest whatever they ate to replenish their own nutrients. According to the research institute's findings, it didn't matter if you fed them zombie meat or something else—so long as it contained protein, they could perfectly convert it into the energy their bodies needed.
That ability alone defined what counted as a Post-Apocalyptic Mutant Species. First, it had to adapt to darkness and survive without sunlight, its body carrying genes with Anti-Dark Matter. Second, it had to be immune to all pre-apocalypse viruses, including the zombie virus.
Mutant chickens fit every condition perfectly. Even better, their offspring could inherit the dark-resistant gene, and most importantly, their meat was delicious. They were a true gourmet treasure of the apocalypse.
"Are you saying they can lay such big, tasty eggs no matter what they eat? You don't even need to feed them grain or vegetables?" Grandma Jing double-checked, amazed.
Jing Shu smiled and nodded. "Yeah, but the production rate's too low. At this pace, we'll hatch maybe a few mutant chickens a month."
She'd carefully decided on that number. Rare things were valuable, and this level of production was safe—it wouldn't draw too much attention or envy. Plus, it meant the mutant chickens could become officially recognized protected species, which might come in handy once the apocalypse truly began.
"Sigh, we should be thankful. It's like getting something for nothing. They'll eat anything, and the eggs that can't hatch are still edible and nutritious. With food being so scarce these days, having chickens that lay eggs without wasting any grain—these are real golden-egg layers."
Grandma Jing was overjoyed. From then on, the mutant chickens' meals consisted of the cheapest thing the family had: red nematodes.
To be fair, Xiao Dou's meals were better than most people's, but the other animals—Da Hua, Gou Dan, Da Niu, Cui Hua, and Er Mao—were all fed veggies, beans, grains, and leftover rice. Grandma Jing took good care of them, terrified that poor nutrition might affect their productivity. Now, though, things were much easier. The mutant chickens didn't have special requirements. They ate a lot, sure, but at least they didn't waste precious food.
"They're all such good chickens." Grandma Jing had said that more than once, praising how easy they were to raise. The only problem was that they kept following her around everywhere, always acting ready for a fight.
After officially moving into the backyard, the mutant chickens became the absolute rulers of the Jing family's domain.
Not long after, the family heard about them on the national news at 7 p.m. It was just a short twenty-second segment, but it was enough to make everyone excited.
"According to the latest report, citizens in Wu City have discovered a new mutant species: the mutant chicken. These birds can adapt and reproduce during the apocalypse, unaffected by darkness or the food chain. They can eat anything, and though their egg and hatch rates are low, their infertile eggs are rich in nutrients and contain Anti-Dark Matter…"
The very next day, the report was featured on Wu City's local news. Even the Livestock Breeding Center confirmed it:
If a family could raise just one mutant chicken, they'd never have to worry about feed for the next ten years. The bird could eat anything, wouldn't get sick thanks to its mutation, and would thrive even in the apocalypse. Its eggs could provide enough dark-resistance nutrients for the whole family. Having a mutant chicken was like owning a living shield for survival, a golden-egg-laying treasure. And the best part? The first human it saw when it hatched became its "mother," meaning it would forever recognize and protect that person.
After that news broke, no one needed to advertise. The next day, crowds flocked to Wu City's breeding center to see the chickens in person. People from other cities even started contacting the institute to ask about prices.
But once they learned the exchange terms—rare poultry or other mutant species only—about eighty percent gave up the idea.
Everything was handled through the breeding center and research institute. They were responsible for identifying and hatching eggs and for managing trades involving rare species. Grandma Jing just had to handle the feeding. If someone offered valuable pairs of animals or mutants in exchange, the institute's staff would come negotiate with her, and only once she agreed would they release the upcoming mutant chicks.
Basically, the institute became a middleman, running errands and building connections. In return, they got to study all related species data and received a dino-chicken egg each time a trade succeeded.
Over time, the dino-chicken population grew. They ate a ton and produced just as much waste. Grandpa Jing collected and processed it into fertilizer, which he delivered to the Medicinal Herb Association. It earned Jing Shu high contribution points and top marks on her monthly evaluations, freeing her completely from extra work.
Jing Shu became a hands-off boss. She only paid a small egg fee, and the institute's people took care of everything else. Being an official organization, they handled trades far more efficiently and credibly than she ever could alone.
Whenever a newly hatched dino-chicken didn't have a buyer lined up, Jing Shu would gift it away—two to Qian Duoduo, one to Su Mali, and one to Jin Tianci.
She even donated three mutant chickens to the Second Division, which promptly treated them like national treasures. These days, a patrol team circled the villa every day, but no one said anything about it aloud.
Some chickens were traded, others reserved for future deals. Most of those customers were introduced by Qian Duoduo, but they'd have to wait. Each month, his plane flew out loaded with goods and returned with new supplies—business as usual for a merchant.
Just like before, when she'd made that three-month agreement with the Starve-No-More Food Regulation Bureau, the time finally came. The job—delivering eight Lion Heads—was now contracted to a tycoon from the Imperial Capital, escorted by two officials from the bureau.
But what really surprised Jing Shu was the person who showed up. It was Tank!
And not just Tank—he'd brought along his beloved little sister. After so long apart, seeing him again was shocking. He'd gotten darker and stronger, and she almost didn't recognize him. The petite, delicate girl beside him was actually his sister.