"Huh?" Jing Shu froze for a second, glancing around. Sure enough, Grandma Jing was only talking to her.
She awkwardly grabbed her glass of sour plum soup, took a sip, and looked around again. Her father was swamped at the Livestock Breeding Center, and ever since her mother became a department head, she'd been even busier, hardly home anymore. Wu You'ai and her mentor had been buried in research at Xingfu Shiyuan, trying to perfect the synthetic meat formula. As for her Paternal Third Aunt—forget it, she had even less time. Which meant Jing Shu was basically the only idle person left at home.
"Grandma, why'd you suddenly want to go back to Wu County for New Year? It's nice spending it here in Wu City too. Didn't we agree to invite everyone over this time?" Jing Shu frowned slightly. Given the timing, going back really wasn't possible. The apocalypse's fourth year was just around the corner, and disaster after disaster was coming.
She'd prepared everything for the villa, but only for the villa. If they wandered off, she couldn't guarantee anyone's safety. Whether they drove there or came back, one mudslide could bury even the toughest RV.
While scattering feed and fussing over her beloved hens, Grandma Jing said, "Nothing much, just... it's been too long since we went back. I kinda miss it. But then again, celebrating here in Wu City might be better." She sounded hesitant.
"What's wrong?" Jing Shu asked.
Her grandmother glanced around, lowered her voice, and said, "The weather keeps getting colder, and food's getting scarcer. Your Paternal Eldest Aunt's family's afraid of burdening us. Feeding a big group eats through a lot of grain, so they don't wanna come. But your Paternal Second Aunt's family, they're scared of missing out on free food, so they do wanna come, just to eat and waste stuff. And if one of them slips up and blabs about what we've got here, we'll be in trouble."
She wasn't wrong. Food shortages were worsening, the government's coffers were drying up, and ordinary people could feel the tension. Even folks who used to brag about raising chickens and ducks had started keeping their heads down.
Jing Shu smiled softly. "Grandma, you're right to worry, I understand. But don't stress. I'll talk to them beforehand and set some ground rules, and I'll make all the necessary preparations. Nothing bad's gonna happen. Just relax and look forward to having a good New Year this time."
Next year, there wouldn't even be a New Year to celebrate.
Jing Shu's eyes narrowed slightly as memories flashed through her mind—of herself shivering during the great migration, searching desperately for food. This year would be everyone's last chance to breathe. After that, the apocalypse would truly begin, and her time was running out.
"Oh dear, it's almost noon already. I've gotta start cooking, I'm busy every single day!" Grandma Jing washed her hands, wiped them on her pants, and hurried into the kitchen. Grandpa Jing grumbled from the side, "Can't you just use a towel? Look at your pants, they're shiny with grease again."
"Yeah, yeah," she muttered.
Jing Shu sighed quietly and sank back into thought. One of her biggest headaches right now was… money. Not only was she broke, she actually owed the government several million.
Who would've thought that someone who ran a factory of thousands, managed a waste station, and had multiple side businesses could still end up deep in debt? Jing Shu hadn't expected it either. Just when everything was finally running smoothly, she somehow owed even more.
It was a bitter kind of irony. The Red Nematode factory had finally started turning a profit, but she'd had to pour everything back into reinforcing it against mudslides. To expand storage capacity for Red Nematodes, she'd enlarged the factory again, taking on another series of construction projects. She'd bought huge boulders and materials from Qian Duoduo, transforming the place into a fully enclosed and fortified facility.
Both the government and Qian Duoduo understood why she'd gone that far. As the factory grew, it drew attention. Before long, a group of fugitives had come to rob it, the same kind she'd seen before—armed with guns, Molotovs, black powder, and makeshift bows. They drove pickup trucks loaded with empty crates, clearly planning to haul off tons of goods.
A single Red Nematode Patty wasn't worth much, but several truckloads were a fortune.
Thankfully, Jing Shu's factory had been prepared. The guards were well-armed, and with high bounties offered, they managed to hold the place. The attackers fled after losing several men. The factory's losses were small, but the incident was a wake-up call—and the perfect excuse to further militarize her operations.
"Those people were hiding among us. The bodies we found all had IDs, but none of them were connected."
"They were living double lives—ordinary on the surface, but organized in secret."
"They're nearly impossible to catch. Even tracking them's hard. With the satellite and surveillance systems shut down to conserve power for the artificial sun, and no data on them anywhere, once they vanish, it's like searching for a needle in the ocean."
That was the report Heng Jin gave her after investigating, but Jing Shu refused to give up. Those people would be back, especially once the world ran out of food and people turned desperate.
When she'd founded the factory, she'd already expected this. A bug-patty factory might look ordinary, but sooner or later, someone would get greedy. That's why she'd been preparing for everything.
If the first few years of the apocalypse had struck like violent storms—terrifying and sudden—then the disasters of the fourth year came quietly, like spring rain soaking into the earth, unnoticed until it was too late.
And by the time you realized something was wrong, it was already over.
The floods in the second year had wiped out countless resources and property. The mudslides of the fourth year would destroy whatever fragile hope was left, swallowing the land itself.
"It's here. So this is how the fourth year of the apocalypse begins." Jing Shu stood on the hill behind her villa, brushing her fingers against the damp mud seeping from the ground. It felt hot, like water about to boil.
No one else had noticed yet. Everyone was still celebrating the end of the earthquake, too relieved to wonder why, in this freezing weather, the ground beneath them hadn't frozen solid.
"Come on, let's go home!" Jing Shu wrapped herself tighter in her thick cotton coat, exhaling white mist as she called out to Xiao Dou, then jogged down the slope.
The hen trudged after her, head drooping in dismay. It'd been days since her owner started running up and down the mountain every day, and Xiao Dou still had no idea why. Worse, she couldn't find anything to eat anymore. The delicious bugs, even those disgusting carrion scavengers her owner had once fed her, were all gone.
Gone without a trace.
The mountain was silent now, pitch-black and eerily still.
Xiao Dou shivered, uneasy. Something felt wrong. Something was about to emerge.
At the foot of the mountain, scattered tents and traces of human habitation still remained. After the earthquakes stopped, the authorities had allowed the survivors to move back in, and Banana Community was full again.
"It's freezing out there! Be careful, you'll catch a cold!" Su Lanzhi scolded as she handed her daughter a cup of hot milk. Seeing Jing Shu's red nose, her heart softened. "You've got such sensitive skin, always getting sores. Stop running around. By the way, your grandma was asking—what's your plan for New Year?"
===
You might notice that from now on, I'll be using the original Chinese terms like ge (哥), jie (姐), mei (妹), and di (弟) instead of translating them directly to "Brother," "Sister," "Little Sister," or "Little Brother."
Here's why: In many Asian cultures—like Chinese, Korean, Japanese, and Indonesian—these familial terms are used far beyond blood ties. They're a fundamental part of the social fabric, used to address friends, strangers, or people we admire based on their age, social status, or the closeness of your relationship.
It's a nuanced way of showing respect, affection, or familiarity. I found that this subtle social hierarchy and the specific feeling it conveys doesn't really have a direct equivalent in English. Using the English terms flattens the meaning and makes that unique cultural flavor disappear. So, to keep the authentic vibe of the original text, the original terms will stay!
You'll also notice that exclamations like 我的天啊 (wǒ de tiān a) are often translated as "Heavens!" or "By heaven!" instead of the more direct "Oh my God!".
This is because the Chinese concept of 天 (Tiān—"Heaven") is a central, cosmic force in traditional philosophy, distinct from the Abrahamic concept of a singular "God." Using "Heaven" in these moments is a more culturally accurate reflection of the original feeling. That said, in very modern or casual contexts, you might still see a "God!" slip in, but "Heaven" will be the go-to to keep that cultural flavor.
Hope this adds to your reading experience!