Jing Shu was admittedly beaten by the rarity of a chubby child in the apocalypse.
Sticking to her principle of not giving anything for free, Jing Shu held out a cashew and proposed a deal, “One question, one cashew. What’s your name?”
The little boy thought for a moment, then picked up a stick and wrote in the dirt, Niubenyen.
Jing Shu was puzzled, “??? What does that even mean? Is he testing whether I paid attention in my Chinese classes?”
After the child self-assuredly took a cashew, he continued, “Niuben (yan) Yen (ben).” He extended his hand, signaling for another cashew.
Jing Shu complied and gave him another, while she grabbed a handful for herself, chewing thoughtfully as they stared each other down. The boy savored his cashew piece by piece, and once finished, he would eagerly look at Jing Shu for more.
Suddenly, the boy’s eyes twinkled mischievously, “My name is inspired by the mythical creatures Niubenyen Mountain Tiger and Ma Dung Dung Sea Dragon.” Successfully, he earned another cashew.
Jing Shu was dumbfounded, feeling intellectually assaulted.
In the next few minutes, this precocious child started gossiping about his family—the things like his mom’s favorite strawberry, his dad’s tattoo of his mom’s name on his butt, how his dad would kneel down when he couldn’t satisfy his mom, where his dad hid his private cash but got stolen by him, and so on.
Jing Shu couldn’t help but think, I really didn’t want to hear your family gossip.
Niubenyen, however, seemed convinced she did.
After a brief pause, Jing Shu offered the last cashew and asked, “So who exactly is your dad?”
Carefully pocketing the cashew, the boy pointed towards the brightly lit greenhouse area, “My dad is Niubiao. Everyone calls him the Director, but he’s about to stop working here soon. I heard he’s going to be a minister.”
Jing Shu felt overwhelmed. It seemed today was not a good day for a chat. She remembered the upright Director Niubiao from her previous life, who rose rapidly in ranks, taking Yu Cai Ni along with him. She had never guessed that this stern figure had his wife’s name tattooed on his rear.
The boy, with watery eyes, then offered Jing Shu a candy, “One question, one candy. What’s your name?”
It was Jing Shu’s turn to be amused. The kid was using her own tactics against her.
Finally, Jing Shu wrote her name down, half expecting the boy to struggle. But to her surprise, he read it fluently and even commented, “Is it derived from ‘Jingnu Qishi’, waiting for me at the city corner? I just memorized that poem.”
Grabbing the candy, Jing Shu hurried away, muttering, “We’re different… When I was your age, I only knew how to play in the mud…” She disliked this too-smart kid who had swindled her out of over twenty cashews and now used words to humiliate her.
—
Later, Jing Shu and her mother had a simple meal in their car with the air conditioner on, enjoying thick walnut and goji berry soup, apples, and stone pot rice topped with soft-boiled eggs, accompanied by kimchi and steak.
After a long workday, they headed home without encountering any highway robbers—Jing Shu guessed they were likely lingering near supermarkets.
Upon reaching their community gate, the diligent security confirmed their identities before allowing them in, reflecting the chaotic state of robberies outside.
Back home, Jing Shu’s grandmother had finished feeding the fish, milking the livestock, and feeding the silkworms. Jing Shu herself took care of the chickens and quails on the second floor, collecting eggs and occasionally sneaking more from her magical space, which somehow seemed inexhaustible.
The difference between the animals in her space and those outside was stark; those in the magical space were pampered with constant temperature and high-quality feed, making them significantly larger and healthier.
Jing Shu was already planning whom to “gift” the black pigs to, ensuring it would create the most value.
As she practiced hurling stones and archery in the back hills, her skills improved significantly. The heavy chicken, trained to attack on command, was a testament to the value of feeding it spiritual spring water.
The community faced another tragedy. Wang Dazhao’s pregnant wife had died after eating wax-coated vegetables sold by a scalper, leading to a miscarriage and fatal hemorrhage. Despite a police report, the culprits had vanished.
Wang Dazhao, devastated beyond words, vowed to avenge his family, with Wang Qiqi promising to help find the culprits, taking partial responsibility for the incident.
The community fell silent, wary of the dangerous implications of buying vegetables from untrustworthy sources, now more inclined to stick to plain rice to avoid risking further tragedies.
Just when the residents had resigned themselves to a mundane diet, a new threat emerged. After months of evolution, the necrotic insects that thrived in the dark finally made a notorious name for themselves, transforming from obscurity to infamy in just three days.
—
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