Chapter 297: These Heartless People Deserve the Death Penalty

This is exactly why people say, “If it doesn’t concern you, you just ignore it.” When the zombie deer outbreak first hit Australia, it caused an invasive species problem. The virus spread to Australia’s red threadworms, and within just half a year, it had gone wild, infecting red threadworms all over the world.

Back then, China didn’t have the energy to worry about virus-infected, non-threatening red threadworms. In the Jiangnan region, all sorts of waterborne bugs were already making life hell for people.

The whole country started urgently producing anti-parasitic medicine, barely managing to protect the population. Because of this, even the topics for the 26 national herbalist association competitions were changed.

But it was also because of this chaos that Jing Shu got lucky. She used tobacco to help the Wucheng Association break into the national top ten, skipping the preliminary round entirely. It was all thanks to her tobacco cultivation.

That’s why, for a while, the news from Australia didn’t get much attention—at least, not until today, when the virus finally made its way to China.

“Aiya, you all need to disinfect yourselves! Don’t bring any red threadworms in here. I saw a few people outside who looked just like zombies from the movies. Are they beyond saving?” Grandma Jing sprayed Jing Lai and Wu You’ai, who had just gotten off work, with disinfectant.

Jing Shu was speechless. “Grandma, it’s just that their flesh is necrotic in patches, then festers, turns green, and stiffens up—just like zombies. The dead flesh infects the healthy tissue around it. It’s not really a zombie, but in the late stages, the disease does fry your brain, leaving you with nothing but basic instincts.”

Actually, compared to all the other disasters in her previous life, this zombie disease was just a drop in the bucket. People were terrified, though. In the late stages, your whole body is covered in necrotic, festering, stinking flesh, with tumor-like lumps hanging off you. When you walk, they swing back and forth. Jing Shu had seen the worst cases—people who survived for about a year, dragging those lumps around, absolutely revolting.

The only “good” thing was that people with this disease couldn’t feel pain. The virus came with its own anesthetic. To be blunt, it was even studied for extracting anesthetics, though Jing Shu didn’t know if it ever made it to clinical use.

Jing’s dad didn’t care about appearances anymore. He was busy plastering the villa’s low wall with lime again, mixing it with mud. It had been raining for so long that, even with dehumidifiers, anti-damp agents, and dryers, the villa was still a bit damp. Now, they had to run the boiler at night to keep the floor heating on.

Wu You’ai and Jing Lai quickly disinfected and dried their raincoats. Only then did Wu You’ai say, “Twenty percent of Australia’s population is dead. Once you’re infected, your body just keeps rotting. Even if you cut off the dead flesh, the virus inside keeps spreading, and there’s no medical care now. Grandma, stop spraying. It’s spread by red threadworms, but it’s not that easy to catch.”

The family sat down for dinner. Jing Shu had been eating too much barbecue lately and was feeling a bit overheated, so she asked Grandma to make fish soup, cold bitter melon salad, and some light home-style dishes. But the main course was still roujiamo—hours-braised, fatty and lean pork chopped up, doused in sauce, stuffed into crispy buns, and topped with Qin chili peppers. Absolutely delicious!

Jing Shu wolfed down two roujiamo, washed them down with a spoonful of fresh crucian carp tofu soup, and finally let out a contented sigh. This was the life she wanted.

Grandma Jing’s eyes widened. “How did those people in the neighborhood get infected?”

“Don’t even mention it. After the red threadworms went extinct, their price skyrocketed. They used to be a staple food for ordinary people—at least you could fill your belly. Now there’s just a bit of mushroom soup, which isn’t enough. So some people started selling red threadworm cakes—made from rotten, virus-infected worms smashed up with rocks. One virtual coin for five cakes. Some people ate them every day and got the zombie disease. But people’s immune systems are strong; only a few got sick.”

“Every day?” Grandma Jing exclaimed.

“Yeah, the worms have been extinct for a month or two. People have been eating those cakes since then, and now the disease is breaking out.” Wu You’ai stuffed her roujiamo with pickles, sweet radish, and stir-fried potato shreds—she liked her food heavy and flavorful.

Jing Shu couldn’t help but feel lucky. In her previous life, she’d bought those cakes too—dipping them in mushroom soup. They tasted awful, but at least you didn’t go hungry. She was lucky she didn’t get infected; she’d worried about it for months afterward.

People in the apocalypse weren’t picky anymore. It was so cold during the day that if you didn’t eat enough at night, you’d freeze to death. With red threadworms gone in just two months, people who were used to eating them couldn’t adjust when the canteens stopped serving them. The canteens still sold red threadworm cakes—half a virtual coin each.

Since all the live red threadworms had died from the virus, people started collecting dead ones from the ground and selling them, especially in deserted areas. Worms that had been dead for ages floated on the water—scoop up a bag, and you could sell each cake for 0.2 virtual coins. Plenty of buyers.

“These heartless bastards! How many people have they harmed? What happened to the people selling those cakes?” Grandma Jing angrily bit into her roujiamo, channeling her fury into her appetite.

Wu You’ai shrugged. “It was a huge operation—over three hundred people. Today, most of them were finally caught by the Second Squad. Some found the worms, some sold them, some cooked them. Grandma, not many people can even cook with firewood these days. I heard the boss sold hundreds of thousands of cakes and made eighty thousand virtual coins. His underlings got plenty too.”

“These black-hearted people should all get the death penalty,” Grandpa Jing said.

Wu You’ai mumbled through her food, “They’re planning to sentence them to death, but the group is making a fuss, saying they didn’t know about the virus and are innocent. They claim if they’d known it was contagious, they never would’ve done it. So it’s still up for debate. Even in the apocalypse, there’s a difference between intentional and unintentional harm.”

The family chatted about the latest big news, enjoying their meal together. Jing Shu was quiet but ate a lot. Just then, the phone rang. It was Su Mali calling.

“Jing Shu, where are you?”

“At home. Why?”

“That’s perfect. I’m hosting today’s auction at the Xishan base and heading back now. If you’re free, could you stop by the Second Squad at the gate for me?”

Su Mali sounded exasperated on the other end.

“What’s up?”

“A few classmates called me, saying they’re in trouble and asking me to help for old times’ sake. I don’t even know what happened. Last time they said they had a money-making opportunity and wanted me to join, but I didn’t go. I already let them down once.”"