In the fields where vegetables had matured, the Spirit Spring would no water them automatically. Left unharvested, the plants would eventually wither and die. "So its power sustains growth but cannot defy entropy forever," Jing Shu mused. "But what are its limits?" If it could so profoundly affect plants, what might it do for animals? Or for a human?
This was the question that drove her to the livestock breeding base ahead of schedule, intent on experimenting with creatures of different sizes and lifespans. In this lifetime, she refused to be weak and fragile again, so pitifully eradicated. She would grow stronger in every way. She would live with a low profile, yet be able to act with a high profile whenever needed.
A row of small truck drivers specializing in livestock transport swarmed her the moment she arrived, vying for her business. She bypassed the eager men and chose a woman with a steady gaze and seven years of experience—Sister Zhou.
The base was a cacophony of stench and noise, unbearable to the unaccustomed. Jing Shu worked quickly, selecting her specimens: fifteen hens and two roosters, six ducks and one drake, five rabbits, and ten quails. The purchase alone swiped 2,500 yuan from her credit card. Sister Zhou proved efficient, carrying cages in batches and loading them onto her truck with practiced ease.
Next came the larger investments: a heifer for 4,000 yuan, a young bull for 3,500, a pair of bleating lambs for 1,700, and a pair of rooting black piglets—famed for their superior taste—for 1,000 yuan. Sister Zhou not only helped keep a sharp eye on the deals and bargained fiercely but also convinced the sellers to throw in feed, feeders, and troughs for free. By the time the two women had packed the truck to its brim, the afternoon was waning.
Luckily, the piglets and lambs were still small, the poultry was caged, and only their incessant clucking and quacking pierced the air. Why couldn't they learn from the little black piglets, which had already found a comfortable corner to nap?
Following the navigation, Jing Shu directed Sister Zhou to the remote villa. At the community gate, she swiped her ID, and they drove on until they reached the house. Sister Zhou even helped unload the bewildered menagerie. Jing Shu swiped another 350 yuan for the transport and pressed a fifty-yuan tip into the woman's hand. "Sorry for making you miss lunch, Sister Zhou. Please, get a proper meal."
Sister Zhou left, smiling so widely her cheeks ached, and she even left her phone number. As she drove off, she shook her head in bemused wonder. "Do people who live in villas nowadays all like raising pigs and sheep? City folk really know how to have fun."
Jing Shu dared not use the Cube Space directly at the villa gates. This estate was built to house thousands, and though it was now half-empty, there was no guarantee a curious eye wasn't watching from a window—or a surveillance camera. China had built enough housing for 6 billion people, after all.
She dragged the animals into the yard trip by trip, her breath coming in heavy pants by the end. Once the yard gate was shut and she had double-checked her solitude, she finally stored them away: the calves and lambs into a 4-cubic-meter space; the black piglets in a 1-cubic-meter space; the seventeen chickens into another 4-cubic-meter space; the seven ducks into a 2-cubic-meter space; the five rabbits and ten quails each into their own 1-cubic-meter spaces. She tossed in the troughs and feeders, added water from the villa's taps, and set it all within the Cube.
A profound silence descended. The chickens stopped clucking; the sheep grew still. It was as if the Cube Space itself exerted a calming magic, automatically simulating the most suitable temperature and climate for its new inhabitants.
Her Cube Space usage now stood at: 1 Spirit Spring, 6 farmland plots, 13 livestock, and 4 sections for miscellaneous goods. That still left 40 cubic meters. The animals would continue to occupy space, but once she had cured and smoked meat, she planned to keep only a few for breeding.
She circled the villa one final time, the renovation plan in her mind solidifying into a detailed blueprint. Satisfied, she locked up and left.
After a futile fifteen-minute wait for a taxi, she added a ten-yuan surcharge to call a Didi. Without hesitation, she directed the driver straight to the new energy car market. Renovating the villa without a car would be impossible. She could always sell it later if needed. For now, she could use it for commuting; once the apocalypse came, there would be no distant office to drive to anyway.
After the collapse, vehicles reliant on gasoline, diesel, or natural gas became nothing more than ornate scrap metal. Only new energy cars held value, especially during the desperate evacuations to come. The difference between running on foot and driving in a car was the difference between life and death.
The market for hybrids was small—plagued by short ranges, slow speeds, and unreliable batteries. They were inconvenient and held their value poorly.
But in the apocalypse? As long as the car could move, you were king. What use was a Lamborghini if you couldn't fuel it?
So Jing Shu went straight for an older, proven model: the BYD Song MAX. With generous government subsidies, this luxury seven-seater with its spacious interior and power-saving features cost just a few yuan to charge. The top model, after subsidies, cost just over sixty thousand yuan!
She chose a bold red. Shamelessly, she took out a loan, swiped 27,000 yuan on her credit card for the down payment, finished the paperwork, bought insurance, and got a temporary license plate. Just like that, Jing Shu drove her Song MAX home.
She had gotten her license at eighteen but rarely drove, her skills rusty enough that a following distance was a courtesy to other drivers' survival.
It took immense concentration to park the car in the community lot. Then, she swiped the last of her credit limit on several cases of bottled mineral water. Finally, broke and starving, she trudged back to her apartment.
The moment she opened the door, she froze.
On the sofa sat her eldest uncle, eldest aunt, youngest aunt, and youngest uncle-in-law, arrayed in a neat, silent row like a tribunal.
All of them turned their heads in unison to look at her.
Jing Shu swallowed hard. She glanced at the clock on the wall: 6:25 p.m.
Even if they had all just gotten off work, their presence was a coordinated ambush. The weight of their collective stare pressed down on her.
"What's going on?"