The factory framework was finally up, though the system still needed polishing to keep those shrewd Chinese folks from exploiting loopholes. What came next were the machines, the tech, and of course, the virtual currency.
Speaking of that, Jing Shu was seriously short on it. She'd really underestimated how complicated starting a factory could be. Back then, she thought it'd be simple—grab some land, set up the place, and everything else in the apocalypse would be easy to handle.
With her points system and the self-sufficient red nematodes, she could tempt free labor with high rewards. Eventually, she'd be able to keep them working for "free." But in the beginning, when everyone still distrusted each other, they'd definitely want to exchange their points for virtual currency first. And that meant she needed a huge amount of it to get things moving.
After some time—maybe days, maybe weeks—they'd realize virtual currency wasn't nearly as useful as points. After all, food, clothes, and welfare benefits could only be bought with points. That was exactly what Jing Shu wanted. Once her internal system started circulating its own currency, it'd be like making money out of thin air. She wouldn't have to lift a finger, and she'd still be earning like Bill Gates sitting at home.
People would work even harder to earn points once they realized their value, and that was her goal. But in the early stages, the outflow of points meant she'd need a huge reserve of virtual currency to keep things stable.
Cash flow, liquidity—whatever you called it, she needed it.
Jing Shu tapped her fingers on the table. "If it really doesn't work, I'll just borrow from Jin Tianci. I'll need a ton more stuff later anyway. Screw it, when you're in trouble, go to the government! What was that saying again? The more debt you have, the safer you are?"
She chuckled, remembering that one tycoon who owed the higher-ups trillions. The moment he sneezed, they'd rush over with warm soup and concerned smiles, terrified he'd die before paying them back.
"Right, if I'm afraid the government might come after me, then I'll just make this part of the government's system. As long as I keep the formula and the core tech in my hands, it's still a monopoly."
Her eyes lit up. For the first time, she felt she truly had leverage—not to do whatever she wanted, but at least to ensure no one could force her into doing what she didn't want to.
She picked up her phone and scrolled through her feed. After the apocalypse, people's posts had changed a lot. Those who used to show off fancy cafés had vanished, replaced by people posting half-burnt steamed buns, rice mixed with sand, shriveled mushrooms, and wood ear fungus. The real rich ones showed off chickens, pigs, even milk and eggs like it was a flex.
Old online sellers were still active, though now they traded recycled junk instead of cosmetics or clothes.
And then there were the "salary brags"—someone showing they made over a hundred virtual coins in a month, immediately drawing hordes of people asking to be their "kept companion."
"The feed's still as lively as ever." Jing Shu grinned and typed a post:
[Hiring 2 lawyers and several accountants. Start immediately. Benefits include food and lodging. Outstanding employees get a chicken leg as a bonus. Interested? Send your big data résumé.]
After posting, she put her phone away and went back to the last batch of experiments in the Cube Space.
After several days of research, Jing Shu had finally figured out the Crimson Spirit Spring's effect—and even found a way to rapidly and cheaply breed red nematodes again.
But to explain that, she had to start with what the Crimson Spirit Spring actually did.
She had four test samples, and the results were... interesting. The algae sample hadn't changed much, though the red nematodes multiplied like crazy. That didn't tell her much.
The weird part came from the orange tree she grew. The tree somehow produced two kinds of fruit: one half became massive pomelos, heavy as rocks, while the other half turned into small tangerines.
When she first saw it, Jing Shu was dumbfounded. She was sure she'd planted oranges—so how the hell did she end up with two totally different fruits? She even doubted herself for a moment, thinking she might've mixed up the seeds. But that was impossible. One tree, two fruits? Unless it mutated?
If not, then it had to be the Crimson Spirit Spring's doing.
Still, she didn't fully understand its effect—until she checked the fourth test subject.
That one left her speechless.
The rooster she'd fed with the Crimson Spirit Spring had mutated.
Its upper body was still chicken-like, but it had sharp, predatory teeth and a long, muscular tail with half-shed feathers. Its wings looked sturdier, and its legs had become thick and powerful, ending in claws with three to five sharp talons.
In short, it looked like a fusion between a two-legged T-Rex and a chicken.
A dino-chicken.
When she searched it up on Baidu, she nearly screamed—it looked exactly like the pictures!
According to the description, the so-called "dino-chicken" was created through "reverse genetic engineering," reviving dormant dinosaur genes in modern chickens so they'd partially revert into their ancient ancestors.
Jing Shu stared at the mutated creature, now almost the same size as Xiao Dou. "So the Crimson Spirit Spring really made this thing? Guess that means it's definitely not safe for humans."
The dino-chicken was aggressive and temperamental, pacing restlessly in the space. Jing Shu had no idea what to do with it. If she let it out, scientists would snatch it up for research. As for combat strength, it probably wasn't stronger than Xiao Dou anyway.
"Alright, Xiao Dou, get in here and spar with this guy."
She summoned Xiao Dou back into the Cube Space. One dino-chicken, one fat hen—the battle of the century was about to begin.
Jing Shu leaned back, musing, "I wonder how big a dino-chicken's egg would be. Oh wait, it's a rooster, it can't lay eggs. But if it did breed, would the eggs be edible? Maybe they'd taste amazing?"
The two chickens stared each other down first, squawking and puffing their feathers before finally charging.
It began.
The dino-chicken pinned Xiao Dou under its claws, while Xiao Dou just lay there, letting out a pitiful cluck.
"Fight back, Xiao Dou!" Jing Shu yelled, activating her Cube Space's second form to cheer her on.
"Come on, fight back! Xiao Dou?"
Nothing. Both chickens froze. The dino-chicken was still standing on her, but Xiao Dou wasn't struggling at all. Then, to Jing Shu's horror, she sensed… joy radiating from Xiao Dou.
Uh oh.
She quickly looked it up using the painfully slow 2E network: Why does a rooster step on a hen?
Result: mating behavior.
So much for a battle—it was a erotic battle scene!
"What the hell, my poor eyes…" Jing Shu muttered.
At least Xiao Dou laid a few eggs afterward, each bigger than a fist. Jing Shu crouched beside them, wondering what to do. Eat them? Steam them? Fry them? Roast them? She had no idea if the Crimson Spirit Spring caused side effects, and she sure wasn't brave enough to find out.
What a headache. The first person to try new things really was the bravest soul alive.
Maybe she should just crowdsource opinions. Urgently.