"Yes, exactly. If a small price now can keep us from getting the zombie disease, why wait until we are sick and then treat us? Su Mali, that would take a lot of medicine. If there is that much medicine, could it be donated to people who already have the zombie disease?" Wang Chao said, sweat beading on his forehead.
Jing Shu could not help a snort of laughter. She honestly could not tell whether Su Mali was helping them or arranging for them to keep suffering in the apocalypse. Those who caught the zombie disease often wished for a quick end, and there she was, ready to spend a fortune to keep them going.
Su Mali answered earnestly. "I am only willing to treat you because we are classmates. But you must accept punishment for what you did. Accepting punishment and running from it are completely different. That is that. I hope you truly change. If you fall ill later, contact me any time."
The classmates stared, stunned and incredulous. Was something wrong with her head?
Li Bailong chuckled. Plenty of people came here to "pull strings," but he had never seen someone pull strings like this. He waved a hand. "Since you have all agreed, when will you start eating? The canteens have already set aside places for you. Finish what you must, and you can go home."
Xia Liu grinned at the side. "This method is best. If anyone offends again, they should reap what they sow the same way. Enough with the funeral faces. Someone has already promised to look after you afterward. Eat with peace of mind."
Who on earth could eat poison patties with peace of mind?
Jing Shu, though, liked this tooth-for-tooth approach. She had heard that in a certain country if a man violated a woman, his sentence was to be thrown into prison and be violated in turn. As for how a man got violated... ahem.
Amid the chorus of despair, Su Mali left with Jing Shu. Everyone had assumed this would be her moment to flex her deep pockets and put on a show, at least to throw down a grand "I am saving these few." Thunder rolled, and drizzle fell. The ending was this, instead.
The next day, Jing Shu finally brought her gastrodia and goji berries and sat down to a Michelin three-star chef's gastrodia pigeon soup and crispy roast squab.
The pigeons were roasted to a golden sheen, each about the size of a fist. One bite, and the skin crackled while the meat was tender and delicate. A gentle tug with her lips and the flesh slid off clean, a whole bone coming free. Some parts were fried to a deep amber and could be chewed and swallowed with the bone.
Those caramelized bones crunched between her teeth, bone marrow and roast aromas blooming across her tongue. It was so good Jing Shu almost swallowed her own tongue.
Slurp. Outrageously fragrant.
She wanted to buy some live birds to raise, but they would not sell any. These days it was all supply and price. A butchered pigeon went for 1,888 virtual coins per bird. Breeding hens were out of the question. One bite was worth a flat in Banana Community. If she could not get breeding stock, she would have to settle for the occasional indulgence, or barter hard later.
Selling quail would absolutely be a road to riches too, but in the apocalypse she dared not play that game. Enough for her family was enough.
Still, the pigeon sellers had to be fretting over feed, right? With red nematodes gone, where would they turn? A spark flashed in her mind.
"The high school chat exploded, did you know?" Su Mali gnawed a drumstick. The young lady who used to drink yogurt without licking the lid was now licking bones clean.
Jing Shu shook her head. "Zhang Lingling's exploits?"
Greasy fingers on her phone, Su Mali held up the photos. "They are at the main canteen entrance eating red-nematode patties with handcuffs and shackles on, placards in front of them. Crowds gathered. Some threw stones. Some splashed filth. Someone captured the whole scene of them eating. Boom."
The photos showed a row of people squatting by the doors, weeping as they ate stinking red-nematode patties. When someone could not force down another bite, kind citizens helped by stuffing patties in and pouring water after. If someone accidentally spit a piece out, the same kind souls would pick it up and shove it back in, making sure not a crumb was wasted.
The authorities had arranged it to vent the public's anger. After all, countless people were still afraid, wondering whether the patties they had eaten would turn them into zombies. Panic hung over the days.
She watched four or five people pin Zhang Lingling and stuff patties into her mouth. A pity the apocalypse had taken hair. Otherwise there would have been a fine hair-pulling scene.
That version of Zhang Lingling made the class group. Many said she deserved it. Others were simply relieved they had not followed her lead. If she made it out alive and saw these posts, Jing Shu wondered what would go through her head.
The zombie disease scare faded quickly. If half a month passed with no symptoms, it likely would not strike. The fallout lessened. The three hundred people finished their allotted patties in a few days. They were overfull every day. Those with lighter involvement, like Wang Chao, were done in three days.
Zhang Lingling ate for a full two weeks. By the end, the sight of red-nematode patties made her gag on reflex, yet infected sufferers forced them down her throat. That group became a special cohort across the country, their bodies rotting in varying degrees, never knowing when life would end. Every moment was despair and rage.
What became of those classmates later, Jing Shu did not know. She only heard from Su Mali that Zhang Lingling seemed to develop anorexia, vomiting whenever she ate. The surprise was that after eating the most, she did not contract the zombie disease. The one who ate the least, Nima, came to Su Mali a month later. She seemed to have it.
Even so, the panic over the disease was dying down. China, and the world, faced the real problem. Red nematodes were effectively extinct. With China's staple food source gone and daytime temperatures in October down to five or six degrees Celsius and nights below zero, people now faced survival itself.
"Jing Shu, when will our Red Nematode Feed Processing Factory start selling patties? The canteen patties are up to 0.7 each. We are going to make a fortune. You had the eye. You built that factory when red nematodes were everywhere." Wang Fang could not hold back and called. She had truly eaten bitterness for half a year, and the sweet days were finally coming.
Jing Shu rolled her eyes. "Aunt, the canteen's are fine-processed for people. Ours are coarse-processed for poultry. Unless there is an even worse famine, feed should be sold to those who keep birds. And it is not time yet. Wait a little longer."