There were actually mutant chickens that weren't afraid of the zombie virus now? That was better than insurance! The best part was that, with the virus everywhere, raising these mutant chickens meant no more need for feed. Imagine how much grain that'd save! These things were basically walking, self-preserving meat jars in the apocalypse.
"What a pity," Jing Shu muttered, shaking her head. "A ten percent hatching rate's way too low. There's no way this can scale up."
She decided to stick with the premium route. If she went for mass production and raised tens of thousands of chickens, by the fifth year, she wouldn't even need some tyrant to swoop in and steal her results—Jin Tianci himself would probably be drooling over her flock of apocalypse-proof mutant chickens.
No, it had to stay rare. Rare enough that only a few were available every month, the kind people had to reserve in advance. Rare enough that they'd be classified as a protected species, something even the government would step in to safeguard.
Maybe she should come up with a touching little myth about them—like, "The first thing a chick sees after hatching is its mother. From that moment on, it'll follow her to the end of its life." Rich people loved loyalty stories like that.
Oh, right, this matter needed Jin Tianci to handle personally. Under the new post-apocalyptic law, she could technically apply to join the Mutant Animal Protection Association, couldn't she?
Jing Shu quickly jotted a new line in her planner:
Bring the dino-chickens and eggs for inspection. Check if they contain any harmful substances and confirm if they're edible. Apply for a rare-species license. Let Grandma Jing handle breeding. Finally... trade them for resources!
After all, virtual currency was poor people's money now. The real rich traded goods directly, since energy and materials had become things money couldn't buy anymore. Renting a single chicken already required a 10,000-coin deposit.
And these mutant chickens? No one would even need to worry about feeding them.
Oh right, she also had to check whether eggs from chickens fed with regular feed differed from those that ate the zombie-virus bugs.
Xiao Dou shivered in the corner. She still felt a bit regretful that her eggs wouldn't hatch, but honestly, she'd come to terms with it. Poor hens out there got mounted and forced to brood every day just to become breeding stock. Compared to that, she was living the free life.
But still! Her status in this family was irreplaceable, no matter what other hens came in. Starting tomorrow—no, starting today—she was gonna lay a few extra eggs! Cluck cluck cluck!
Grandma Jing had been wanting to raise chickens anyway, so why not surprise her with a batch of these mutants? They didn't need feed, laid plenty of eggs, and their chicks could sell for a high price. Grandma Jing would definitely love it.
Yeah, she'd give it to her as a birthday gift. Just thinking about that wrinkled face breaking into a bright smile made Jing Shu grin too.
"Believe in yourself! You'll win the fight! Believe in yourself, oh~!"
Right then, her phone suddenly blasted out her battle song ringtone, nearly scaring her to death. She grabbed it and quickly answered.
"Jing Shu! Didn't you say you were coming to work at the Medicinal Herb Association? Why aren't you here yet? We old guys are drowning in work!" Zhou Baqi's rough voice roared through the speaker.
Cough cough. She'd just been too busy lately!
"Lao Zhou, didn't we agree you'd only call me when there's a competition? I've been working on something big recently."
"Forget the competition," he snapped. "It's been canceled. Haven't you heard? Huge mountains just appeared all over China, and the maps are a total mess. Lots of people went missing. We'll have to wait till next year to hold the next one, assuming anyone can even get there. So hurry up and get back to work. Your contribution score's still short this month!"
Zhou Baqi honestly had mixed feelings about her. Every member had a monthly assessment, even the president himself. And this girl, she'd somehow turned it into a game of loopholes. While the rest of them worked themselves to death supervising and lecturing, barely scraping a passing grade, Jing Shu always showed up at the end of the month, tossed in a few decent potions—not even rare ones, just what was in highest demand—and her score shot up like a rocket, multiplied by ten.
"Don't even think about pulling that again," he growled. "Because of you, the Association's canceled the ten-times bonus system. Now it's all based strictly on quantity and quality. If you don't show up soon, you're getting demoted!"
As an outsider, Jing Shu already worked hard just pretending to fit in. But honestly, there wasn't much she could teach at the Association. Her main trick was dripping a bit of Spirit Spring into things, and boom—instant cure.
"Come on, Lao Zhou, I'm serious this time. I really am working on something big. My whole assessment this month depends on it. Don't worry, even if it's by weight and quality, I'll pass easily. I can hold off till next month, no problem," she said confidently.
That made Zhou Baqi curious. "Everything's been restricted, what've you got left?"
Jing Shu replied calmly, "Chicken poop."
"Huh?" Zhou Baqi was stumped for a moment.
She explained, "We've been short on fertilizer, right? The higher-ups aren't providing any. People can barely eat, let alone plant long-term medicinal herbs. But I've got a healthy supply of chicken manure here, perfect for composting. I can process it into fertilizer myself.
The best part? I can deliver it to the Association every day and improve the nutrient quality of the crops. How about that? You guys couldn't get fertilizer, but I did. This month's assessment, even next month's, will be smooth sailing."
Technically, human waste could also be used as fertilizer, but it was expensive, needed to be sun-dried and mixed with minerals, and didn't have as much organic matter as chicken manure. Plus, people were all malnourished now, so their waste wasn't exactly rich. No one wanted to collect that stuff anyway—it was disgusting and complicated to process.
Her household, though, was different. Because of the central heating, the waste dried quickly under the sunlight lamps and was efficiently turned into compost by Grandma Jing and Grandpa Jing. With a new batch of chicken manure coming in, they'd definitely help process it too. Still, it was more than they could use.
"That... depends on the quality," Zhou Baqi finally said. "Fine, go get it ready. I'll talk to the other old guys. If you're fast, we might still make it for this batch of herbs."
Then he hung up.
Jing Shu smiled. "Chicken poop really is a good thing." It had just solved one of her biggest problems.
Outside, the BYD Song honked impatiently. She grabbed a shy dino-chicken, a pile of eggs, and a few hatchlings, shouting, "Coming, coming!" as she ran to the car.
Inside, Su Lanzhi was wearing a gray business suit that made her look mature and composed. Ever since she'd been working under Minister Niu to get familiar with the role, she'd been preparing for promotion. Jing Shu felt genuinely happy for her.
After dropping her mother off, Jing Shu followed her father to the long-lost Wu City Livestock Breeding Center. The place had expanded nearly tenfold since last year, with multiple new divisions. It was basically like the vehicle registration office now—every animal needed a license to prevent the spread of the zombie virus.