Grandma Jing nodded repeatedly, a pleased smile stretching across her weathered face. "My granddaughter is still the most thoughtful one."
Li Zhu appeared disappointed, his shoulders sagging slightly as the prospect of riding in a luxury vehicle vanished. However, once he realized they wouldn't have to walk the long distance back to their own district, he quickly accepted the alternative.
Digging the water channels wasn't an immediate emergency, but the idea of letting unpleasant people into the RV was something Jing Shu would never entertain. It was her private sanctuary, a mobile fortress filled with her personal comforts. She would much rather spend the money to hire a separate truck than let Li Zhu and his family step foot inside her space. There's no telling what kind of trouble they would cause or what they might try to pocket once they saw the extent of her resources.
"Alright, then hurry up and pack before you go," Grandpa Jing said, letting out a heavy sigh. His wrinkled face was a map of deep concern. "What kind of cursed year is this? Disaster after disaster, every single one lasting a whole year. This muddy mess won't end quickly either, I'm afraid. Maybe it will last like the flood—for a whole year even. You better decide your plans soon."
Grandma Jing held onto Jing Zhao's hand, her heart aching as she looked at her daughter. Seeing her even thinner than before made the old woman's resolve soften, but the thought of the troublesome family her daughter had married into brought a familiar surge of anger.
"I will make some oil tea powder for you to take on the road," Grandma Jing whispered. "Mix it with water and eat it with fried rice if you get hungry. And if there are others in the truck, eat quietly. Don't show off what you have. If you hear any news, make sure to tell us right away."
She then turned to Jing Shu and leaned in close. "Should we give the kids some milk powder?"
Jing Shu smiled and gave a small nod. Milk wasn't a rare commodity in their household, although the process of turning it into powder was a bit of a hassle. In the world outside their walls, however, it was more valuable than gold. Feeling sorry for Xiao Shu'en, Grandma Jing packed a single can of the homemade powder. She didn't dare take more; while they had a steady supply, they mostly used the surplus as high-value gifts since the family could never consume it all. It could keep for years when vacuum-sealed, but letting food sit around unused always felt wasteful to her.
At first, Grandma Jing worried that Li Zhu's family might refuse to leave, choosing to squat in the villa community instead. But when Li Zhu explained the danger of the mudslides, his mother panicked more than anyone. She insisted they return home immediately, likely thinking of her own secret stash of valuables hidden away in the countryside.
The truck that delivered the worm patties soon rumbled to a stop in front of the house. Only two people could sit in the cab with the driver, while the rest were forced to squeeze into the cargo bed. Li Zhu dragged his entire family along, loading their meager belongings. The truck was large enough to accommodate them; otherwise, they would have been forced to leave half their gear behind.
Watching them climb into the back of the vehicle, Grandma Jing rolled her eyes and muttered in relief. "Thank goodness they're gone."
"Right? If they had stayed, they would have torn a piece off my RV by now," Jing Shu said. "With an empty truck, there's nothing for them to take advantage of."
That afternoon, however, the truck driver called to thank Jing Shu, leaving her momentarily confused. After he explained the situation, she sat in silence, speechless. It turned out that Li Zhu's family had spent the entire trip scraping every bit of leftover worm residue off the interior walls of the truck. They had even collected the smelly, half-rotten bits that had been stuck in the corners for weeks. By the time they reached their destination, the truck bed was cleaner than it had been since it left the factory.
"Such nice folks," the driver laughed over the phone. "Thank you, little sister. Your family sure works hard!"
Jing Shu could easily imagine the scene: Li Zhu's mother leading the charge, her fingernails digging into the metal to salvage every scrap of protein to fry up for a desperate dinner. At the very least, it counted as an accidental good deed.
After the families departed, Grandpa Jing went straight to the backyard. He wanted to reinforce the heavy stone structures again, worried about what would happen if the muddy flood truly reached their doorstep.
Grandma Jing let out a long sigh as she watched him work. "This is bad, really bad. Now there's nowhere left to grow crops. We will have to start rationing the rice and flour. In just ten days, we have gone through an entire sack of flour. Nobody eats like this."
She began to calculate the usage on her fingers, and the numbers shocked her. Although she couldn't read or write, her grasp of household economics was sharp. At their current rate of consumption, they were burning through a forty-jin (20 kg) sack every two weeks. She wondered how much grain they actually had left in the entire villa. With so many people under one roof, she found herself scooping out three or four large bowls of flour at a time to knead into dough. Once it rested, Jing Shu would often consume half of it by herself.
They weren't just eating noodles, either. There was rice, meat, pickles, and various smoked delicacies. Grandma Jing remembered when one bag of flour would last six months and a bag of rice could be stretched for two. Now, the rice vanished in ten days.
Jing Shu frequently restocked the pantry, which led Grandma Jing to believe the supply was bottomless. But even with constant stockpiling, the grandmother feared the day the well would run dry. When Jing Shu eventually walked into the kitchen, she found her grandmother standing over the rice bins, hesitating between cooking one pot or two.
"Granddaughter, the mud is flowing everywhere now," the old woman said, her voice heavy with anxiety. "Nobody can plant grain anymore, and our yard is filled with vegetables. There's no place left to grow rice or wheat, and you can't buy grain outside. So tell Grandma honestly—how much rice and flour do we have left? If it isn't much, I will start cooking less. We will eat more of what we can grow instead. As long as we don't starve, that's good enough. We can't just sit here eating away our stores."
Jing Shu realized that her grandmother's fear was rooted in the uncertainty of the future. "Don't worry, Grandma. I told you before, we're fine. Come with me, I will show you something—but you can't tell anyone else, alright?"
To ease her grandmother's mind, Jing Shu decided to reveal a portion of her hoard. When the house was empty, she led the woman down to a small, hidden storage room. In reality, the room didn't usually hold much rice or flour, as those items were prone to pest infestations and spoilage even with peppercorns mixed in. Most of her grain was safely tucked away in her Cube Space, but as she opened the door, she silently moved a fresh batch into the physical room.
A gust of cold, stagnant air blew out, carrying a thin veil of dust. Grandma Jing coughed and shivered as the chill of the basement hit her. Jing Shu flipped on a single, dim lightbulb. Rows of sturdy three-tier shelves filled the entire room, stacked to the ceiling with heavy bags of flour and various types of rice. Further back, the shelves were packed with crates of dried goods: sweet potato noodles, dragon starch vermicelli, dried black fungus, and daylily flowers.
Beyond the grains were boxes of sugar, salt, vinegar, and every seasoning imaginable. The most impressive sight was the wall of five-liter barrels of premium peanut oil, stacked halfway to the ceiling. Even after years of surviving the apocalypse, a massive section remained untouched. There were also smaller crates of olive and canola oil. All over the floor were piles of miscellaneous supplies she had brought back from abroad; stuff designed to last for years.