Chapter 38: Isn’t This Sending Us to Our Deaths?
The city bell chimed.
It was the signal that the city gates were about to close.
Stuffed and satisfied, the patrons of the Chinese Restaurant concluded their day’s “work,” chatting and laughing together as they walked toward the gate.
A sharp-eyed scavenger at the front of the pack caught sight of figures slipping into the city in the distance.
“Hey, isn’t that Mad Dog’s crew?”
“Staked us out the entire day—I saw them while I was out in the fields. A whole lot of effort for nothing!”
“Slinking back with their tails between their legs. Feels damn good!”
Those near the rear were still savoring the aftertaste of their meal.
“Thank heavens I managed to squeeze into a seat at the very last table for Malatang. That flavor was simply out of this world.”
The speaker patted their belly contentedly as they spoke.
“What did it actually taste like? Tell us! I couldn’t get a seat at all.”
“Numbing, spicy, savory, and bursting with flavor! I never had hot-pot skewers like that even before the apocalypse! Take those potato slices—the taste is totally different from the roasted ones!”
At the prompt, those who had eaten the Malatang began raving non-stop.
“The potato slices in the Malatang were so crisp! Dipped in that sesame paste… oh man. And don’t get me started on the mushrooms—soaked through with broth! The boss brewed that soup with beef bones, and I even caught a rich, milky aroma in it. Beyond delicious. The name fits it perfectly: numbing, spicy, and piping hot! Pure bliss!”
“Stop, stop talking! I’m about to die of frustration! I was actually in line this afternoon, but seeing how crowded it was, I went to dig up sweet potatoes first. By the time I came back, the line had exploded! I didn’t get a single bite!”
“I missed out too! Tomorrow, I’m lining up early. Not for anything else, just to taste what this Malatang is all about!”
“Hah, I’m getting up the earliest. I’m going to be the very first Malatang customer tomorrow!”
“Want to bet on it?”
“You’re on!”
Chatting merrily, the crowd reached the gate.
One by one, they passed through the blue-light scanner, checked in with the guards, and stepped inside the city walls.
Before they could even start toward the residential quarter, the bells suddenly tolled once more.
Clang— Clang— Clang— Clang— Clang— Clang— Clang—
Seven chimes.
Everyone’s expression changed instantly.
The gate-closing chimes had only just ended. For the bells to ring again so soon, and seven times at that…
It was an official summons.
All residents were ordered to assemble in the central plaza for a mandatory lottery.
“…Did I hear that right?”
“You did. Exactly seven chimes.”
Long Qian’s group was almost back at their shacks. Hearing the toll, Old Hu lowered his voice and asked, “Conscription lottery? Didn’t we just hold one in the middle of last month? It hasn’t even been twenty days.”
“The draft was moved up,” Long Qian replied quietly.
Gerry had taken Little Zhou’s place in the service during the middle of last month, so Long Qian and her crew knew the timeline better than anyone.
“Let’s head over. Don’t wait for the guards to come dragging us out,” Long Qian said, glancing at the surrounding crowd, who were already whispering with grim, bitter faces.
Seed City, Central Plaza.
Guards in black uniforms gripped their rifles, securing the surrounding entrances and exits.
The dense sea of people gathered here was far larger than the morning crowd that lined up for crystal and ration exchanges.
This was the entire surviving population of Seed City.
The atmosphere was suffocatingly bleak. Even when speaking, people kept their voices down to a muffled whisper.
“Quiet—” On an elevated platform at the front of the plaza stood a guard with a single silver star pinned to his collar. He held a roster in one hand and a megaphone in the other.
His voice boomed through the loudspeaker.
At the foot of the platform, the crowd instinctively cleared a wide open space, as if everyone wanted to stay as far away from the lottery box as possible.
“What’s going on at the Black Fields? Didn’t we just draw lots recently? Isn’t the service term two months?”
Muffled murmurs still rippled through the crowd.
“Something’s wrong with the black wheat. Haven’t you heard? When red-haired Ellie and Jack were brought back, their bodies were completely corroded away. They died within two days.”
“Iron black wheat has always had a chance of mutating.”
“It’s different this time! The mutation rate used to be low—maybe one or two people got bitten in a two-month cycle. Word is that half the conscripts this time ran into trouble! Haven’t you heard about that?”
“What? I only knew a few injured people were brought back. There were that many?!”
“Something must have gone wrong with the wheat… Honestly, nothing that happens nowadays surprises me anymore.”
“…Isn’t this just sending us to our deaths?”
“It always has been. But what choice do we have? Anyone living inside these walls has to draw lots for service. If you try to run, you’re exiled beyond the gates—you wouldn’t even survive the night.”
“Death either way. One is just faster, the other slower.”
“…Just pray your name doesn’t get called.”
Everyone inside the walls knew where the black biscuit rations came from.
They were the yield of the Black Fields.
After the apocalypse struck, no ordinary crops could be grown, and animals could no longer serve as food for humanity.
During the first year following the cataclysm, people survived on the official grain reserves.
Yet without production, even the deepest reserves would eventually run dry.
By the second year, the emergency relief rations distributed to each citizen were drastically slashed.
It wasn’t until the third year that the Three Great Cities developed “iron black wheat”—rumor had it it was born from an Awakener’s ability.
They called it wheat, but survivors returning from service described it as grotesque. Pitch-black from root to tip, shaped like octopus tentacles, and hard as stone.
The black biscuits produced from it were just as rock-hard.
Labor service was a mandatory civic duty for every resident of Seed City. You couldn’t escape it, and you weren’t allowed to try.
“Conscripts will be issued protective suits and provided complimentary rations throughout their term of service. In emergencies, you may call upon the overseers for aid. There is no need for undue panic—”
The guard shouted into the megaphone.
The same speech was given at every drawing.
Yet walls had ears, and secrets never stayed buried.
The “inside gossip” had already leaked from the mouths of the conscripts who were discharged due to injuries this term.
If the protective suits were actually effective, why had so many of those sent back ended up dead?
Panic, indignation, agony… suffocating dread swept through the crowd like a contagion.
The dark, menacing barrels of the guards’ rifles around the perimeter were the only thread holding back a total breakdown.
All the people could do was listen as name after name was read from the front.
Blaring from the megaphone, those names sounded like death warrants.
They could only pray silently that it wouldn’t be them.
“Rhodes—”
The middle-aged man’s name was called.
He stepped forward, his hand dipping into the massive lottery box to grasp a slip of paper.
No, wait—he swapped it for another.
Drawing the slip from the box, he unfolded it—a blue circle.
Safe!
He had shuffled toward the box like an old man, but he walked away with a brisk, flying stride. Anyone could read the sheer relief of cheating death on his face.
“Carter—”
…
“Dale—”
…
“Lilin—”
…
“Lina—”
When Lina walked up, the guard glanced at the roster. “Under fourteen?”
“Just turned fourteen, sir.”
The guard made a stroke on the roster and gestured for her to draw.
Lina stood on her tiptoes, reaching into the box to pull out a slip.
Unfolding it—a blue circle.
Safe! Not picked! She dashed away eagerly, running to find her sister, who had also drawn a blue circle just moments before.
As the drawing progressed, fewer and fewer people remained uncalled in the plaza.
Soon, it was Long Qian’s group’s turn.
“Relax, we’re not that unlucky. There are only a dozen of us. We were picked last month; there’s no reason we’d get hit again this time, right?” Seeing Long Ya clenching her fists, Long Shi offered quiet comfort.
“Shut your jinxing mouth!”
“Long Shi—”
The guard at the front called out.
Long Shi stepped up to the lottery box and drew a slip.
A blue circle.
He grinned foolishly, flashing it toward the crew behind him, only to earn an eye-roll from Long Ya.
“Long Ya—”
Long Ya stepped forward, drew a deep breath, and reached in.
She pulled the slip out and unfolded it.
—A red circle.
