Chapter 67: Overwhelmed, with No Time to Spare
Watching another emoticon flash across Caicai’s display, Ling Jing let out a soft chuckle.
Once her amusement faded, she sank into thought.
The system had granted her this featured pull because her establishment had entered the “radar of the authorities.”
The authorities of Seed City?
Ling Jing leaned sideways, gazing out through the doorway toward the towering wall in the distance.
They’re only noticing now?
Her business had already expanded from a humble tricycle to an establishment of this scale, and the commotion it caused had been far from quiet.
Yet the system had only just issued the notice about entering the “authorities’ radar.”
There were two possible explanations.
Either the administration hadn’t paid any attention, or they were simply too overwhelmed to care.
There were plenty of reasons for the former—such as looking down on the diner, or deeming a restaurant that sprang up out of nowhere unworthy of notice.
Yet neither fit the grim logic of an apocalypse.
In a world where flora and fauna were mutated, where food was practically the sole prerequisite for human survival, and where the vast majority scraped by on the brink of starvation, how could anyone in power ignore a sudden, untainted source of nourishment?
Ling Jing leaned toward the latter.
The so-called authorities were drowning in their own problems, with no time or energy to spare.
Then what could be keeping them so desperately preoccupied?
Since arriving in this wasteland, she had never had direct contact with the local government. Everything she knew came from stray remarks dropped by patrons, pieced together through deduction.
This frontier settlement known as Seed City enforced rigid gate hours, ostensibly to ensure its populace remained shielded behind stone walls when the emerald mist outside was at its thickest.
Judging by the fact that her clientele wasn’t composed solely of able-bodied adults, but also included teenagers and frail elders, the interior of the city had to possess order and strict regulations.
Otherwise, in a lawless society, those vulnerable demographics would have been the first to perish.
Yet on the flip side, the official municipal rations could only be purchased with City Coins, and to earn those coins, people had to venture past the high walls themselves to unearth energy crystals in the perilous wastes.
Regardless of age or gender.
Regardless of whether they were healthy, or even possessed full mobility.
Fatalities were an everyday occurrence; Ling Jing had already seen countless scavengers whose toxic corruption had nearly crept into their irises.
The authorities never intervened.
At the same time, the gates operated on an ironclad schedule. Diners had mentioned that every departure and arrival was logged daily, accompanied by nightly headcounts in the residential quarters.
That pointed to strict surveillance over the urban population.
A degree of “protection,” paired with a degree of “abandonment.”
…Like two opposing ends of rights and obligations.
It was easy to deduce what the rulers behind those walls truly craved.
Energy crystals.
In that case, the administration’s recent distraction became rather telling.
Had something gone wrong regarding the crystals? Or had their food supply run into a crisis?
Based on the information at hand, Ling Jing could only fathom those two possibilities.
Crystals and food—these were the twin pillars keeping Seed City’s current machinery turning.
Each served as the premise and the outcome of the other.
As for the finer transactions linking them together, Ling Jing had no way of knowing.
The administration seemingly held a monopoly over a food source, while the common folk had none.
A state corner on the market?
Ling Jing couldn’t say for sure whether this stemmed from cold exploitation by the ruling class, or a desperate, unavoidable compromise born of apocalyptic ruin.
Still less could she discern whether the authorities viewed the populace as resources, disposable tools, or fellow survivors clinging to hope.
Yet of one thing Ling Jing was certain.
The leadership of Seed City had run headlong into serious trouble.
And she wondered whether this “trouble” might pave the way for a brand-new business opportunity for the Chinese Restaurant.
…
The Black Fields Quarantine Sector.
Enclosed within her hazard suit, Long Ya kept her attention riveted on the plot before her.
Shortly after taking over the shift, she had harvested two mature stalks of iron black wheat, severing them flush with the soil exactly as the regulations prescribed.
Next, she buried fist-sized black seeds into the earth and watered them down.
Then came the vigil: monitoring the shoots pushing through the dirt to ensure they remained pitch-black.
The posted rules were unambiguous. Iron black wheat sprouted black; should a seedling emerge in any other shade, laborers were to withdraw immediately, report to an overseer, and have it destroyed on the spot.
Sprouting typically required three full days. Throughout this window, unceasing observation was required to ensure nothing anomalous took root.
As Long Ya continued irrigating the immature stalks, she kept a wary eye on the two freshly sown seeds.
During the shift change, Number 86 had whispered that a seed planted during her watch had abruptly sprouted a white shoot. The overseer had rushed over to incinerate it on the spot, and she had urged Long Ya to stay on high alert.
…That night, Number 86 had consumed the rice porridge, narrowly clinging to life.
When Long Ya had slipped into her room with the provisions, Number 86 had been sprawled across the cot, barely able to walk. The sheer astonishment on her face upon seeing the food had been impossible to conceal.
Her wound hadn’t healed, yet after downing that bowl of porridge, she had clung to Long Ya’s sleeve, weeping with frantic gratitude.
She had even stammered that… if she managed to survive her term of service, she would hand over every single crystal and City Coin she had ever saved.
Long Ya had felt profoundly awkward at the time and flatly refused.
People coming and going, living and dying—Long Ya had seen it all.
Yet she despised owing favors, and she dreaded owing a life even more.
She had no desire to let guilt become the final straw that crushed her in the dead of some future night.
She estimated that after finishing the roasted sweet potato, Number 86’s internal toxicity should stabilize for the time being.
Once Auntie Qian and the others smuggled in the next batch of supplies, she could simply pass along a little more to Number 86.
“Number 87!”
Lost in her thoughts while tending the soil, Long Ya suddenly heard an overseer call out her designation.
She snapped her head up.
Two overseers were striding toward her.
One bore the stencil “Number 27,” while the other read “Number 16.”
“Relief turnover,” Overseer Sixteen stated through his hazard suit.
“Is something wrong, sir?”
Both overseers were stone-faced, neither deigning to answer her question.
Utterly bewildered, Long Ya had no choice but to hand over her field gear.
She then followed Overseer Twenty-Seven out of the Black Fields.
Past the isolation airlocks, through the scanner gates—she was even ordered to undergo full decontamination and strip off her hazard suit.
The further they walked, the heavier the dread pooled in her gut.
This treatment looked suspiciously like she was being marched to an interrogation.
Her heart skipped a beat.
She rapidly combed through every action she had taken since arriving in the Black Fields; everything had conformed strictly to protocol.
The only incident capable of drawing official scrutiny was yesterday’s accident.
That, and the state of the toxic corruption on her and Number 86.
—To avoid raising suspicions, Long Ya had carefully instructed Number 86 the previous night to only finish the rice porridge, saving the sweet potato for today.
Once Number 86 had eaten, Long Ya had gone to great lengths to destroy the container, burying the shards deep beneath the communal waste bin in the room.
She had masked them beneath discarded, blood-stained bandages and shredded a pair of worn-out socks to hide the plastic remnants.
Was this routine inquiry into the incident, or had their cover been blown?
Long Ya kept her face perfectly impassive, though her mind was racing at breakneck speed.
“This way.”
Overseer Twenty-Seven led her into a concrete building within the quarantine perimeter.
Two stories tall, nothing grand.
It sat just off to the flank of the dormitory row, heavily guarded. Long Ya had never set foot near it over the past two days.
Nor had anyone ever explained its purpose to her.
The overseer didn’t lead her up the stairwell. Stepping through the front doors, they took a sharp left on the ground floor.
They came to a halt before a closed door.
Click.
After an indeterminate wait, an adjacent door swung open.
Long Ya caught sight of Number 86 being escorted out by another guard.
The emerald discoloration on the woman’s skin remained heavy, while her lips were pale with a sickly greenish tint.
Her irises had reverted to a pale hazel, though her eyes darted about in poorly concealed panic.
“Number 87, inside.”
Overseer Twenty-Seven motioned Long Ya toward the room Number 86 had just vacated.
As Long Ya brushed past Number 86, the older woman visibly swallowed hard.
Then, she gave a tiny, almost imperceptible nod.
In that split second, her gaze was resolute.
Long Ya caught the unspoken signal immediately.
Number 86 was telling her that she had stuck to the cover story they hashed out the night before.
Namely, attributing the sudden purging of toxins entirely to the injection administered by the field medic.
Without breathing a word about the food.
Long Ya felt a wave of relief wash over her chest.
She had never revealed the source of the food to Number 86.
And she had even less intention of uttering a word to the authorities of Seed City.
Though Long Ya couldn’t predict how the commanders would react upon learning what lay outside the West Wall…
Instinctively, she refused to bring trouble to the Chinese Restaurant’s doorstep.
