Happy Jelly watched from a distance, a little lost in thought.
Chen Qing had never been an easy student.
An orphan—no one to teach him how to hold chopsticks, no one to tell him spicy strips were junk food, no one to show him how to mend a split seam in his trousers.
When other children were still babbling their first words, grown-ups were teaching them to call out "uncle" and "auntie."
An orphan spends a very long time learning these basics from one scornful look after another.
So Chen Qing had never been an easy student.
Sensitive, insecure, all sorts of problems.
But the child a parent loves most is often that very one—the least promising, the one riddled with faults.
So Happy Jelly's sheltering of Chen Qing was practically out in the open. As long as he was around, no one could bully Chen Qing.
But now, watching that wild, unrestrained boy on the platform...
He suddenly gave a small smile too.
This kid with no father, no mother, who still had to look after his little brother—it seemed there'd be no need to worry about him from here on.
On the way back, Chen Qing called out to Monkey.
"Monkey, do you trust me?"
Monkey blinked, then grinned wide. "Tell me what it's about first, then His Majesty will decide whether to trust you."
"Stock up on food. Instant noodles, canned goods—the longer they keep, the better."
"No problem!" Monkey nodded. "His Majesty grants this small request."
"If you can manage it, your family should think about building a safe house."
"A safe house?"
Monkey frowned. That was no small undertaking.
"You got some inside tip or something?"
"Not exactly a tip. This time's probably going to be very bad."
Chen Qing didn't get too specific—it was all too outlandish.
Monkey nodded. "I'll go work on convincing them."
Chen Qing texted Happy Jelly as well, telling him to lay in plenty of food too.
He didn't give a specific reason.
Happy Jelly replied with a single word: "Okay."
Monkey's home was also in Riverside Community, but Chen Qing was staying at the hotel now, so they didn't share the whole route and parted at the intersection.
Still on his way, Chen Qing called Manager Yang.
"Manager Yang, you got a reliable pig-feed supplier?"
"You're really buying?"
"No, just curious, and I want to lay in a little bit—you know, I've got a touch of persecution paranoia."
"I've got one."
Before long, Manager Yang sent over a PDF document.
It was awkward to study on the road, but at a rough glance it listed a dozen-odd pig-feed manufacturers.
Back at the hotel, a lavish lunch had already been laid out before Chen Man, who was eating with grease all over his mouth.
Chen Qing sat down too, grabbed a tomahawk steak on impulse and gnawed at it, while looking over the PDF.
Of these manufacturers, two were a good fit—local, right price, right scale.
He called one and asked the price.
"How much do you want?"
"A thousand tons."
"Three million~"
"And if you add meat to it?"
The man paused a moment, his tone turning impatient. "You add meat to your pig feed? Got too much time on your hands?"
"I'm not joking. Manager Yang of Three Hundred Guardians referred me."
"Oh?"
"Not commercial meat—zombie meat. The old frozen fish and frozen meat. If you've got a channel, factory scraps work too."
"Now that's genuinely bizarre... Who adds meat to pig feed these days!"
This customer-service guy had a bit of a mouth on him.
"Fine, we'll talk it over and get back to you by tomorrow."
Hanging up, Chen Qing let out a long breath.
Go too long without any meat and a person loses their strength.
Eaten sparingly, ten adults would get through a ton in a year; a thousand tons was enough to sustain a whole community.
A person's blood-qi is the foundation of everything. Without blood-qi to sustain it, even the strongest formation crumbles.
Around ordinary people, where the qi of the living runs strong enough, evil spirits don't dare approach.
Places like an army barracks, or a school.
Only, he was short on money again; he'd have to go back to the loan-shark companies and scrape up more.
Chen Qing was about to make the second call when the necklace at his chest gave a light tremor!
He started, and his heart tightened at once!
"A ghost!!"
"There's a ghost here!!"
An eerie voice rang out—yet its tone was brimming with cheer:
"Jin Bu~huan, Jin Buhuan, Jin Bu~huan, Jin Buhuan..."
A ghost appeared abruptly in the room: half a meter tall, gaunt and stunted, dressed in filthy rags, hauling a giant sack a full meter across on its back.
Jin Buhuan?
Chen Qing blanked for a second.
"Jin Buhuan!"
He called out. No response.
"Jin Bu~huan, Jin Buhuan, Jin Bu~huan, Jin Buhuan..."
Still chanting, Jin Buhuan sprang high and leapt into a slipper, and vanished.
And naturally, the slipper became a slipper of pure gold.
He hefted the gold slipper—a good ten catties.
Gold is dense, and the slipper was thick-soled.
He'd find a chance to sell it for supplies later, and offhandedly stored it in the Demon-Suppressing Pagoda.
Chen Qing went to Riverside Community.
His safe house was under construction in full swing, the progress heartening.
After a moment's thought, Chen Qing turned into the e-bike shed in the northeast corner of the compound.
Behind the shed, Chen Qing saw a familiar figure.
Blind Uncle Xia.
In the apocalypse, there were maybe only two people who never betrayed Chen Qing: Monkey, and Uncle Xia.
Chen Qing did have a relative in Riverside Community: his aunt.
When Chen Qing was thirteen, there'd been a stretch where they genuinely ran out of food.
Chen Qing had swallowed his pride and gone begging to his aunt's, spending the last scrap of his dignity to ask her to lend him 200 yuan.
But all he got in return was humiliation.
Especially when Chen Qing, having stepped outside to sit blankly in the stairwell, heard his aunt's laughter inside—every word of it seared into his memory:
"That cheap bitch had it in for me from the time we were little, better than me at every single thing, hahahaha—look! Now her cheap little spawn has come begging at my door!"
That winter, Chen Qing had thought for a time that he and Chen Man would die.
It was precisely then that Uncle Xia had given him a fistful of dirty, foul-smelling small change—48.5 yuan in all.
Two of the notes were even toy play-money for children.
So, in the Blood Moon, only when Uncle Xia had eaten his fill would Chen Qing eat.
If not for Uncle Xia's constant refusals, Chen Qing would have taken him into his own home long ago.
Right now, Uncle Xia was cooking.
A blind man living alone—his hygiene was bound to be dreadful.
The water in the pot was cloudy. Groping, he set the little pot on a stove made of three bricks, and fumbled a long while with a lighter before finally igniting the wood beneath it—scraps of construction lumber, by the look of them.
In the process, the lighter even scorched his hand, but he was long used to it; he just shook his hand and paid it no mind.
When the water in the pot bubbled up, Uncle Xia tore open a crumpled pack of instant noodles, groped the cake of noodles in, and added the seasoning packets one by one.
He tipped the noodle crumbs left in the bag into his hand and ate them in one go, then licked the seasoning packets clean.
After a while, Uncle Xia took out a wooden board, pushed the ashes over to smother the fire, and only then pulled a pair of chopsticks from a big bag of disposables beside him.
Just as he was about to eat, his brow suddenly furrowed. "Who's there?"
Chen Qing drew a deep breath, worked a smile onto his face, and said, "Uncle Xia, it's me."
"Chen Qing!"
Uncle Xia greeted him at once. "Come, come, come—want some noodles?"
Chen Qing went over and sat on a blackened, peeling brown sofa, and smiled. "How've you been lately?"
The place was a mess, but Chen Qing knew nothing could be touched.
Because Uncle Xia had long since memorized where everything was; move it even a little and it would throw him off.
Chen Qing was thinking about how to give him money.
Unlike others in hardship, Uncle Xia was a proud, stubborn man.
Even Chen Qing carried a load of inferiority.
But Uncle Xia? Blind though he was, he stood tall wherever he went—like a flag planted in a garbage heap.
"You haven't been by in a while, kid. Chen Man came a few days ago and gave me a pancake."
Huh?
Chen Qing was a little surprised.
"Don't let this kid fool you—looks like he's missing a screw, but he'll make something great of himself when he grows up!" Uncle Xia laughed. "And you? You've taken the talent test by now, right? How'd it turn out?"
"I passed! Grade S talent—pretty impressive, huh?"
"Really?!" Uncle Xia was overjoyed. "See! After the worst comes the best! After the worst comes the best!"
An idea struck Chen Qing at once!
"Uncle Xia, here's the thing—when you pass the talent test they give you a shopping card, only the card's about to expire, and I bought a ton of stuff, more than I can finish..."
"Can't finish it, give it to me! You little brat. Get some milk while you're at it."
"Okay, okay, I'll bring it right over."
Chen Qing went to the supermarket and, choosing nothing pricey, picked out biscuits, instant noodles, bread, ham sausages, self-heating rice, and the like.
When two big bags were set before Uncle Xia, he beamed with joy.
They chatted a while longer, and then Chen Qing took his leave.
Uncle Xia faced the direction Chen Qing had gone, felt over the two big bags, and was silent.
After a long while, he sighed.
"Since when does the Ghost-Control Army hand out shopping cards—and expired ones at that?"
"I'm only blind in the eyes. My heart sees just fine."
With that, he bowed toward a battered little Buddha statue in the corner:
"Times are troubled. I hope the two boys stay safe and sound, healthy and whole."