Grandpa Liú first went to the collection station to check the purchase prices for mountain goods and wild game. Finding the prices reasonable, he sold all the mountain goods he had brought, keeping the wild game to trade elsewhere.
He instructed Dad Liú and Uncle Liú to wait at a hidden spot while he took Shūxīn to the black market, planning to exchange the wild game for food. First, he would find a few trustworthy traders to convert the wild game into money, then look for grain sellers.
City dwellers were still living peacefully at this time. They didn’t farm, didn’t rely on the weather for food, and even months without rain didn’t concern them.
They hadn’t yet realized that the rural grain harvest was poor or that the fields’ water supply was slowly depleting—though some experienced farmers might have had suspicions.
The black market had plenty of grain for sale. Grandpa Liú didn’t care about fine grains; he bought coarse grains like sorghum, corn, and dried sweet potatoes. Shūxīn noticed that they weren’t the only ones buying—occasionally, a few elderly villagers would buy some grain too. Though their purchases weren’t as large, it was clear that some smart people were preparing as well.
After settling the payments in silver, she had Dad Liú and Uncle Liú bring the grain back to the station to wait. Grandpa Liú took Shūxīn to the supply and marketing cooperative to stock up on sugar, oil, salt, and seasonings.
By the time Shūxīn returned home, it was already night—a deliberate choice. With so many supplies, it was better to move under cover of darkness.
Grandma Liú had lived through many hardships and knew the weather was abnormal, feeling anxious. Luckily, her capable granddaughter often brought back wild game, allowing the family to eat meat occasionally in recent years and trade some for money or grain. Otherwise, given the current situation, life for the Liú family would have been much harder.
Without overthinking, Grandma Liú, with her two daughters-in-law, sorted and stored the goods in a hidden cellar. Since life was still manageable, they didn’t need to touch these supplies yet and could see how things unfolded.
The entire Liú family hoped they wouldn’t have to use their preparations!
But the worst-case scenario occurred: no heavy rain fell before the autumn harvest, crops didn’t get enough water, and yields were low.
The head of the Liúlín Brigade, Liú Tiěgēn, was a smart man. Seeing the situation, he didn’t hand over all the grain for taxes, keeping some for the village. The remainder would be enough to eat until next summer.
Before the harvest, Shūxīn wrote a letter. She didn’t act recklessly. Taking advantage of a trip into the mountains, she used her abilities and mental power to travel quickly, crossing several mountain forests to reach the neighboring city. Disguised, she left the letter in the office of the person in charge, and to be safe, she left copies in several other offices.
Of course, she didn’t leave her handwriting behind—she used a printer she had found in her space’s miscellaneous storage room. She did everything she could and had a clear conscience.
It was New Year’s Eve. In previous years, every household celebrated joyfully. This year, there was no laughter; even the children knew to restrain themselves.
The Liú family wasn’t suffering as badly as others, but Grandma Liú hadn’t prepared lavishly. Given the current situation, just having enough to eat was fortunate.
Although Shūxīn had the resources to allow her family to eat meat and drink wine, she chose not to. First, she didn’t want to risk revealing her space. She wasn’t so noble as to sacrifice herself for others. She could care for her family and make life better for them—but without exposing herself.
Second, surrounding families were struggling. If the Liú family lived too well, they would draw attention. Having survived a post-apocalyptic struggle, Shūxīn understood human nature. People hate comparisons: when life was good, some couldn’t stand seeing others live better. Now, with hardship everywhere, if the Liú family indulged in luxury, they would become targets.
Even though households could still manage to eat, the meals weren’t extravagant, just enough to get by. To avoid attracting attention, Shūxīn secretly went into the mountains a day early and brought back two chickens for her family to enjoy a small, festive meal.
She had prepared the chickens in advance in a remote cave. Cooking at home would be too conspicuous; with the village struggling for food, meat was scarce, and cooking it at home would draw unwanted attention.
The cave would serve as a base for the next two years. Any foods she couldn’t prepare at home could be cooked there and brought back safely.
After the New Year’s Eve dinner, lying in bed, Shūxīn thought about how her family had quietly prayed to the Dragon King for rain, hoping to give farmers a chance to survive.
Shūxīn planned to secretly plant some high-starch crops like sweet potatoes and Chinese yams in a mountain valley. With her wood-element ability, cultivating a small patch was no trouble at all.
She wanted to leave the village a fallback. Once the harvest failed, she could provide some relief. She wasn’t a saint—everyone in the village lived close together, and any significant movement would be noticed.
“Do not worry about scarcity, worry about unfairness; do not worry about poverty, worry about instability.”
In other words, it’s not the lack of resources that is the problem, but unfair distribution; not poverty, but insecurity.
Given the current situation, life was unsustainable. She needed to give villagers hope; otherwise, instability could affect them and even the Liú family.
Meanwhile, those who received her letter initially thought it nonsense. But as the situation worsened, they were forced to take it seriously. They passed the letters upward, eventually reaching the village elders. Following the principle of “better safe than sorry,” preparations were made.
Xīnyáng County, located in the mountains, had villages and brigades nestled in green landscapes—a bit better than other areas.
Thanks to Shūxīn, the Liúlín Brigade’s surrounding mountains were thriving. She frequently used her abilities to encourage growth of low vegetation and wild vegetables. When the crops matured, villagers flocked to harvest them, afraid others would take them first. The Liú family also collected as much as they could, no matter how much food they gathered.
As winter approached, every household in the Liúlín Brigade wore worried expressions. No rain had fallen, the grain hadn’t been harvested, and relief supplies were still some time away. How would they survive the coming months?
At this time, the brigade leader organized a hunting party to obtain meat in exchange for grain—but it ended in disappointment. The catch was meager.
It was obvious: animals also had survival instincts. Large animals had retreated to the deep mountains; smaller ones had been eaten. Only the hungriest would descend for food—by then, humans might be competing with nature, and roles could even reverse.