Jing Shu really did not want to livestream. The apocalypse had arrived—how could she have the mood for this? But back when she wanted to raise money, she had promised to become an online celebrity, livestreaming to showcase her cooking. That had drained millions from her family, emptying their wealth. Now, with her entire family watching, how could she refuse?
Putting on appearances was necessary. More importantly, she needed to turn the food into semi-prepared products so it could be used conveniently in the upcoming apocalypse, saving both time and space.
"Shouldn't you bring something with you? Otherwise, people will scold you," Grandma Jing nervously watched her granddaughter arrange things in and around the villa. "And it's starting already? Aren't you going to say a few words to warm up the atmosphere? At least introduce what you're selling. Don't just stay silent."
Jing Shu: ". You think shouting a couple of times will draw a crowd? That's just like calling out on the street to sell stuff."
Nowadays, the elderly were harder to fool.
"It's fancy but still has a rustic feel. The boiler room looks just like the ugly ones in the countryside. Why are there chickens and ducks here?" Grandpa Jing looked displeased. "This won't do. I'll fix the chicken coop for you."
So on the first day, the same Grandpa Jing who had been worried about her popularity the moment before immediately focused on rearranging the chicken and duck pens. His busy figure added an odd charm to Jing Shu's otherwise quiet start.
At Grandma Jing's request, Jing Shu muttered a few words to appease her grandmother:
"Hello everyone. Today we're making lots of chili sauce to send to relatives and enjoy ourselves. Friends who want some can tip 998 yuan. Private message me your address, and I'll send it to you."
She titled the livestream:
Daily Farmhouse Cuisine of a Rich Second Generation, Only 998, Only 998.
The vegetables, chickens, and cows in Cube Space were practically health elixirs. 998 yuan per portion was not expensive. Besides, she never expected anyone to buy; the high price was a way to store her own food.
Every day's content was automatically saved as a video. Jing Shu looked at some videos from ten years ago—or rather, a month or two ago by current standards—and thought her past self had been foolish. She immediately deleted them all.
Jing Shu set up a washing area, a cutting area, and a marinated product area to ensure that the entire process of marinating was clean, hygienic, and additive-free. Later, when her parents asked why she had not made a penny from her business, Jing Shu could truthfully say she had worked diligently.
By the fifth day of Spirit Spring intake, Jing Shu's strength and endurance had improved noticeably. Lifting boxes of 60-liter chilies was effortless as she handled washing the red chilies.
Grandma Jing, fully equipped, used the automatic meat grinder to crush the chilies. The operation was simple and easy.
The sheer amount of washing was huge. Jing Shu had harvested 12 square meters of red chilies from the Three-Forks area. The Cube Space products were exquisite: each chili was translucent, fresh, plump, and abundant. Though there was little dust, just cleaning them took more than two hours.
Grandma Jing could not sit still. She explained which chilies were good, which vegetables were pesticide-free, and even demonstrated with the chilies.
A few old fans arrived. One jokingly asked, "Did the beauty change careers?" That was it. No one scolded her for the high price. It felt unusual.
Despite the quietness, Grandma Jing was cheerful on her own.
Jing Shu worked diligently. The apocalypse was only a month away—who had the mood for livestreaming? Peeling and crushing garlic, peeling and crushing onions, peeling and crushing tomatoes—these tasks were massive. She only finished cleaning and preparing all ingredients by noon.
Seeing her grandparents low energy, Jing Shu added a drop of Spirit Spring to 1,000 ml of their water each and decided to give it to them daily. Over the next half-month, they would need the energy; they could not afford to be weak.
By lunchtime, her grandparents appetites had surged. Both were cautious, knowing that overeating could lead to severe indigestion. But their stomachs were growling loudly. They ended up eating until full. It was strange—they had long lost the feeling of hunger.
"Work a lot, digest faster, so you get hungry. Doing this every day will guarantee appetite," Jing Shu chuckled secretly. She was increasingly aware of Spirit Spring's benefits. Even No. 1, with half the usual Spirit Spring intake, was lively with no signs of aging.
Except maybe eating a bit too much… burp.
In the afternoon, Jing Shu and Grandma Jing started simmering chili sauce using two large pots. They added crushed chilies, doubanjiang, tomato paste, sugar, white vinegar, and salt, boiling while stirring. Once the liquid evaporated, they turned off the heat and mixed in minced garlic, minced onions, and MSG.
Jing Shu used new 2-liter sealed jars to store the chili sauce. From all the boxes of chilies, they produced 50 jars—about one-tenth. The long-missed aroma made Jing Shu immediately grab a steamed bun with chili sauce and devour it. Delicious!
This chili sauce, properly sealed and refrigerated, would last for years. Some were left in the kitchen; the rest Jing Shu carefully stored in the basement.
The quiet first-day livestream ended with her mouth full of chili sauce. Grandma Jing looked worried at the sheer volume: "If this doesn't sell, when will we ever finish it?"
Fortunately, nothing sold. If it had, Jing Shu would have worried. She kept two boxes of chilies on the third floor to dry for chili powder, an essential ingredient for spicy beef jerky.
Suddenly, Zhu Zhengqi sent a message:
"You livestreamed again? So you still want to be popular! What about the contract? Two people are already waiting. I blocked them for you, but if you don't decide soon, I can't help anymore."
Jing Shu smacked her forehead. She had forgotten this trouble. In her past life, thanks to her cooperation, the two had no further contact. Zhu Zhengqi acted as a middleman, took his commission, and vanished from her life. Ten years of the apocalypse had passed without seeing him. Who would have thought this life…
"I'll just livestream casually. Maybe you handle those two waiting people first. I'd feel bad keeping them waiting."
As expected, Zhu Zhengqi started persuading her again, through WeChat, calls, and even vaguely suggesting a family dinner. Jing Shu delayed, saying, "Let me try for another month. If the last month doesn't go well, I'll contact you."
She genuinely did not want popularity or any further dealings with Zhu Zhengqi. Couldn't everyone just follow their own path?
"Fine," Zhu Zhengqi seemed to have no solution.
Just as Jing Shu relaxed and resumed daily Cube Space inspections and fifth-rank Cube training, Zhu Zhengqi stirred trouble.
After fast-forwarding through her livestream ten times, Zhu Zhengqi sneered:
"998? You're insane for money! And you want to get popular like this? Hmph. Fine, I'll speed up the process so you see how harsh this circle really is."
He spent 2,000 yuan just to criticize Jing Shu. With no audience, no attention, and countless daily insults anyway, anyone seeing her sell cheap items for 998 yuan would just join the criticism.
Just a fresh graduate girl—could she handle it? Hmph.
"In three days, I'll have you trapped in my palm. You must raise the price. Raise it by five, no, ten thousand!" Zhu Zhengqi imagined her crying and begging him.