Song Bin covered his face helplessly. "Oh heavens, what was Miss Jing up to this time? Why did she always do things no one else would even think of?"
Then again, he quickly thought, it made sense. Miss Jing was that kind of person. Back when she went to the crematorium, he hadn't understood her actions either, but she'd somehow turned it into a huge success.
So there was no point doubting her. Whatever Miss Jing did, she always had her reasons. She must've already planned something deep and thorough this time too.
That, right there, was the mark of a true powerhouse.
At this point, Jing Shu had already reached legendary status in his heart. He admired her blindly.
But truthfully, Jing Shu didn't have any grand plan at all. She squatted down, curiosity piqued. Even though she was busy, she'd always been interested in livestock that still had production value after the apocalypse. She really wanted to know what these people were doing to the boar and sow that made the poor animal so violent.
Still, she couldn't just ask outright. Psychology said you couldn't break through someone's guard by confronting them directly; you had to go about it subtly. In simpler terms, go along with what they wanted first.
So she asked, "What's wrong with this pig?"
Someone muttered under their breath, "Even if I told you, you wouldn't get it."
Normally, Xie Zhuzhu wouldn't care about explaining things to outsiders. But the moment he heard someone mention pigs, his frustration poured out like floodwater. He sighed and said, "Since the apocalypse, natural breeding's no longer possible. We can only rely on artificial insemination. The implanted embryos take at first, and we even inject high doses of oxytocin.
But it keeps failing anyway. All the data looks normal, we've ruled out every variable we can, so by probability it shouldn't fail. That means something's wrong somewhere in the process. And this sow still hasn't gone into heat, so she can't secrete prolactin, which lowers the conception rate even more."
The man with glasses beside him asked, "Should we recheck the whole process?"
"Are you stupid? That'd take months! We don't have that kind of time."
Jing Shu rested her chin in her hand. "So everything's normal on paper, but the embryos never take. Why not try using a different sow?"
Xie Zhuzhu stroked the agitated animal and shook his head. "This pair is the last with natural Anti-Dark Matter resistance in their system. Before we start gene mutation trials, I have to keep them as seed stock for the next phase. Otherwise, pure natural breeds with Anti-Dark Matter will go extinct."
That would mean the research hit a dead end.
Mutation?
Jing Shu looked from the pigs to the deformed chickens nearby. Was he talking about the same kind of mutation she was thinking of?
Then Xie Zhuzhu muttered to himself, "In the apocalypse, ordinary livestock must have their genes altered to adapt and reproduce. If they don't evolve, nature will eliminate them. These pigs are the best candidates for mutation. Ordinary ones can't survive heavy hormone treatment."
Jing Shu's mouth slowly dropped open. Even after living through so many years of the apocalypse, seeing it this directly still stunned her. If they didn't evolve, they'd be wiped out. In the end, only the fittest would survive.
Just then, Xie Zhuzhu must've touched something wrong, because the sow suddenly went berserk. It screamed and thrashed violently, kicking so hard that Xie Zhuzhu was sent flying. Everyone around panicked and scrambled away, though they still had the sense to drag him along.
With one eye already swelling black, he didn't even care about the pain. Propped up by his colleagues, he struggled to get back to the pig, shouting, "It's rejecting the implant! It's an immune reaction!"
Everyone froze. They all knew what that meant.
"There's no saving it. Just sedate her and prep for genetic mutation surgery," Xie Zhuzhu said through gritted teeth. He hated giving up. This was a crucial step toward developing large-scale mutated livestock, and he didn't want to lose it.
Their biggest goal now was gigantism in food species, but that required countless experimental trials.
If this one failed, there'd be no turning back.
Jing Shu, on the other hand, had no idea what any of that meant. She wasn't an expert, not by a long shot. Everything she'd achieved so far was thanks to her cheat-like Spirit Spring—and her experience slaughtering over a hundred mutant black pigs. When it came to pigs, she was confident she could handle any of them.
So while the sow was thrashing and squealing, Jing Shu stepped forward and grabbed its hoof with precision.
She pressed down hard with both hands and forced the animal onto the ground.
"Holy shit!"
"Damn, she's strong!"
"What the hell was that move?"
Under everyone's stunned gazes, Jing Shu pinned the raging sow like it was nothing. It kept struggling, but her grip was unyielding, as steady as iron clamps.
From what she'd heard, this sow was a rare natural carrier of Anti-Dark Matter, and they wanted it to reproduce before it underwent mutation.
So basically, they just needed it to breed? That was easy.
Back when she'd tried to get her animals in the Rubik's Cube Space to reproduce, she'd done plenty of "research." Let's just say it involved some rather private details that shouldn't be mentioned publicly.
Anyway, that wasn't the point. The point was, this sow would soon be part of her assets too.
Seeing it up close, Jing Shu pulled out a handmade herbal pill—a special aphrodisiac for livestock. It contained the leftover residue from medicine refined in her space and a small amount of diluted Spirit Spring. She'd originally made it to help boost her own animals' breeding rates. The drug alone was mild, but with Spirit Spring added, it became incredibly potent.
She popped the black pill into the sow's mouth. Everyone stared.
"What did you just feed it?"
"What are you doing?!"
But before anyone could stop her, the sow that had been screaming a second ago suddenly started snorting softly.
Jing Shu released her grip, and the sow immediately waddled over to the boar. Then, in front of everyone's wide-open mouths, the pair started doing what pigs do best.
"You—you—what did you feed her?"
"What exactly did you just do?"
They were asking the same question again, but this time the tone had completely changed—shock replaced by utter disbelief.
Jing Shu just waved it off casually. "I've raised a lot of pigs before. It's all about technique. Sometimes data doesn't mean everything."
Xie Zhuzhu's eyes lit up. "Even if the embryo implantation failed, natural breeding's the best possible outcome! This sow hasn't gone into heat for two years, and now she finally did—it's a great sign. Wait, you're Jing Shu, right? The one Jun Bao mentioned? You're here to sign the contract, yeah? Hurry up and sign it, I've got a ton of things I need to ask you!"