Chapter 30

**Chapter 30**

Qi Mo frowned. "If you take me away, my nine-month-old will starve at home."

"Where’s the arrest warrant? If you don’t have one, go cool off somewhere else." With that, Qi Mo slammed the door in their faces.

He was confident these officers wouldn’t have a warrant. Huo Liangzhou would surely handle this matter. Back when the warrant had been issued, it was canceled soon after—Qi Mo had checked before his phone screen went black.

Outside the closed door, the two officers exchanged glances. The nerve of him…

"So, Officer Wang, where’s the arrest warrant?" the rookie asked.

The middle-aged officer replied, "Don't ask me—who am I supposed to ask?"

"You brought me out here without an arrest warrant?" The young cop stared in disbelief at his senior.

"I did see the warrant," the veteran cop insisted.

The rookie frowned. "But it was later revoked. I checked—the case hadn’t been fully cleared up yet."

Looking at the closed gate, he added, "Qi Mo's just a suspect at most."

"Besides, he should’ve been out with a nine-month-old at the time. The victims in this brutal case were six people. Why would someone with a baby deliberately pick a fight with six people, including an elderly woman?" The rookie broke it down.

Something wasn’t right. If he were walking alone at night, he’d never confront five or six people.

Unless they'd been trying to kill him.

So the case wasn’t as simple as it seemed.

"Wang, we should dig deeper first. Without a warrant from above, we can’t haul in a parent with a nine-month-old. If we take the adult away and something happens to the kid, do you really think Huo Liangzhou would let this slide?" the rookie said.

He wasn’t scared of Huo Liangzhou—he was scared for the baby.

In this chaotic situation, without parental care, the child could get heatstroke, dehydration—hell, could even die. Too many risks…

The fallout would be brutal.

Besides, the guy who’d just shut the door looked more like a high school student—soft-looking, pretty, harmless.

Looked gentle as a lamb.

Didn’t seem like a violent offender at all.

If those five or six had started it and Qi Mo had fought back, even if it went too far, it wouldn’t be entirely his fault.

Without a full investigation, they shouldn’t jump to conclusions.

The veteran cop listened to his junior, his jaw tightening.

He hadn’t expected to be blown off like this.

"Let’s go back and get the damn warrant," the older officer finally said.

Qi Mo locked the gate behind him.

A chill ran through him. His heart pounded.

Although he trusted Huo Liangzhou, he still had reason to be afraid—after all, that was a behemoth.

Was he really going to have to take the chubby baby and hide somewhere?

No. They had no evidence. Three hundred clicks—there and back would eat up a week.

And right now, with things so hectic, Qi Mo didn’t believe these cops would bother walking three hundred miles or biking that far just to chase this down.

Everyone was on edge, scrambling to stockpile water and groceries.

The people of Daxia were big on crisis preparedness—at the first sign of trouble, they went into full-on stockpile mode.

Now that the power had suddenly gone out and communication was down, what else was there to do but stock up?

Unless someone had it out for him, who’d bother with him?

Qi Mo breathed a little easier.

He went to check the cistern and found it finally full.

He shut off the inlet valve and went to the backyard, where there were still some bricks and sand.

After tucking them into his storage, he carried the baby upstairs.

Firing up a portable burner, he melted wax in a pot.

He unfolded an oilcloth and covered the cistern lid, then poured melted wax around the edges, creating a seal between the cloth and ground.

Even though the cistern was already sealed, he wanted a backup.

Once the wax hardened, he started stacking bricks on top—horizontal and vertical layers, leaving air pockets between.

He built the pile about half a meter high.

Then filled the gaps with sand, and covered the five-foot-square patch with a sunshade net.

He anchored the net with bricks to keep the area cool and prevent the wax from melting.

He pulled out all the stops to keep the cistern airtight.

When he finished, Qi Mo wiped sweat from his brow.

The chubby baby, freshly awake, started fussing up a storm.

Strapped into the stroller, there was no wriggling free.

Washing his hands, Qi Mo scooped up the baby.

He gave the little one a diaper change and wipe-down.

“Hungry? Daddy’s gotta boil water for your formula,” he said, carrying the baby downstairs.

He set the baby on the cool marble—it was past two, the day’s hottest hour.

Grabbing a pot, he rinsed it clean and poured in a couple quarts of water.

Striking a match to the gas burner, he waited for it to boil.

No power made everything a pain.

Qi Mo started pulling empty milk bottles from his storage space.

One, two... He’d never counted before, but now he saw there were over forty—some for water, others for milk.

Scrub-a-dub-dub. All the bottles were washed and sterilized.

His storage still held over a hundred more bottles.

All of them were empty.

Qi Mo took them all out to wash and sterilize, then filled a small portion with fifty-degree warm water.

For most, he mixed in six scoops of formula each.

180 ml—that’ll do. No need to stuff him full.

Some porridge and noodles later would round it out.

He stored everything back in his space.

Now, he waited for the boiled water to cool.

Someone knocked on the courtyard gate. Qi Mo glanced at his child, who was pushing a basketball around in the living room, then closed the door.

"What’s up?" Qi Mo asked.

A voice outside yelled, "Pickle jar delivery!"

Hearing this, Qi Mo opened the gate.

A handcart sat there, stacked with a dozen rotund ceramic jars.

"Bring them in, bring them in!" Qi Mo was delighted.

A hundred per jar, plus five hundred for delivery. These days, cash might as well be toilet paper.

They said back then, you could buy a cow at one end of the street, but by the time you reached the other end, you could only afford a chicken—prices were skyrocketing.

He paid up and waved the delivery guy off.

Then, he scrubbed, sterilized, and rinsed each jar, propping them upside down under the shed to air-dry.

Chen Xia had spotted cops at Qi Mo’s door earlier.

It spooked her so bad she slammed her door shut.

She’d caught wind of Qi Mo’s wanted poster.

Now, with more deliveries showing up, she figured he’d been hauled off—but nope, there he was.

So Qi Mo was in the clear.

After waffling a bit, Chen Xia hollered, "Qi Mo, are you home?"

Hearing her voice, Qi Mo opened the gate and glanced out. "What’s up, Auntie Chen?"

"So, my folks back home grew a ton of radishes, turnip greens, pumpkins, green peppers, and winter melons. Want some? You can come pick ’em, but fair warning—it ain’t cheap," Chen Xia asked.

"Hell yeah," Qi Mo said. "When’s good? Mind if I bring Auntie Wang—y’know, the old clan head’s daughter-in-law?"

"I'll go ask Sister Wang and head over when the sun isn't so strong," Chen Xia said, looking at the good-looking guy in front of her.

Qi Mo replied, "Alright."

At Wang Miaomiao's place, she had just heard the elder mention Qi Mo's situation.

She had just finished cleaning the fish and was about to start preparing it for pickled fish.

After hearing what the old man said, she left the fish to drain and washed her hands before rushing out.

Chen Xia came running up just then. Seeing Wang Miaomiao, she immediately said, "Sister Wang, my folks back home have a bunch of veggies ready to pick—radishes, napa cabbage, pumpkins, green peppers, winter melons. Want some?"

"Definitely. When can we go? You live next to Momo, don’t you? Is he okay? Did the cops come by?" Wang Miaomiao asked.

Chen Xia answered, "Cops did come by, but Qi Mo’s still at home, so he’s fine. I asked if he wanted some veggies from my family, and he said he’d like to go with you."

"That’s a relief, that’s a relief. If they took him away, what would happen to Baby Yan? That kid is so cute and sweet, and Liangzhou isn’t even here," Wang Miaomiao said with concern.

Chen Xia laughed. "Liangzhou’s wife? No need to worry—she’s tough."

Both women chuckled.

Back in the kitchen, Qi Mo checked the water temperature—it was around 60 degrees Celsius.

He took out a stainless steel spoon and placed the baby bottles filled with powdered milk from his inventory space onto the counter.

Then he began pouring in the warm water.

Soon, sixty-some bottles of milk were prepared.

Qi Mo started screwing on the caps, shaking each one before storing them all back in his space.

For dinner, he planned to cook a pot of tofu, lean meat, and preserved egg congee.

He took out the preserved eggs, washed them, and began peeling them.

Baby Yan crawled over and tugged at his dad’s pants. Not feeling steady enough, the little one pulled himself up unsteadily by holding onto the cabinet under the stove.

Qi Mo looked down at him. "Be a good boy, Baby Yan. Daddy’s peeling eggs right now. Play by yourself for a bit, and I’ll play with you when I’m done."

He crouched down and kissed Baby Yan’s cheek.

Getting his cheeks smooched by Dad, Baby Yan grinned widely. He crawled back to the living room to play with his basketball, pushing it all the way to the kitchen where his daddy was.

Qi Mo teased him a bit by kicking the ball back into the living room.

Baby Yan let out a frantic “da-da-da” at the runaway ball and wobbled after it to bring it back...

Father and son kept at it—one kicking the ball away, the other chasing it back.

Baby Yan had a hard time crawling after it.

Because the ball never listened—when he wanted it to go left, it stubbornly rolled right.

At four o’clock, Chen Xia shouted from the front gate.

Qi Mo responded, "Aunt Chen, wait a moment. I’ll just change Baby Yan’s diaper and be right out."

"Sure thing, no rush. I’ll catch up with Sister Wang," Chen Xia said.

Qi Mo picked up the crawling baby and held him in his arms, then changed his diaper, washed the baby’s hands, face, and feet…

After properly tending to the baby’s bottom, he put on a fresh diaper, dressed him in long pants, long sleeves, tiny socks, little sandals, and stuck on a mosquito repellent patch.

Qi Mo went to check on the quail chicks and found them cheeping away, seeming comfortable in their new environment.

After tossing a handful of millet for them, he wheeled the chubby baby out in the stroller.

He loaded the stroller onto the tricycle and opened the courtyard gate, where Auntie Chen and Auntie Wang were already waiting.

“Momo, here’s the thing—my family’s place is short-handed. Just pick whatever you like, and we’ll weigh everything at the end,” Auntie Chen explained the arrangement.

The truck couldn’t get through because Chen Xia’s family mainly grew vegetables.

Originally, these vegetables were meant for delivery to the city.

But now, with limited manpower for transport, it made more sense to let villagers pick them right here instead.

“No problem, I don’t mind the hassle. If there’s something available, I’ll take it,” Qi Mo replied.

Then he turned to Wang Miaomiao and asked, “Auntie Wang, since you grow veggies at home, what are you planning to buy?”

“I’ll get some pumpkins, radishes, and turnips—I don’t have much of those at home. Does your family have plenty of potatoes? Any ears of corn or peppers? Those would be useful,” Auntie Wang inquired, looking at Chen Xia.

Chen Xia replied, “My family doesn’t grow potatoes, but there are hundreds of acres of sandy soil planted with potatoes nearby. I can ask around.”

“As for ears of corn, our neighbors grow them—both sweet corn and black corn,” she added.

Hearing this, Qi Mo said, “Let’s head out! We’ll buy radishes, turnips, and ears of corn.”

These were all great staples. Auntie Wang was sharper than most—ears of corn and potatoes kept well long-term.

Radishes and turnips could also be pickled.

Most rural families grew their own rice fields, and now that many had children working outside, they kept their crops for themselves rather than selling them.

Every household had at least several hundred pounds of grain stored, if not thousands.

At his place, apart from the previously purchased 40 pounds of rice and 20 pounds of flour, there was also a rice jar in the kitchen holding about 40–50 pounds.

It was probably fragrant rice gifted by villagers during ancestral worship.

There was also a half-bag of flour, a bag of cornmeal, and some sweet potato noodles.

Plus, they had some cured pork and sausages.

With a little more stocking up and careful rationing, it felt like they could last until the extreme heat passed.

Chenjia Village was a bit farther than Huangjia Village. After riding the tricycle for over 20 minutes, they didn’t enter the village but went straight to the fields.

They took a small path below the chicken farm, which was only passable by tricycle.

Qi Mo gave the baby his sippy cup filled with water.

Pushing the tricycle along, he noticed the road was quite wide.

Nowadays, there were no cars—just bicycles, tricycles, and even many people pulling shopping carts to pick vegetables.

Many vegetable farmers stood at the greenhouse entrance shouting, "Ten bucks a pound, ten bucks a pound—pick your own!"

"Sweet, sandy-soil watermelons—grab a few for a sweet treat!" A melon farmer by the roadside, surrounded by piles of watermelons, called out.

Qi Mo glanced around—it was a makeshift farmers' market.

There was even pork for sale, though the price was outrageous—already shot up to eighty or ninety bucks a pound.

"Grapes, freshly picked grapes!" Vendors kept shouting.

Seeing Qi Mo distracted, Wang Miaomiao called out, "Momo, veggies first. We’ll get fruit later—it won’t stay fresh long."

Qi Mo thought it made sense. He could come back tomorrow to buy more. Without shipping to the cities, how much could the village even go through?

Food came first—they had to keep up appearances, after all.

Soon, Qi Mo followed Auntie Chen to her family’s farmland.

After getting the stroller out, Qi Mo locked the vehicle.

A huge open field of veggies, filled with radishes, and across from them, corn.

Heaps of crisp, fresh radishes sat by the field’s edge.

"The radishes are here. The pumpkins are in the greenhouse, over there," Chen Xia pointed to a few greenhouses not far away.

Wang Miaomiao suggested, "Let’s pick the pumpkins first, then pull the radishes."

Qi Mo naturally didn’t object. He pushed the stroller into the pumpkin greenhouse.

The pumpkins were all fist-sized, maybe a little bigger.

Qi Mo took the large burlap sack handed by Chen Xia, pushed the stroller forward, and stopped at a spot dense with pumpkins. He pulled out shears—snip, snip, snip…

In minutes, he’d cleared a whole section.

A hundred pounds of pumpkins, a hundred pounds of radishes, fifty pounds of mustard greens.

Two burlap sacks were packed tight.

Qi Mo paid up, then moved on to the cornfield.

Sweet corn and black corn—a hundred pounds of each.

It cost more than the pumpkins and radishes—twenty-one bucks a pound.

He forked over wads of cash.

Qi Mo’s trike was piled high with four bulging sacks.

Over an hour passed. The sun dipped low, the sky on fire—another dry, perfect evening, no sign of rain.

Call it a day, or keep going? Wang Miaomiao asked. She’d bought way less than Qi Mo—prices were killer.

She’d only grabbed half as much.

Since Chen Xia was home, she didn’t pay a dime. After grabbing her share, she pitched in for Qi Mo.

"Auntie Wang, not getting any peppers?" Qi Mo asked.

Auntie Wang shook her head. "Too expensive. I still have some at home—they'll last me."

Qi Mo nodded. "I'll go buy some grapes and watermelons."

Extricating the cart from the jumble of bikes and strollers, Qi Mo quickly bought ten watermelons and two boxes of grapes by the roadside.

When they reached home and parted ways with Aunties Wang and Chen, Qi Mo gave each of them a watermelon.

You can't go wrong with gifts.

Seeing the two aunties all smiles, Qi Mo felt quite pleased.

Without these well-informed aunties, he'd be clueless—other than the town, he wouldn’t know where to buy anything.

Watermelons weren’t cheap either now—the small ones ran seventy, the big ones a hundred.

That was for six-to-seven-pounders versus ten-pounders.

Shutting the yard gate, Qi Mo unloaded the goods under the shed.

During the day, folks could spot his shed from their windows or roofs.

So after storing everything under the shed, Qi Mo headed out with the trike again.

Baby Yan chattered away excitedly, and Qi Mo said, "Baby Yan, let's go cut some pine branches. We can use them to smoke the chicken and fish tomorrow."

The tricycle rounded the mountain bend, opening up to a big patch of woods, mostly pine trees.

You couldn't just chop trees down, but gathering fallen branches was okay.

Qi Mo used a sickle tied to a bamboo pole to pull down brittle, brown pine branches one by one.

He also kicked any pinecones on the ground into a pile to collect later.

Inside the stroller, Baby Yan watched pinecone after pinecone roll toward him, dying to climb down and pick them up. But he was strapped in—aside from fussy chirping, there was nothing he could do.

Crying? As a big boy, Baby Yan didn’t cry unless he was hurt or hungry.

Spotting several fallen, dried-up pine trees in the woods, Qi Mo quickly tucked them into his storage—these would be enough for smoking.

Soon, Qi Mo tied up the branches and gathered the pinecones near Baby Yan into a bag.

As the last daylight slipped away, Qi Mo finally made it home.

He opened the courtyard gate.

The pine branches were left in the yard.

The sky darkened, and the moon, big as a dinner plate, shone brightly.

The starry sky meant good weather tomorrow.

Qi Mo took Baby Yan inside, lit the kerosene lamp, filled a pot, rinsed the rice, and dumped it in, then lit the gas with a match to start the congee simmering...

Baby Yan noisily gulped from his bottle, his mouth too full to babble.

Qi Mo took out a piece of pork tenderloin, washed the cutting board clean, diced the meat, then retrieved a manual meat grinder, placed the meat inside, and cranked it until ground meat emerged from the other end.

Qi Mo thought he should buy a quern—then he could grind soy milk as well as wheat and cornmeal.

He would check tomorrow. He remembered that beyond the pine forest there had once been a stone workshop, one that carved tombstones and water troughs. It seemed they handled anything related to stone.

He wondered if they had a quern. He hoped so—he wanted to get one as soon as possible and start making soy milk.

Aunt Huang from the supermarket had given him plenty of beans.

He also had many stored in his personal space.

After grinding the entire pork tenderloin into paste, Qi Mo took out some cooking wine, a bit of starch, sliced several pieces of ginger, and massaged the mixture thoroughly.

The meat was prepared and set aside.

Next came the preserved eggs. For a large pot, two eggs would be enough for taste.

Expectant fathers shouldn’t eat too many preserved eggs—better not risk making the baby not as smart.

Then came the tofu.

Dice and blanch it, and once the congee thickened, it would be ready to add.

Should he throw in some shrimp?

Yes.

Qi Mo pulled out a dozen fresh shrimp from his space.

Putting on gloves, he snipped off the heads, peeled the shells, and deveined them.

After washing, dicing, and tossing with wine, they were ready.

Everything was prepped and good to go.

Someone knocked at the courtyard gate.

Qi Mo lit a candle and placed it on the counter—soothing light for the baby.

Holding the lantern, he walked to the door and asked, “Who is it?”

“It’s Aunt Huang,” she whispered.

Upon hearing this, Qi Mo quickly opened the gate.

Aunt Huang and her husband carried two large woven bags of supplies.

“Qi Mo, things are getting bad out there—you need to be careful. Supplies are even harder to find now; everything is controlled, and rationing might come next. My neighbor’s son just brought his entire family back—the city is falling apart. Those in high-rise buildings without air conditioning or elevators, some have already died from heatstroke,” Aunt Huang said in a hushed voice.

Qi Mo had lived through this before.

Once water ran out completely, people would flood into the countryside.

High-rise cities would become uninhabitable zones.

“Here are some supplies. Hide them well. Don’t let anyone know we gave them to you,” she whispered again.

Qi Mo nodded. “I understand. I’ll say I had these stocked earlier, or bought them when I first arrived.”

Aunt Huang smiled and patted Qi Mo's shoulder. "Take care, and wait for Liangzhou to come home."

Qi Mo lowered his voice. "Aunt Huang’s poultry farm is just up ahead—about a kilometer away. See if you can still buy eggs and chickens. Things are only going to get worse, not better. Huang Village is selling fish today, and they should have more tomorrow. Aunt Wang, the one who went to the supermarket with you, made pickled fish. Chen Village is selling vegetables—corn, pumpkins, and lots of other things. You should stock up."

"If you’ve got connections, stock up on smokes, booze, and meds. And make sure to prepare plenty of water—preferably bottled. These’ll be like gold later—great for trading." Qi Mo shared his insights with Aunt Huang.

After hearing this, Aunt Huang said, "Alright, I’ll go see if I can buy some eggs and chickens now. Tomorrow, I’ll get fish, pumpkins, and corn."

After seeing Aunt Huang off, Qi Mo closed the courtyard gate.

He then stashed the corn, radishes, and watermelons from under the parking shed into his storage space.

He laid out some corn to dry on the ground while placing some radishes and cabbage in the wash basin—he’d clean and pickle them when he had time the next day.

Back inside, Qi Mo unpacked what Aunt Huang had given him.

A jumbo pack of tissues, several packs of wet wipes, a pack of disinfectant wipes, six bags of milk powder, over a dozen packs of salt, about half a kilogram of granulated sugar, around a kilogram of white sugar, a bottle of floral water, and a hefty slab of cured meat.

There were also braised eggs, chicken drumsticks, duck feet and wings, pickled chicken feet, cured pork belly, sausages, jelly, biscuits, sunflower seeds, milk candies, chocolates, chips, and even river snail noodles and instant noodles...

Qi Mo suspected these were things Aunt Huang had stored at home.

He placed some in the kitchen and stored the rest in his space.

He was in her debt big time.

He’d pay her back once supplies got even scarcer.

Lately, everyone was scrambling to stock up, so things were crazy.

Yams were a good bet—he’d heard they kept forever. He wondered if Chen Village had any.

Qi Mo checked the bubbling pot, gave it a stir—still too thin—so he kept it simmering on low heat.

Finally free, Qi Mo started playing with the baby.

The kiddo was fed up with sitting in the cart and had thrown his bottle on the ground. Luckily, the bottle was sturdy, or it would’ve shattered into pieces.

Tweaking the baby’s nose, Qi Mo joked, “You tossed your bottle—guess you’re not hungry, huh?”

"Ba-ba-ba..." The baby reached out with chubby hands. Being stuck in there was the worst—no fun at all.

Qi Mo picked him up and took him to the rooftop.

They both took a bath.

Then Qi Mo remembered he’d forgotten to do laundry today—he’d have to wake up early tomorrow to wash.

Back downstairs, he tossed the clothes into the laundry basket.

Freshly bathed, Qi Mo set the baby on the playmat and folded all the dust covers piled on the sofa, storing them in the cabinet.

The congee had thickened, so Qi Mo added the tofu, minced meat, and shrimp, stirring in some wine.

About ten minutes later, he added the last of the preserved eggs, stirred, and two minutes later, it was ready to serve.

He stashed the whole pot in his storage—ready to dish out a bowl whenever.

A bowl of congee, a steak, two sunny-side-ups, some broccoli, and a few greens. Qi Mo patted his full belly, rinsed off some grapes, and dug in.

Baby Yan ate over half a bowl of porridge, half a poached egg, and a few pieces of green vegetable leaves.

The grapes were a bit sour, and Baby Yan didn’t like them. His tiny brows scrunched up, his mouth tightly shut—even when Daddy tried to feed him, he refused. Baby Yan wouldn’t eat, no matter what. He was a stubborn little guy.

Faced with his defiant toddler, Qi Mo ate all the grapes himself.

Carrying Baby Yan upstairs, Qi Mo lay down on the big bed, exhausted. His body begged for rest, for rest…

While Qi Mo rested in bed, many people in Huo Village couldn’t sleep as prices were soaring out of control.

They didn’t have much cash on hand, and they couldn’t access their bank savings at all.

Money in the bank was useless without cash on hand.

When they asked the bank, the bank said there was nothing they could do—they could only withdraw money once power was restored.

If the power never returned, their money was stuck for good.

Whether in the city or the countryside, panic spread everywhere…

Peach Blossom Town, Police Station.

Middle-aged officer Wang Cheng demanded of the chief angrily, “What do you mean you can’t issue an arrest warrant? He killed people—five of them!”

Chief Huang Ming frowned at Wang Cheng’s relentless shouting. “A man on the road at night with a baby just waltzed into a melon shed and killed five people? Who’d buy that? Besides, the arrest warrant wasn’t issued properly. The case hasn’t been fully investigated, and there’s no conviction. How can we arrest him? Innocent until proven guilty—ever heard of it? Or do you want to rewrite the Constitution? If so, I suggest you get a higher rank first.” Huang Ming slammed his palm on the desk, his expression cold.

Young officer Cheng Fei stood outside the door, confused as to why his senior Wang Cheng was so hell-bent on going after Qi Mo.

The man’s baby was only nine months old, and even the chief said the Zhang family in Wuli Village was just a bunch of lowlifes pulling shady stunts. But they had powerful backing and only bullied those without influence, allowing them to get away with anything.

But clearly, this time, they’d messed with the wrong person.

Cheng Fei smacked his thigh—of course! Was Huo Liangzhou someone you crossed lightly?

If the arrest warrant hadn’t been issued, Huo Liangzhou might not have known Qi Mo was in trouble. If the people from Wuli Village had quietly tried to capture him, they might have succeeded.

But once the warrant was issued, Huo Liangzhou noticed immediately. Even if Huo Liangzhou wasn’t keen on Qi Mo’s aversion to sharing a bed, that baby—since Huo Liangzhou had allowed the baby to be born, he must have some affection for him.

Besides, Cheng Fei had heard that Huo Liangzhou had apparently put Qi Mo in the family registry almost immediately.

If he was in the registry, how could he not care?

So once Huo Liangzhou learned the truth, Cheng Fei even started to worry about the people in Wuli Village.

That’s right—Huo Liangzhou hadn’t made a move against Chen Feng, Qi Huai, or Jiang Nuan yet.

But Qi Huai wasn’t doing well. Several days had passed, and the wound inflicted by Qi Mo hadn’t healed—in fact, the swelling had worsened to the point where he could barely move. He was in bad shape.

The doctor told Qi Huai that if things didn’t improve, he might lose the use of his hand.

Wuli Village.

Village Chief Zhang Qiang looked at his returning son and asked, “Did you find out where Qi Mo went?”

Zhang Xiong replied, “Dad, Qi Mo is Huo Liangzhou’s spouse. If we mess with him, won’t there be consequences? Even the arrest warrant was revoked—his connections are strong too.”

Zhang Qiang explained, “I asked around. The warrant got tossed on a technicality, not because of Huo Liangzhou’s clout. It was because he has a sharp lawyer who picked it apart.”

Hearing his father’s explanation, Zhang Xiong breathed easier.

Huo Liangzhou holds power in Jiangcheng, which is very close to them. If they provoke him, it would indeed be troublesome.

After all, he has serious power.

But they’re no pushovers either.

"We still haven’t found out where Qi Mo went. According to those who saw him, he was moving northeast. That means Qi Mo wasn’t going to Jiangcheng but somewhere else," Zhang Xiong said.

Zhang Qiang frowned upon hearing this. "Then where would he go?"

"I heard Huo Liangzhou is from Yuncheng," Zhang Xiong replied.

Zhang Qiang frowned further. "Where in Yuncheng? Cars aren’t an option now, and it’s too hot to ride a bike."

Seeing his father’s determination to go to Yuncheng, Zhang Xiong said, "Dad, we don’t have to rush to avenge A’Cheng."

"The higher-ups say it might not rain for the next year. By then, there’ll be shortages of both water and food. We should stock up on supplies first. With enough water and food, we won’t be short on people to boss around," Zhang Xiong continued.

Zhang Qiang glanced at his son, fighting back his anger. Unable to hold back, he finally barked, "That was my grandson—your son! He’s dead, and you still have the mind to think about other things? We’ll prepare supplies, but we’ll also send people out. The revenge must happen!"

Zhang Xiong, faced with his father’s lion-like fury, could only relent. "I’ll scout around for information first."

"Get moving, now!" Zhang Qiang impatiently shooed his son away.

Under the cover of darkness, several shadowy figures crept into Zhangjia Village…

That same night, Zhang Xiong, who had gone out to scout around, broke his leg.

Zhang Qiang, getting up in the middle of the night, slipped in the bathroom and hit the back of his head on the floor. When he woke up, half his body wouldn’t move.

In no time, the Zhang family was left with deaths, injuries, and disabilities.

But their reputation still held sway. Early the next morning, several Zhang family members set off for Yuncheng on bicycles to investigate Qi Mo’s whereabouts.

The lives of five young Zhang men—this debt will be paid in blood.

Meanwhile, Baby Yan, having slept for quite a while, wasn’t tired yet.

He crawled up, smooshed a wet kiss on his daddy’s face, and giggled, "Da-da!" Then another kiss, another "Da-da!"

Qi Mo was left with a face full of drool.

He got annoyed. *Biting me? Biting me?!* He grabbed Baby Yan’s chubby little hand, and the two began their usual slobber fight—one bite from the baby, one bite from Qi Mo. Their attacks were totally harmless, leaving nothing but saliva behind.

"Baby, you’ve been saying ‘Da-da’ for almost a month now. Shouldn’t you try a new word? Like ‘Daddy’… ‘Daddy’…" Qi Mo tried to persuade, pressing a hand against the baby’s face.

Baby Yan, hearing his daddy’s words, just babbled louder. "Da-da! Da-da!"

*Da-da* sounded much better than *Daddy*—Baby Yan loved this word.

Qi Mo gave up. "Fine, *Da-da* it is. Or… how about ‘Didi’? Come on, say ‘Didi’… or ‘Die-die’?"

He kept trying with his nine-month-old, only to realize his stubborn munchkin didn’t care. No matter how much Qi Mo tried, Baby Yan just kept saying "Da-da."

Qi Mo resigned himself to it.

Grabbing Baby Yan’s hand, he pressed it to his mouth and blew a raspberry…

Instantly, a bubbly “blurp” sound came out, making Baby Yan giggle happily.

After playing with the baby for a while, Qi Mo gently tapped Baby Yan’s nose and said, “Alright, kiddo, bedtime. Tomorrow we’ve got laundry to do, shopping to run, and supplies to prepare for the scorching dry season.”

With a few pats on Baby Yan’s plump bottom, the chubby little one soon stopped squirming—he was fast asleep.

Qi Mo was out like a light too.

They slept soundly through the night.

Huo Jingzhong waited endlessly. He had already lined up some contacts to help capture Qi Mo, but after waiting around all day, he found Qi Mo still at home, unharmed.

That left Huo Jingzhong totally stumped—why hadn’t they arrested him yet if there was a warrant out?

Before dawn, he hopped on his bike again to go ask his contacts what was going on.

Qi Mo woke up early, before the sky fully brightened, carried Baby Yan downstairs, and strapped him into the stroller.

He draped a small blanket over the baby’s tummy and left him under the laundry shed.

Quickly rinsing both his and Baby Yan’s clothes, he found they weren’t too dirty—mostly just sweat marks—so a bit of detergent and scrubbing got the job done.

Once he hung them up to dry,

he brought out the smoking rack.

It was an alloy frame, rectangular, about two meters long, with horizontal bars that could be adjusted in height. Each bar had hooks for hanging meat.

Putting on gloves, he pulled the chickens from the concentrated saltwater where they’d soaked for a full day and night,

then hung them on the hooks.

Fifty chickens filled six rows—about half the rack.

Then he added ten fish to drain, and took out his razor-sharp knife to make shallow cuts in the flesh, helping them dry faster.

Once some moisture had drained off, he spritzed the meat lightly with liquor to prevent spoilage.

This wasn’t the ideal time for smoking, but given the weather, there was no choice in the matter.

After a full day drying in the sun, once most of the moisture was gone, the meat could be turned into jerky.

It’d taste good—no matter how bad it ended up being, it would definitely beat human flesh, Qi Mo thought darkly as he eyed the rack.

The concentrated brine used for marinating the fish and chicken still contained ginger, scallions, and liquor—Qi Mo didn’t throw it away. Instead, he stashed it in his storage space; it might come in handy later.

Pushing the stroller back inside, Qi Mo fixed himself a bowl of last night’s porridge, a box of potstickers, and two poached eggs, eating until he was full.

Finally, he chugged a bottle of milk, rubbing his full belly with satisfaction. He needed to build up strength to survive the brutal heat.

Early that morning, Wang Miaomiao got up with her daughter. Even her husband had come along today.

The night before, her daughter—who worked in Yuncheng—had taken leave and rushed back home.

According to her, in recent days, without electricity, high-rise elevators were dead and water access had become difficult—some upper floors had already run dry.

Without air conditioning or water, high-rises turned into steamers, causing dehydration, heatstroke—even death.

In the company dormitory where she lived, the family opposite hers had lost their elders and kids.

Scared stiff, she hauled her bike and bolted back that night.

Society was already breaking down. Without phones in high-rises, there was no way to call for help—people were dying from the brutal heat and thirst.

So early in the morning, Huo Xiaoyu urged her parents to hurry and stock up on supplies. Money wasn’t the problem.

The problem was that soon, money would be too rough to wipe your ass with.

Plenty of cash, but nothing to buy.

In the city, water was already rationed—forget about food. With transportation disrupted and vehicles unusable, city stockpiles would be gone in no time.

Now, transporting food for millions—hell, even hundreds of thousands—of people wasn’t easy.

Plus, no rain meant no harvest. If they didn’t stock up now, they might never get the chance again.

“Momo! You awake? I’m heading to Chen Family Village to sell vegetables. Chen Xia, you awake?” Wang Miaomiao shouted between the two houses.

Chen Xia quickly opened the door upon hearing the call.

Meanwhile, Qi Mo was already up with Baby Yan, doing diaper duty.

“Aunt Wang, you go on ahead. I need to feed Baby Yan first, then I’ll catch up,” Qi Mo said, popping the bottle into the baby’s mouth.

Wang Miaomiao replied, “Alright, you know the way. Come over when you’re ready.”

Huo Xiaoyu eyed the grand villa in front of her. “Mom, is Momo Huo Liangzhou’s wife? Did he come back?”

Wang Miaomiao nodded. “He returned just a couple of days ago. A young guy with a baby, unfamiliar with the place. Liangzhou hasn’t come back, so I’ve been helping him out. That half melon you ate last night? Momo gave it to us. The kid insisted, even though I told him not to.”

“He’s a good person, with a great personality, and Baby Yan is absolutely adorable. You’ll love him when you see him—big eyes, ridiculously cute.” Wang Miaomiao couldn’t help but gush about Baby Yan.

Even though the listener was her own daughter.

Huo Xiaoyu’s eye twitched. Anyone would think Momo was your daughter, the way you’re going on!

Qi Mo fed Baby Yan half a bowl of porridge, then gave him a bottle and slathered on sunscreen. He put on a sun hat for himself but skipped the sunscreen—for the baby’s health, even if there were harmless cosmetics, none was safest. A tan might help with the brutal heat...

Pedaling a trike loaded with sacks and baskets, Qi Mo locked the courtyard gate and set off.

He first went to the quarry, thinking it was too early for anyone to be there, but an old man was already chipping away at rocks.

The electric grinder sat abandoned.

Qi Mo got off and called out, “Grandpa, do you sell small stone mills here?”

The old man, clinking away at the rocks, stood up and looked at the good-looking guy. “Yes, what size do you need?”

“Fifty centimeters. How much?” Qi Mo pushed the tricycle closer.

The old man quickly explained, “A fifty-centimeter one goes for two hundred. Want it? If so, I’ll load it up for you.”

Qi Mo was thrilled—there was actually stock available.

“Yes, please load it up for me, Grandpa. I’ve got the cash,” Qi Mo said.

Soon, the old man went to fetch a small fifty-centimeter millstone and asked Qi Mo to test it out.

Qi Mo gave it a try and figured it was okay, though he didn’t really know much about it.

But the old man definitely did. If it worked, that was good enough. Something like this would probably outlast him by three generations—solid stuff.

Qi Mo paid up and then took off on his bike.

Along the way, he stashed the small millstone away.

There were no cameras here—at all. Without electricity, surveillance wouldn’t work anyway.

No risk of getting caught.

The tricycle soon arrived at Chen Village.

Qi Mo first went to Chen Xia’s parents’ house to ask where Aunt Chen had gone.

When he learned they’d gone to dig potatoes, he immediately went looking for Aunt Chen and Aunt Wang.

Past the watermelon field was a huge potato field, fully planted and bustling with people digging.

Qi Mo parked the tricycle, locked it up, and wheeled the stroller over, calling out, “Momo! Come on over—the boss said we can dig ourselves, five bucks a pound.”

Aunt Wang paused her hoeing and smiled. “Momo, you’re here! Come quickly—the boss said we can dig ourselves, five bucks a pound.”

“I don’t have a hoe,” Qi Mo replied.

“I brought one for you, don’t worry. Xiaoyu, get Momo a hoe!” Aunt Wang called to her daughter.

Normally, a field this size could be harvested in a few days with a potato digger.

Now, the boss must’ve been stressed out trying to hire workers—it was expensive, and who knew how long it would take?

Letting customers dig themselves and charging by weight saved him so much trouble.

Plus, more people meant faster work.

Once done, he could head home. Outside, people were on edge, and the situation was unclear.

One swing of the hoe, and four or five—even six—potatoes the size of baby’s feet came popping out. It was a pleasant surprise, that harvest thrill.

Even if he had to pay, in his past life, even with cash, you couldn’t find potatoes to dig.

Hunger could make you crazy.

Back then, seeing human flesh made his mouth water—only just enough sense kept him from going through with it.

This time around, Qi Mo would never go down that road again.

After digging for ten minutes, he gave the little one some water, then pulled a towel from the basket under the stroller to wipe his sweat. He chugged a bottle of water.

Then he started collecting his haul—one potato, two potatoes… until the sack was half-full.

He dragged the sack and the stroller forward and kept digging.

Huo Xiaoyu and the others had brought water but forgot tissues or towels to wipe sweat.

She walked over and looked at the pretty, delicate guy who looked barely grown. She asked awkwardly, “Momo, do you have any tissues? We forgot to bring some—this sweat in my eyes is really annoying.”

When he heard this, Qi Mo said, "Yeah, hold on a sec."

He unzipped the storage compartment under the baby cart and pulled out half a package of tissues. "Take some for yourself, and give a few to your parents too. Auntie Chen, want some?"

Huo Xiaoyu replied, "Thanks, Momo."

Chen Xia immediately rushed over and snagged five or six sheets, wiping the sweat from her forehead first.

"Don't mention it," Qi Mo said. "Auntie Wang's helped me a lot. Auntie Wang, Auntie Chen, how much are you planning to dig?"

Wang Miaomiao wiped her brow and answered, "As much as we can get. We'll keep it in the basement, cover it with sand—it’ll last months."

The Elder Clan Leader’s family did grow potatoes,

but not many—just over a dozen rows, which'd give maybe two hundred pounds tops.

There were seven mouths to feed at home already, and later their son’s in-laws might come too—making nine altogether.

That’s eighteen pounds a day.

What they dug up would only last them maybe ten days.

They still had seven-eight hundred pounds of grain at home, but only about a hundred pounds was milled rice—the rest was still in the husk.

Unhusked grain keeps well, and would still be good come next year.

There were also some odds and ends adding up to another hundred or so pounds, but that wasn’t nearly enough to feed nine people for a whole year.

The early rice wouldn’t be ready until July—still a good twenty days out.

If it didn’t rain, it shouldn’t hurt the crop too bad.

Her family had planted a little over an acre of early rice, which, if things went smooth, should bring in about a thousand pounds.

But eight hundred and eighteen pounds for nine people all year? Nowhere near enough.

Potatoes buried in sand could last at least three months.

If things got worse and no rain meant no planting, Wang Miaomiao decided to eat the potatoes first and save the long-keeping grains.

Qi Mo dug two sacks of potatoes, a good two hundred pounds.

"Auntie Wang, Auntie Chen, I’m gonna grab some other stuff now," he called out to the group digging ahead.

Auntie Wang stood up. "It’s almost noon—you better take the baby back before it gets too hot. Don’t want the baby getting heatstroke."

Qi Mo left with the baby.

Luckily, though they had to dig themselves, someone came by to weigh 'em and help cart 'em off.

After shelling out over a thousand yuan, the boss had a worker load the potatoes onto his tricycle.

Qi Mo rode off.

Next, he hit the sandy patch and picked up over a dozen watermelons, then six boxes of grapes and a crate of honeydew melons.

Once the tricycle was full, he grabbed a basket of chili peppers on the way back—they’d be perfect stuffed with meat and pan-fried. Those blistered chili peppers were the best.

He headed home with his haul.

It was midday, and the village was quiet with few people around.

People had either gone to Chen Village or Huang Village.

Huo Village wasn’t in a great location, with small plots of farmland used just for their own food. Most of the young people had gone off to find work, and there was no large-scale farming or livestock breeding.

However, there was a factory in Yuncheng connected to Huo Village that gave priority to hiring people from the Huo family.

Many young people from Huo Village worked there making furniture—apparently, it was funded by Huo Liangzhou.

That’s why Huo Village, once known as a poor village, now had almost every household building three-story homes.

Some things were stored in the basement, and some went into the storage area.

After sharing a big bowl of pork chop noodles with Zaizai, Qi Dong sprayed baijiu on the chicken and fish that were drying in the sun to prevent spoilage.

Qi Mo collected the clothes that had been drying in the sun.

Then, Qi Mo headed to Huang Village again.

He bought fifty two-pound carps and ten ten-pound black amurs.

Twenty snakeheads were also added to the haul, along with a large basket of river shrimp.

The truck was already packed full, and Zaizai began to protest with rapid “da-da-da” noises—Zaizai was gonna die from the stink!

Watching Zaizai frown and make those cute little “da-da” protests was just too adorable.

"Let's head home now—we won't be coming back to buy fish anymore," Qi Mo said, soothing his protesting little boy.

In the yard, corn and chili peppers were drying under the eaves.

Qi Mo was prepping the fish.

The river shrimp had already been stored away in his inventory.

He spent the whole afternoon prepping fish.

After processing all fifty carp, Qi Mo took out a packet of seasonings for pickling sour fish, slathered the mixture onto each fish, stuffed them into jars, and sealed them shut.

Some of the black carp and catfish were soaked in brine to be sun-dried and made into dried fish the next day.

By evening, Qi Mo had finally cleaned up the yard.

The smell of fish still lingered, but luckily, the hot weather had dried out the chickens and fish quite well.

He moved over the pine branches and logs that had been piled in one corner of the yard, then started a fire to smoke the fish.

As smoke curled upward, Yan’s little boy clapped his small hands together excitedly from under the eaves.

Qi Mo turned around, scooped up the child, and carried him up to the third floor for a bath.

Once he’d toweled him off, Qi Mo kept kissing the freshly scrubbed little guy all over, making the boy squirm and babble "da-da" in protest.

Aunt Wang had said she wouldn’t be able to build the heated kang bed for a while—she'd be busy harvesting potatoes for the next few days.

Qi Mo didn’t mind. If no one could build the kang, the fireplace would do just fine.

Huo Jingzhong was pissed off after seeing smoke rising from Qi Mo’s yard. He’d gone to the police station in the morning to meet an old friend but got chewed out instead.

Standing outside the gate, Huo Jingzhong knocked.

Qi Mo, who was preparing to cook, came out upon hearing the noise.

Frowning at Huo Jingzhong standing outside, he asked, “What do you want?”

Huo Jingzhong scratched his head first, putting on a dumb act as he spoke: “Qi Mo, it was our family’s fault before. Don’t hold it against us. My grandson lost his damn mind—we’re real sorry. Thing is, there’s talk of a drought coming, so we need to stock up on food. My cash is tied up in the bank right now and I can’t get to it. Could you lend me some? Once I can access it, I’ll pay you back right away.”

Once the money was in his hands, whether he actually paid it back or not would be entirely up to him.

Greed flashed in Huo Jingzhong’s eyes.

Qi Mo looked at the fake nice-guy act plastered across Huo Jingzhong’s face. If he hadn’t already known this family’s true colors, he might’ve bought it.

“Too bad—you’re outta luck,” Qi Mo shut him down. “I don’t have much cash on hand. The emergency funds at home are almost gone—only about a grand left, and I’m saving that for something urgent. Maybe try asking someone else.”

Huo Jingzhong frowned at his words. “How could you possibly have no money? Huo Liangzhou is Jiangcheng’s richest man—he’s gotta have cash!”

As Huo Jingzhong went off, Qi Mo cut in, “Of course Huo Liangzhou has money, but I’m just the spouse. Besides, I don’t carry much on me—where would I get the funds to lend you?”

“Why don’t you go to Jiangcheng and ask Huo Liangzhou for a loan? He’d definitely lend you money,” Qi Mo suggested.

Huo Jingzhong immediately started cussing up a storm. “If you don’t wanna lend it, just say so! There aren’t even any cars now—how am I supposed to get to Jiangcheng…”

Chen Xia, who had been working all day, stinking of sweat and eating her dinner, rushed out when she heard the commotion from Qi Mo’s side.

Seeing Huo Jingzhong, she immediately asked, concerned, “Momo, are you okay? Huo Jingzhong, what are you doing here?”

“Aunt Chen, he came to borrow money. I said I didn’t have any, and then he started yelling at me, saying I refused to lend it. I really don’t have much cash left—it’s almost all spent. I can’t lend him anything,” Qi Mo explained.

Chen Xia flared up instantly. “Huo Jingzhong, you’ve got some nerve asking a young person for money! What does he owe you? What’s your relationship anyway? You’d better hurry up and repay the village chief and the clan head—and the two thousand you owe me. It’s been four or five years—I almost forgot! Pay up now! I need the money to buy things. If you don’t, I’ll come over and take your grain…”

Qi Mo watched as Huo Jingzhong beat a hasty retreat under Chen Xia’s scolding and gave her a thumbs-up.

“Aunt Chen, you’re amazing,” Qi Mo praised sincerely.

Chen Xia laughed. “Don’t give him any face. He’s borrowed money from half the village and never paid anyone back. The amounts aren’t huge, but they add up. Can’t hit him, and yelling doesn’t hurt. He’s a damn cockroach—can’t bite, but sure knows how to disgust people.”

That evening, the men Huo Liangzhou had sent out finally returned.

Huo Liangzhou looked at the senior security staff. “How did things go?”

The men glanced at him. “Boss Huo, Zhang Qiang is paralyzed on one side, and Zhang Xiong broke his leg. But early this morning, a few guys from Wuli Village left. We found out they’re heading to Yuncheng to find your hometown.”

Huo Liangzhou frowned.

Those Wuli Village pests were absolute scum—even when crippled, they still couldn’t stop causing trouble.

“Old Chen, take a few men to Taohua Town, Yuncheng. Try to cut them off before they get too close. I have some connections there—go find Huang Ming. He runs the police department and will help you,” Huo Liangzhou instructed.

Chen Lei nodded. “On it. I’ll take two men with me. Hold down the fort here while I’m gone.”

Huo Liangzhou nodded.

Watching Old Chen leave, he lit a smoke, only to crush it out again.

He’d sworn off cigarettes after bringing the young master home.