The moment those words left her mouth, the whole team froze for a few seconds, the silence stretching uncomfortably in the humid air of the cabin. Even the priest looked dumbfounded, his mouth hanging open for a fraction of a second. He lowered his head, his fingers trembling slightly as he slid his sunglasses down to the bridge of his nose, and took a long look at Jing Shu from the corner of his eye before finally saying, "Your eye must not pity. Life for life, eye for eye, tooth for tooth, hand for hand, foot for foot. Those who don't believe in God have already gone to hell."
Jing Shu frowned, the cryptic words making her skin prickle. "What is that supposed to mean?"
Ling Ling stepped forward to explain, her voice low. "It's from the Old Testament, the Book of Deuteronomy. Basically, it means if someone hurts you, you repay them with equal harm. I guess he is saying he has avenged his fallen comrades by sending their enemies to hell."
Jing Shu felt the full impact of what it meant to be uneducated. Damn, not knowing enough could actually make conversations painful.
Monkey grumbled impatiently, his boots scuffing the floor. "Why not just say he killed them all for revenge? What is with all that nonsense no one can understand?"
"If you listen to God's words and act by His teachings, you will gain strength upon strength, grace upon grace, and live under His blessings for life. Otherwise, you will have nothing," the priest said, his hands folded tightly over his Bible. Everyone collectively broke down.
Now that the whole team was finally gathered, it was time to talk about the mission objectives and how they would split tasks. Jing Shu still didn't fully trust this new "teammate," but if he really did avenge his comrades, that was strength in its own way. She couldn't help wondering exactly how he had done it.
Technically speaking, the Zhuangyan Temple they were heading to was about an hour and a half away from downtown New York, nestled in a river valley. The priest led them to his own turf first—a massive Christian church in the heart of the city, its spires reaching toward the grey sky like jagged teeth.
When Jing Shu first arrived in New York, even though it was the apocalypse, the place still shocked her. America was way too wasteful with resources. It was like the city had an endless supply of everything. Despite hearing that the government had imposed power restrictions, most households still managed to generate their own electricity. Lights stayed on 24/7, casting long shadows across the pavement. Machines kept humming nonstop, and the whole city was still bright and colorful like before the end, the neon signs flickering with artificial life.
For the record, America had switched to solar power long ago. Every household had panels glinting on their roofs, and most families lived in villas with their own yards. Now there wasn't much sunlight left, but the faint glow still stored a bit of energy in the storage batteries. Some families even used the bacterial generators she had sold back in Austin, though they weren't popular in the black market there.
But here, in New York, everything looked like pre-apocalypse life had barely been interrupted. She could feel the crowd's energy, the neon glamour, the luxury, the technology—and most of all, how busy everyone was. People here all had jobs to do, their footsteps quick on the concrete.
But the crime rate was insane. Even inside the government-controlled zones, gunshots and screams broke out now and then, the sharp sounds piercing the night and making Jing Shu put on her bulletproof helmet just in case. Supermarkets and large stores were mostly split between government control and capitalist food merchants who had started minting their own currencies. The old-world money was completely worthless now, nothing more than scrap paper blowing in the gutters.
Even though America had once been the world's top economy, with the most advanced pharma and tech industries, its productivity had dropped to a fraction of what it used to be. The stubborn refusal to adjust prices led to partial economic collapse and chaos. That was why New York was now a mess of factions, each with its own currency—more than twenty kinds in total, all officially recognized. And of course, you could exchange between them, but only by paying a ridiculous service fee.
When Jing Shu's team first arrived, they couldn't do a thing. No money, no access. Since they didn't have green cards or visas, they were labeled as "illegal foreign intruders." Staying in New York meant paying a fee. You could trade goods for it, as long as they were strategic materials, or work part-time—or even join as government mercenaries.
For convenience, they used the food they had looted along the way to trade for official government-issued currency, then used that to apply for a "seven-day visa." Now they were legally allowed to stay in New York. The stolen car they had been driving ran out of fuel, the engine sputtering to a stop.
At the gas station, the smell of fumes hanging heavy, payment required "gasoline coins," issued by EP Corporation, America's oil monopoly. One liter equaled one gasoline coin. You could trade for gasoline coins using equal-value goods or exchange other currencies—1.2 government coins for 1 gasoline coin. So they exchanged some, the metal coins clinking in their hands.
Likewise, 1.2 gasoline coins equaled 1 government coin, and 1.2 government coins equaled 1 food coin. The capitalists made huge profits on every exchange, bleeding ordinary citizens dry with endless fees. This forced people into three options—work for the food merchants, work for the government, or work for the capitalists.
Banks had long stopped dealing in money. Now their businesses were things like "Deposit rice, get free wheat," or "Borrow wheat with low interest," or "Store your food for one year interest-free."
Seriously, the saying was right: no matter the world's state, the rich always live comfortably. America's current system was basically a group of ugly capitalists with the word "money-grab" written across their faces. They didn't even do the grabbing themselves—they had the people do it for them.
Inside the massive church, many believers were still praying, their heads bowed in the pews. Smiling nuns passed by, their habits rustling softly as they greeted them kindly. The priest led Jing Shu and the others into a small, empty chapel, the air cooler here. Along the way, she learned that he was the manager of one of New York's most famous churches and was about to be promoted to bishop. For a Chinese guy to climb that high here—that took serious skill.
Yang Yang spread out a map on the altar table, the paper crinkling under his fingers, and pointed to a corner.
"The priest will take the nuns to Zhuangyan Temple two days from now. The matter of reclaiming the cauldron is up to the monk. Five years ago, he lost it in a bet. Now he will bet again to win it back. If he wins, we take the cauldron. If he loses, we grab it by force."
Ling Ling frowned, her eyes fixed on the map. "What if they refuse to hand it over even if they lose?"
Yang Yang smiled faintly. "They won't. They know the cauldron only works with a special formula, and they also know we still have to find that person. Even if we win and lose it again later, it will still end up back in their hands eventually."