The community worker had made the announcement through a loudspeaker, which was odd. The power had only gone out a few minutes ago. That loudspeaker needed to be plugged in. So how had they managed to use it during a blackout?
Unless they had arranged a separate power supply in advance. Loudspeakers like that require a large power source, probably something like a generator. But who could have pulled out a generator in under a minute, connected it in total darkness, and broadcast a full message right away? The announcement had too much content, too many specific details. If they hadn't been warned beforehand, how could they have said all that so clearly?
That meant one thing: the community staff had known ahead of time.
In her past life, Lan Jin had been too busy struggling to survive to think about these things. But now that she looked back, one suspicious detail after another came to mind.
And then there was the registration. The power had gone out before, but no one had ever come to register anyone during those times. So why now?
Putting all these things together, the picture became clearer.
Since the community was conducting door-to-door registration, Lan Jin and her daughter stayed home. Not that she had planned on going out anyway.
A community covered a large area, but there weren't that many staff. Lan Jin figured they wouldn't arrive so quickly, so she sat on the couch and scrolled through her phone, keeping an eye on news reports about disaster zones around the country.
She ended up scrolling for three hours straight. Finally, just as the sky began to lighten, there was a dull knock at the front security door. Two heavy thumps. Probably the community staff. The dog, Nana, who had been napping by her feet, stood up instantly and looked alertly toward the door.
Lan Jin said softly, "It's probably the community workers. You're still a pup, don't scare them, okay? No barking later."
Who knew if Nana understood, but as Lan Jin moved toward the door, Nana followed closely behind. From outside, a woman's voice called out as she knocked, "Is anyone home? We're from the community. We're doing registration. Anyone inside?"
Before Lan Jin could respond, a man's voice answered from outside as well. "Probably no one. The top three floors here were all in court cases. Who'd still live up there?"
"No one lives here? But I thought someone moved in at the rooftop unit?"
Someone was living on the rooftop? She had been here over a month and hadn't heard a sound. Worried the staff might leave, Lan Jin quickly called out, "We're here, someone's home."
She hurried to the door, unlocked the inner latch, and shone her phone flashlight toward the hallway. Then she asked, "Are you both from the community?"
The pair outside looked a little surprised that someone had answered, but after hearing her question, the man and woman showed the ID cards hanging from their necks. They also raised their red armbands for her to see, confirming their identity as community workers.
Given the chaos lately, it was understandable to be cautious. The staff didn't seem offended by her doubt and patiently explained, "Yes, we're from the community. These are our badges. You don't need to open the door. We just have a few questions. When did you move in? This unit was empty before. Did you register with the community?"
Under the current policies, whenever a household moved into a new residential complex, they were required to complete real-name registration with the local community office. Whether homeowner or tenant, everyone's name would be recorded. Once the registration was complete, residents received a household access card. This card was needed to enter the compound and functioned as an identity pass, enhancing the community's security.
Even temporary visitors needed to apply for a short-term access card. The number of days it would work depended on how many days they registered for. Once it expired, the card would deactivate automatically. Back when she first moved in, Lan Jin had used a temporary card, but after completing registration, she was issued a permanent one.
So yes, Lan Jin had already registered. It had been shortly after the New Year. She even brought sunflower seeds and candy to the office when she went. Sure enough, one of the female staff members recognized her.
"You moved in after New Year, right? I think your last name is Lan?"
"That's right, you remembered." Lan Jin smiled. "I moved in just after the New Year."
The staff member asked again, "How many people live here? Are you the homeowner?"
"I'm the homeowner," Lan Jin replied. "This is my own place. It was renovated last year. I was planning to rent it out, but the layout wasn't great, so no one took it. I ended up moving in myself. Right now it's just me and my child. Oh, and one dog."
As if on cue, the dog by her feet gave a small woof, politely announcing her presence. The staff looked toward the sound. Honestly, the little Rottweiler was only two months old and still quite small. If he hadn't barked, they might not have noticed he at all.
"Do you have a dog license?" one of them asked.
"Yes, I do," Lan Jin replied immediately. She had made sure to get one as soon as the dog came home. Registering a dog was simple now, and since she was officially a dog owner, she wanted to give her pet legal status. It was like a household ID for dogs. Who knew, maybe it would come in handy if the world really collapsed one day.
The staff nodded, satisfied. One of them passed a booklet through the door and said, "Alright, I understand. Here's a form. Just fill it out and sign the bottom. By the way, have you joined the community group and the group for this building? We post updates there all the time. If you're in the group, you can check the latest information any time. But for the important stuff, we still use loudspeakers so no one misses out, even if your phone dies. Also, please keep your household registration book, dog license, and residence permit somewhere safe. You might need them soon."