Liu Tiantian's remark was met with a barrage of ridicule from the men in the group."It's the end of the world — who's still coddling you 'little fairies' now?""Heh, do you really think you're that important?""You want us to risk our lives for you? Do you deserve it?"
Uncle You, the retired soldier and community security guard, who'd tried to steer things toward action, went quiet. He didn't have the gift of gab; when words failed him, he stopped arguing.
Zhang Yi watched the owner group with amusement. The chat had become the best entertainment available—human stupidity on full display. In his view, most of them were asking for trouble. The verbal melee grew nastier, and whatever purpose the group had started with was long forgotten. For the first time in days, people had a place to vent every nasty thought they'd been bottling up, and they poured it all out.
Putting his phone aside, Zhang Yi went to the kitchen. Despite having a dimensional space stocked with ready meals, he liked to cook sometimes — a small luxury that made life feel human. He pulled fresh potatoes, scallions, ginger and garlic from his store like they'd been plucked that morning; the beef brisket looked bright and tender. He braised the brisket with potatoes, borrowing the technique from dìguō jī (dry-pot chicken) and pressed some pancakes to the edge of the pot so they steamed and soaked up the gravy.
As the kitchen warmed the apartment, his phone filled with messages again — Fang Yuqing and Lin Caining this time. Their tone had changed from scheming to pleading. Chen Zhenghao's killings had put blood in their mouths for safety, and their pleas were trembling with honest fear.
"Zhang Yi, no matter how we fought before, you once said you liked me, right?" Fang Yuqing wrote. "You can't just watch me die."
"Please, save me," Lin Caining added bluntly. "Let me live in your house. I'll do anything. Just don't let them kill me."
Zhang Yi felt their fear like a sweet scent. If his own house weren't reinforced and warm, he knew he'd be begging too. But pity? Not for these two. Their desperation was a spectacle he'd been waiting to watch.
He didn't reply. Instead, he filmed a short clip: a steaming pot of braised beef brisket and potatoes on the table, pancakes soaking at the rim; a crackling fire in the hearth behind him. The image of warmth and plenty against the howling blizzard outside was deliberate — a small, cruel provocation. He left them that thread of hope and kept it dangling. People will beg as long as there's any light to chase.
Daylight passed without incident. Chen Zhenghao and his men had taken what they wanted; for now they consolidated power, knowing full well that pushing too fast would force the owners to unite. The strategy was simple: cow some, bribe some, and eliminate the obstinate few.
That night, Zhang Yi watched the surveillance with a new unease. The city's power was out — except for his apartment. He noticed Chen Zhenghao's men carrying two bodies out of a nearby unit. At first Zhang Yi assumed they were just dumping corpses, but the way they stripped them of clothing and left them in the stairwell made him pause.
Why leave the corpses where everyone could see them? Why not dump them out the window, let the snow swallow them whole?
A chilling possibility formed: reserve rations. In the freezer that was the world now, a corpse doesn't spoil. When food runs out and hunger becomes a religion, some people cross lines others cannot imagine. Zhang Yi's mind flicked through grim histories and apocalyptic films — the logic was horrifying but blunt: better to stock food now than wait to become desperate.
He swallowed. Chen Zhenghao was a ruthless man, but this went further than mere brutality — this was calculation on a new level. Even Zhang Yi, who had a complicated dislike for the gangster, could only admire the cold efficiency of it.
He breathed out slowly and let the thought settle. In this world, survival had no moral handbook. People would do whatever it took. Zhang Yi had seen it before; he'd been eaten once in another life. Acceptance came quicker to him than shock.
"Chen Zhenghao is ruthless," he muttered. The word carried neither condemnation nor praise — simply recognition. In a place where corpses could be counted as food, the rules had changed.