A cold laugh escaped Zhang Yi. The sound snapped the crowd into silence.
"Has eating every day made you bold enough to defy me?" His gaze scanned the gathered faces and fixed on Guo Dahai. The middle-aged man staggered back two steps.
"When I first became building leader I said everyone must follow my orders," Zhang Yi said, a grim smile crawling across his face. "And you already forgot that after just a few days?"
He didn't wait for an argument. He drew his pistol, leveled it at Guo Dahai's head, and fired.
Bang.
Guo Dahai's skull exploded in a grotesque spray. Screams cut through the stairwell; several women collapsed. No one had expected Zhang Yi to pull the trigger without a second thought.
"Anyone who disobeys me dies," Zhang Yi said, voice flat.
The reminder landed like ice. In an instant everyone remembered who Zhang Yi really was — not the generous neighbor who handed out rations, but the man who'd killed half a building when it suited him. Silence pressed down, heavy and absolute.
Then, slowly, hands rose. Li Chengbin went first. "I'm in favor. I follow Brother Zhang's orders." Others followed, voices trembling: "We… we follow Zhang Yi's orders."
A satisfied smile warmed Zhang Yi's face. "That's better. We're family — and family looks after one another." He spread his hands. "I'm not sending you in blind. I killed ten of those men myself. You have dozens to finish the rest. I'm being generous, aren't I?"
"Good luck. Uncle You and I will go get more food. Tonight we feast — everyone eats well."
The promise of meat dulled their fear. Guo Dahai's death had scared them, but Zhang Yi's carrot-and-stick worked exactly as intended: fear to enforce, reward to motivate. Old resentments faded like breath on glass.
He stood behind them, gun in hand, watching them arm up and move out. Whether willing or coerced, they had no real choice but to charge into Building 21.
Chaos erupted shortly thereafter — shouting, clashing metal, the raw, hungry noise of people sent to kill. Zhang Yi checked his Rolex, expression impassive. "Let them fight," he thought. "I'll be back before it's over."
He turned to Uncle You. "Come with me. I need your help."
Uncle You grinned and nodded. "Right. Let's go."
Zhang Yi feigned pain, clutching his ribs. "I can't drive — I crashed the bike earlier. My ribs hurt."
Uncle You immediately offered: "I'll drive!"
Zhang Yi allowed the lie. He wouldn't risk exposing his back to anyone. Even the best gunslinger watched his own rear; Zhang Yi was no exception.
They mounted the snowmobile — Uncle You at the wheel, Zhang Yi behind him — and left the building behind.
Snow stung their faces as they rode. Uncle You whooped with the joy of being free from confinement. "Feels good to be out!" he laughed.
"Where to?" he asked.
"Anywhere," Zhang Yi said casually. "Let's check the World Trade Center first."
They reached the commercial district half an hour later. The WTC rose out of the white like a ghost of a former city: luxury counters, yachts of glass and chrome, stores piled with things no one needed anymore.
Uncle You went straight for the clothes — tiny outfits for babies, toddler sweaters — as if preparing for a hopeful future. Zhang Yi watched, bemused. "No food here," he said after a quick sweep. "Wrong place."
Uncle You shrugged, still stuffing garments into a bag. "The kid's growing. He needs clothes."
Zhang Yi smiled faintly. "Looks like things are going well between you and Sister Xie."
Uncle You blushed, embarrassed but pleased. "We keep each other company. It makes life worth living."
Zhang Yi teased. "If you want, I can find you someone—curvy and attentive. She'll take good care of you."
Uncle You flinched, then smiled sheepishly. "I'm a decent man," he protested, but his grin betrayed him.
Zhang Yi watched him and made a quiet decision: Uncle You's feelings were shallow, useful. If Xie Limei ever became a problem, Uncle You would not stand in her way. For now, preserving the man's morale was the cheaper, smarter option — a small kindness to secure loyalty.