“Why should we work for you! You’re not paying us!” Liu Hongwang craned his neck and shouted loudly.
As Jiang Cheng had thought, there was always a ringleader in situations like this. The other cleaners, mostly in their forties or even fifties, were secretly hoping that Liu Hongwang would fight for their interests—or even get them a strike. They followed him in downing tools, but none of them dared to take the lead. They just shrank back in silence.
The security guards had also been drawn over, whispering among themselves.
Morale was wavering.
“The property management company’s funds come from the property fees paid by the residents—including your wages,” Song Jingshuo said with a grave expression. “The property company exists to serve the entire community and its residents.”
“The situation is exceptional right now. You’re not the only ones whose pay has stopped. We’re all in the same boat. The whole city, the whole country—everything’s shut down.”
“There’s nothing to be done about it. This is force majeure. But once the current situation is resolved, everything will return to normal. Your wages will be made up by the property company.”
“And if the property company tries to shortchange you, the interim committee will definitely protect your rights and help you get your pay back.”
Everyone chimed in: “That’s right, that’s right.”
“You few who’ve stuck with the work—we can all testify for you.”
“Don’t worry about it. If they dare withhold your pay, we’ve got numbers. We can get your wages back even if it takes a direct confrontation.”
But Liu Hongwang wasn’t buying it.
He planted his hands on his hips: “You keep talking about production and business shutting down—why don’t you talk about work stopping! I’ve watched the news too. They play it over and over all day, it’s still on now. Think I don’t know? You college kids think you can bully us because we’re uneducated!”
He jabbed his finger in the air: “Right now, the whole country’s shut down. No one’s going to work. Look at you—all comfortable, lying around at home. So why should we still have to work?”
“We have to collect garbage. Old Luo has to work. And them—” Liu Hongwang swept his hand through the air, pulling the security guards who’d been watching into the mix—”they still have to guard the gate and work night shifts.”
Compared to the cleaners, the security guards were younger—the oldest was barely over thirty.
Liu Hongwang secretly regretted that the security captain had mutated on Saturday night. The captain had been a sturdy guy—if he were still around, he’d definitely lead them in rebellion. Why should they have to work when the entire country had shut down?
He wanted to lie around comfortably too.
From Sunday, when everyone had joined forces to kill off the zombies in the community garden, the youth apartments—both residents and property staff—had been united, cooperative, and compliant.
But now, all of that suddenly had a crack in it.
Song Jingshuo could see subtle changes in the expressions and eyes of several security guards.
People were losing cohesion.
But he genuinely felt he couldn’t refute Liu Hongwang’s argument.
It was true that everyone had stopped working. From that perspective, it really did look like the residents were exploiting the property staff.
Song Jingshuo’s thoughts were in turmoil. He felt that this issue was indeed exactly as it appeared. He couldn’t think of a solution, and instinctively looked at Jiang Cheng.
There was a faint smile at the corner of Jiang Cheng’s mouth—cold, detached.
Song Jingshuo paused.
He knew that Jiang Cheng would have a solution.
But he also had a premonition that Jiang Cheng’s solution would inevitably cross certain lines—whether of common decency or conventional morality.
In just three days, he’d already come to understand her that well.
Jiang Cheng stepped forward.
Before she even spoke, the surrounding chatter fell silent because of that single step.
Jiang Cheng had already earned that kind of authority in the youth apartments. Whenever she stepped up, everyone naturally shut their mouths and waited for her to speak.
And every time, she delivered.
“Liu Hongwang.” She called out his name, giving him one last chance. “I’ll ask you one more time—are you refusing to continue doing this cleaning job?”
Liu Hongwang had seen her several times over the past two days, always at the center of the crowd.
He was somewhat intimidated by her too.
But just now, even someone as elite-looking as Song Jingshuo hadn’t been able to do anything to him—clearly, he was in the right.
Song Jingshuo—a man who, in normal times, would be dressed in a suit and looking every bit the part, walking past with his laptop bag without so much as a glance in Liu Hongwang’s direction—had just been left speechless by him.
And why? Because the world had gone to hell, monsters were everywhere, and there was no law anymore.
Before, the residents were at the top and he was at the bottom. From now on, that might not be the case.
Liu Hongwang’s courage swelled.
And the big guy next to Jiang Cheng happened to be away at the moment, which made Liu Hongwang even bolder.
“Yeah! I’m done!” He flung the twine he’d been using to bundle cardboard onto the ground and shouted, “Why should I? I’m not doing it anymore!”
Song Jingshuo saw Jiang Cheng smile slightly.
That same smile from before.
Jiang Cheng said: “Fine.”
“I respect your decision.” She said, “But the property management company is employed by the residents, and you are employed by the property management company.”
“These are extraordinary times. On behalf of the interim committee, I am terminating your employment relationship with the Youth Apartment community. You no longer have to work.”
So “making a fuss” really did work—see? Make a scene, and you don’t have to work anymore.
The expressions of the other property cleaners brightened.
The surrounding residents also began murmuring among themselves.
Liu Hongwang had won a complete victory. But before the corners of his mouth could even curl up, he heard Jiang Cheng add: “You are no longer a staff member of the Youth Apartments. I’m giving you half an hour to pack your things and leave our community.”
The open outdoor space suddenly became so quiet you could hear a pin drop.
Dozens, perhaps hundreds, of eyes were fixed on Jiang Cheng.
Everyone had heard last night that Jixiang Jiayuan had killed a living person—an ordinary, normal, uninfected human being.
But that hadn’t happened at the Youth Apartments yet.
So far, the only people subjected to compulsory measures at the Youth Apartments had all been infected individuals with injuries.
What would happen to an ordinary living person like Liu Hongwang if he left the safe zone of the Youth Apartments?
No one knew.
But the chance of him dying was high—very high.
A single adult man could kill zombies one by one like whack-a-mole, but if he was surrounded by several at once, or if just one second-generation zombie showed up, his chance of survival would plummet instantly.
Forcing Liu Hongwang to leave the Youth Apartments meant sending him to his death.
Song Jingshuo closed his eyes for a moment. He wasn’t surprised at all.
This was exactly her style.
In fact, at this moment, Song Jingshuo wasn’t the only one feeling this way. Quite a few people resonated with him—especially the core members of the interim committee.
Liu Hongwang’s face changed.
“Why should I…”
He waved his arms, trying to argue back, but Jiang Cheng coldly cut him off: “Because we spent our money to buy our homes here. Because we are the residents of this community.”
“The only reason you’re allowed to stay in this community is because you work for the residents.”
“Now that you’re unwilling to do that job, we respect that.”
“But you also have to respect us. Why should someone who has nothing to do with this community stay in our home?”
“Jingshuo.” With Li Jiangbing absent, Jiang Cheng started calling names. “Zhang Tao, Peng Ze, Wu Jiancheng, Nie Kuizhang.”
The names she called were all taller or more robust men on the interim committee.
She said: “Go supervise him while he packs his things. He has half an hour to leave our community.”
She meant it.
The faces of all the property staff changed.
Master Luo and Yang Xinyan both turned pale.
“Mi-Miss Jiang…” Yang Xinyan called out weakly, wanting to plead for leniency.
Even though she’d always disliked Liu Hongwang among the cleaners—he was lazy and always sneaking glances at women’s chests, waists, and legs—he was still a colleague.
She felt a kinship born of shared fate.
But Jiang Cheng acted as if she hadn’t heard her call.
Jiang Cheng’s gaze didn’t flinch. She calmly met the stares of the hundred or so people in the small plaza.
With Li Jiangbing away, Song Jingshuo was the first to step forward.
He didn’t disappoint Jiang Cheng’s expectations of him.
“Let’s go.” His expression was calm as he said to Liu Hongwang, “Head to the dormitory and pack your things.”
They were serious.
Liu Hongwang panicked. He didn’t care about saving face—he could bend when needed. He quickly said, “I was wrong, I was wrong. I’ll work hard. I’ll do a good job.”
Would Jiang Cheng forgive him? Song Jingshuo wondered. He thought… no.
He turned to look at Jiang Cheng.
Jiang Cheng’s expression showed no fluctuation whatsoever: “Get him out.”
Song Jingshuo actually felt a small sense of satisfaction at having guessed correctly.
When there was a dissenting element in a company team, kicking that person out was the best solution for management purposes.
He could have thought of it himself. He just couldn’t cross the line of sending someone to their death.
But now, Jiang Cheng was asking him to send this man to his death, and he had no intention of objecting—only a willingness to carry it out.
Song Jingshuo could feel his own heart hardening.
Probably because he’d crushed human skulls and severed human necks.
There was no going back.
Of course, he still longed for the zombies to disappear, for the city, the country, and the world to return to how they were before.
But even if they did return to a lawful society, he knew he couldn’t go back either.
Before Jiang Cheng’s words had even faded, Song Jingshuo reached out and grabbed Liu Hongwang’s arm: “Let’s go.”
How could Liu Hongwang surrender without a fight? He shoved Song Jingshuo: “What are you doing?! I said I’ll work!”
But Peng Ze had already strode over. Zhang Tao, Wu Jiancheng, Nie Kuizhang—and even interim committee members Jiang Cheng hadn’t named—all came forward.
They all reached out.
The residents listened as Liu Hongwang shouted, cursed, begged, and pleaded—none of it worked.
Everyone watched as the interim committee members subdued him, pinned his arms behind his back, and pressed his shoulders down.
One person could never stand against a crowd.
“Master Luo.” Jiang Cheng’s tone was gentle as she turned. “Sorry to trouble you—please go along too. Watch him pack his things. Make sure he doesn’t touch anyone else’s belongings.”
Yang Xinyan was clutching the hem of her uniform shirt, watching Master Luo nervously.
Master Luo sighed and nodded: “Alright.”
Then to Song Jingshuo and the others: “Follow me.”
The group escorted Liu Hongwang away with Master Luo.
Jiang Cheng’s gaze swept over the remaining cleaners.
No one dared meet her eyes.
The security guards also averted their gazes.
Even Yang Xinyan was twisting her shirt hem, only daring to look at the ground.
“If anyone else doesn’t want to work in our community, you can also voluntarily submit your resignation,” Jiang Cheng said. “As for your final pay—once things return to normal, we’ll help you settle it properly with the property management company. No need to worry about that.”
“This isn’t a prison. You all have the freedom to leave.”
“But let me reiterate: this community allows people to leave, but not to enter.”
“Xinyan, I’ll need you to keep an eye on things here for now,” she said.
Her tone toward Master Luo, toward Yang Xinyan—in fact, toward all the property staff—had always been gentle and polite.
Called out, Yang Xinyan quickly nodded: “Okay, okay.”
“Miss Jiang.”
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