Those who lived in the buildings closest to the scene had returned home and later heard some noises from outside.
Some people couldn’t help but shudder.
A few curious kids tried to climb up to the window to see what was happening, only to be yanked back by the adults: “Go to bed!”
Those sounds soon stopped.
Many people couldn’t sleep. Much later, a fire flickered in the open area at the center of the community.
Some glanced at it, then drew the curtains and let out a soft sigh.
Xiao Huang’s mother waited at home a long time before he finally returned.
When Xiao Huang walked in, his face was expressionless. He didn’t even ask, “You’re still awake?”
His mother spoke first: “How was it handled?”
Xiao Huang was silent for a moment, then answered: “As zombies.”
Just as she’d anticipated. She couldn’t help but draw a deep breath.
“Uncle Zhou gave me a task,” Xiao Huang said mechanically, then went to his room and sat down in front of his computer.
He posted on the Jixiang Jiayuan resident forum, speaking in Zhou Wang’s voice to inform the other residents: [In these extraordinary times, discussion of certain matters concerning this community is prohibited on the forum.]
Most residents knew exactly what “certain matters” referred to.
Jixiang Jiayuan didn’t want outsiders knowing what had happened. And precisely because they didn’t want it known, they’d disposed of those they’d captured alive.
Xiao Huang also posted a message as the moderator: [I can track everyone through their IP addresses.]
Xiao Huang loved playing with computers. Old Huang had always supported him, buying him plenty of computer books and sending him to various training courses.
That was one reason Zhou Wang had Xiao Huang manage the forum.
Another reason: managing a child who’d lost his father was far easier than managing an adult.
Xiao Huang silently finished the tasks Zhou Wang had assigned him, then stood up and saw his mother standing in the doorway of his bedroom, watching him.
He asked softly: “Mom, where are Dad’s cigarettes?”
Xiao Huang had always been an exemplary student—he’d never touched cigarettes or alcohol.
His mother said nothing. She walked to the coffee table, bent down, opened the drawer, and took out Old Huang’s half-finished pack of cigarettes and a lighter, handing them to her son.
Xiao Huang sat on the sofa, fumbling with the lighter to light a cigarette. His hands were trembling, and the flame flickered along with them.
He didn’t know how to smoke at all. The first puff made him choke.
His mother said gently: “Take it slow. Don’t exhale too quickly. Your father used to say—you have to inhale it into your lungs.”
“He said it really helps relieve stress.”
But in the end, Xiao Huang just couldn’t learn to smoke. He’d always been a good kid, and had always tried to persuade his father to quit.
Watching Xiao Huang choke again, coughing until he couldn’t catch his breath, his mother let out a soft sigh. She raised her hand and gently stroked the top of his head.
Xiao Huang’s cigarette dropped to the floor.
One of the men had been begging for mercy the whole time, repeating: “My kid at home is crying from hunger—I had no other choice.”
He said his child was only five years old.
Under his mother’s gentle touch, Xiao Huang pressed down his sobs and wept, his voice muffled…
Jiang Cheng knew nothing of what had happened at Jixiang Jiayuan.
For now, Youth Apartments had everything under control. The young residents still had enough to eat. Though their meals were simple—mostly staple foods with canned goods, pickled vegetables, salted duck eggs, or chili sauce—they weren’t going hungry. Compared to what they’d seen of other areas online, everyone was already quite content.
The young people gathered together, jogging, working out, playing cards, and playing ball in the safe green zone, finding plenty of things to keep themselves occupied.
It effectively dissipated their anxiety and aggression.
They were waiting for the government’s rescue and supplies.
Compared to all the things she could control, Jiang Cheng was more concerned about something she couldn’t control—Mo Li.
Mo Li had fully recovered. His eyes were a deep, glistening green, with not a trace of listlessness.
Mo Li himself believed the same.
Jiang Cheng persisted in communicating with Mo Li through telepathy every day, hoping that daily practice would enhance the clarity of their transmissions.
Unfortunately, it didn’t.
After observing and thinking it over, Jiang Cheng concluded that the problem wasn’t with telepathy as a means of communication, but with Mo Li himself.
In other words, no matter what incredible mutation had occurred, Mo Li was still ultimately a cat.
His intelligence was roughly equivalent to that of a human toddler. When she thought of it that way, it made sense—communicating with him was like communicating with a child whose thinking and language skills hadn’t fully developed. Of course it was hard to be clear and precise.
Most information was brief and direct.
Mo Li couldn’t express complex thoughts or emotions.
Jiang Cheng felt a slight disappointment.
She wasn’t entirely sure what she’d been hoping for, but she still felt let down.
“If only you were a bit smarter,” she murmured, rubbing Mo Li’s head.
Even without deliberately focusing her mind to use telepathy, faint electrical currents still carried vague meanings into Mo Li’s brain.
Mo Li looked at Jiang Cheng with some confusion, then rubbed his head against her palm.
She was unhappy.
In Mo Li’s understanding, showing her his belly and rubbing his head against her were ways to make her happy, so he did just that.
His intent in doing so was faintly picked up by Jiang Cheng.
She couldn’t help but laugh.
“Alright, alright. Thank you.”
She held him in her arms.
“Time to sleep. Good night.”
That night, the residents of Youth Apartments spent it like the previous few nights—some stayed up late gaming, some worried about distant loved ones, and some slept soundly, comforted by the temporary stability around them.
No one knew what had happened next door at Jixiang Jiayuan.
But the next day, Saturday, Su Yu came knocking on Jiang Cheng’s door with another girl. Jiang Cheng had just finished her shower at the time.
Because the clubhouse swimming pool was now used for garbage storage and reeked terribly, the gym equipment had been moved out as agreed and distributed across the lobbies of each building.
Each building got one treadmill, with one extra left over. The other equipment was randomly allocated. That way, people could work out right in their own building’s lobby. If their building didn’t have a particular machine, they could visit another building to use it.
Jiang Cheng had just come back from her workout, sweaty and freshly showered, when she heard Su Yu knocking.
She opened the door to find Su Yu with another girl—the one who often walked her dog, whom Jiang Cheng remembered. Her name was He Tian.
“He Tian was sexually harassed,” Su Yu said, her expression grave.
It had happened on Friday night.
He Tian had an upset stomach, so she contacted someone in her building according to the list posted on the forum, hoping to get some stomach medicine.
“He told me over the phone to come to his place to get it. I went, and he said he needed to look for it and asked me to come inside.” He Tian said, “I was stupid too. I thought since he was a responsible person, he must be decent, so I actually went in.”
Nowadays, those serving as leaders and core members of the Provisional Committee were all people with a sense of responsibility, some capability, and the ability to rally others.
Over these past days, as everyone killed zombies together, rushed for supplies, and participated in various community-organized activities, each person had shown their best side—their courage, their willingness to follow organizational discipline.
It had created a beautiful illusion.
But when a young girl was alone with one of those men in a confined space of modest size, all that sense of collectiveness, solidarity, and the youthful bravery, passion, and fervor—it all dissipated like smoke.
In that house, in that moment, the two of them were simply a man and a woman—nothing more.
“Disgusting!” Even now, thinking about it made He Tian feel like throwing up.
Disgusting!
That revulsion wasn’t just from the physical contact, the groping. It was also a kind of spiritual disillusionment.
The beautiful things that had kept people’s spirits up over these past days had been shattered.
“Fucking disgusting!”
Even the sunny, cheerful girl couldn’t help cursing, instinctively rubbing her arms.
She couldn’t tell if the goosebumps were from disgust or from the spot where she’d been touched.
Su Yu had already heard her tell the story once, but hearing it a second time, she could still strongly empathize with that feeling of revulsion.
But she turned her gaze and saw Jiang Cheng listening intently—seriously, patiently.
But just listening. Su Yu couldn’t detect a trace of empathy in her eyes or expression.
Su Yu froze slightly.
“Alright. I understand.” Jiang Cheng said. “Did you get the medicine?”
Su Yu: “I gave it to her last night.”
Jiang Cheng asked He Tian: “Are you feeling better now?”
He Tian nodded: “It’s fine now.”
It had happened last night. He Tian had slapped the man across the face, berated him, and fled without getting the medicine.
Back in her own home, she’d talked about it in the female residents’ group chat.
Everyone was furious. Girls were the most likely to empathize with this kind of thing—if it happened to one girl, it could happen to any of them.
Su Yu had brought her the medicine right away.
The two of them, along with other girls in the chat, had discussed it for a long time and decided they couldn’t just let it go—they had to go to Jiang Cheng.
Why Jiang Cheng? Naturally, because she was the recognized leader of the Provisional Committee.
But also, because starting last night, all the male members of the Provisional Committee had suddenly become untrustworthy in the girls’ eyes.
The man He Tian had gone to was even a building leader—just like Li Jiangbing and Song Jingshuo.
At this point, everyone felt incredibly grateful that the Provisional Committee still had Jiang Cheng and Su Yu.
“You two go back first,” Jiang Cheng said. “I’ll handle this.”
Su Yu and He Tian both nodded and left 0306.
They went upstairs to Su Yu’s place. Before this, they’d just been neighbors who didn’t know each other, but after this week, they’d become close friends.
“What’s wrong with you?” He Tian asked.
She felt like Su Yu seemed a bit off.
Su Yu said: “Don’t you think Jiang Cheng… seems a little off?”
He Tian: “Huh?”
Su Yu’s face flushed hot. She waved her hands quickly: “I’m just talking nonsense. I’ve been overthinking lately.”
Damn, why did she say that out loud?
But Su Yu really did feel like Jiang Cheng had changed.
First impressions matter a lot. The “first impression” Jiang Cheng had left on Su Yu wasn’t actually when she stood in the middle of the crowd persuading everyone to do something—it was last Sunday night, when they were clearing zombies from the buildings. A young man had been injured and refused to accept his fate, threatening “I’ll bite anyone who comes near me” to keep people away. It was the look Jiang Cheng had given her.
At that moment, Su Yu had been extremely nervous and scared. Because everyone else was on the opposite side—only she was behind that man.
But Jiang Cheng’s look had been one of encouragement and trust, giving her a surge of courage.
Then Jiang Cheng had privately reminded her to be careful that girls didn’t get marginalized, and suggested that the girls participate as much as possible in the Provisional Committee’s activities.
That night, Jiang Cheng had built up an image in Su Yu’s heart.
Everyone in the community knew that Li Jiangbing, the big guy from Building 2, was Jiang Cheng’s loyal follower, shadowing her everywhere. The effective execution of Jiang Cheng’s instructions was definitely thanks to Li Jiangbing.
Privately, some joked that Li Jiangbing had a crush on Jiang Cheng.
Su Yu knew that wasn’t true. She didn’t know what had happened between Li Jiangbing and Jiang Cheng, but something definitely had.
She particularly understood Li Jiangbing.
But in the past few days, she vaguely felt that the Jiang Cheng before her had subtly changed or deviated from the one in her mind.
Had her initial impression been wrong all along?
Su Yu didn’t know that Jiang Cheng had already broken free from “Jiang Cheng.”
Her sharp feminine intuition let her sense something was off, but she couldn’t understand it—and so she remained lost in confusion.
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