“Jiang Cheng?”
Both Song Jingshuo and Jiang Cheng still had their walkie-talkies, so Song Jingshuo called her directly on that.
Everyone with a walkie-talkie heard it.
Song Jingshuo asked: “What happened?”
Jiang Cheng herself was equally speechless: “My phone ran out of credit and got disconnected.”
Several people holding walkie-talkies chuckled. But after laughing, they realized the problem.
Sure enough, Jiang Cheng was the first to say it: “This isn’t a small matter.”
With the gradual spread of mobile phones, the rate of landline cancellations had been rising over the past two years. Although every household still had telephone jacks reserved in the walls, newly built homes almost never applied for landlines anymore. Many people in older homes had also canceled their landlines.
Because if you didn’t cancel, you’d have to pay a fixed monthly base fee—it just wasn’t worth it.
Someone cut in: “I might be about to run out of credit too.”
Jiang Cheng: “There must be a lot of people, not just us.”
Even though they had walkie-talkies, building-wide PA systems, and messaging app groups, mobile phones were still a very important tool for communication.
Especially for those who needed to stay in touch with their families.
Master Luo and Aunt Pan were chatting after watching today’s news announcement.
“I remember there are quite a few residential areas around Rainbow Stadium.”
“Oh dear, what are they going to do? Is that red zone particularly serious?”
“The safe ones are green zones, and there are yellow zones with zombies too. This is the first time we’ve seen a red zone—it must be really bad, right?”
As the couple was talking, Song Jingshuo’s voice came through the walkie-talkie, saying Jiang Cheng’s phone had run out of credit and been disconnected.
The couple exchanged glances: “Ours probably…”
“So what do we do?”
A moment later, the loudspeakers in the hallway started broadcasting.
Master Luo opened his door and saw that everyone else had opened theirs and stuck their heads out—the speakers were at the top of the stairwell, and opening the door made it easier to hear.
Only Jiang Cheng next door didn’t open her door.
[Those whose phones have run out of credit or are about to, please register on the owner’s forum.]
[Those whose phones have run out of credit or are about to, please register on the owner’s forum.]
[Those whose phones have run out of credit or are about to, please register on the owner’s forum.]
The voice belonged to whoever was on duty at the property management center today.
Aunt Pan couldn’t help saying: “You have to admit, this provisional committee of ours really moves fast. Since they’re asking about it, they’ll probably find a solution, right?”
Master Luo nodded: “Definitely.”
So far, every issue the provisional committee had identified, they’d either found a way to solve or at least improved.
Everyone had confidence in the committee.
Ever since the building-wide PA system was activated, and since previous operations had been banned from discussion on the forum to prevent leaks, the forum hadn’t been as lively as before.
It was also because various messaging app groups and online chat rooms had been set up.
But today it got busy again.
Quite a few people had already had their phones disconnected due to overdue credit. Some hadn’t been cut off yet but were close.
Everyone first registered in the relevant thread, then started new posts asking: [What are we going to do?]
[Just wait. Since they asked everyone to register, they must have a plan.]
At this time, you could pay your phone bill at a telecom company service hall, through a bank, or by buying recharge cards.
These telecom recharge cards were very popular—not only could you top up your phone credit, but you could also directly recharge some game accounts.
They were usually available at street-side newsstands, tobacco and liquor shops, supermarkets, and phone repair stores—very convenient.
If you walked out of Jixiang West Street, you’d see a newsstand. The building housing the Buy Duoduo supermarket also had a phone repair shop. All these places would have them. So at Tuesday’s provisional committee core meeting, someone naturally proposed stepping outside the safe zone to look for recharge cards.
By now, the committee had more members, and holding a full meeting in Song Jingshuo’s apartment was getting a bit cramped. But not everything required a full meeting. Some things could be handled with just a core meeting.
That meant Jiang Cheng and the six building captains.
As usual, everyone was free to speak their minds, brainstorm, and offer suggestions. Of course, the final decision rested with Jiang Cheng.
But this time, Jiang Cheng didn’t immediately adopt this simple and straightforward suggestion.
She sat half on the dining table, resting her chin in her hand with her face half-covered, as if lost in thought.
Everyone watched her.
After a few seconds, Jiang Cheng lowered her hand: “Not enough.”
“Recharge cards come in small denominations, and there are too many of us. Aside from Jingshuo, 99% of people would need to top up their credit.”
“Huh?” Li Jiangbing turned to look at Song Jingshuo. “Why except you?”
Song Jingshuo replied flatly: “I topped up enough for a year’s worth of phone credit.”
Everyone: “…”
That must have cost a lot!
Li Jiangbing’s mouth twitched. He didn’t want to dignify that show-off with a response, so he asked Jiang Cheng: “So what do we do?”
Jiang Cheng looked around: “Where’s the TV remote?”
Song Jingshuo found the remote on the coffee table, and Jiang Cheng said: “Turn on the TV and watch for a bit.”
Then she added: “The news channel.”
The news broadcasts from S City’s temporary emergency committee were only on the local S City channel.
When they turned on the TV, last night’s broadcast was still playing on repeat.
Scrolls of subtitles ran across the bottom of the screen, displaying the hotline number of the temporary emergency command center.
“This is it.” Jiang Cheng reached out to Song Jingshuo. “Let me use your phone.”
Without a word, Song Jingshuo handed it over.
His phone was the latest model, a black business edition, small, with a cover that could rotate to the top, its lines sleek and futuristic.
It was the very phone often advertised during commercial breaks on recorded programs across many channels. It belonged to the high-end business phone category.
It suited his image.
The hotline kept being busy, always engaged.
Everyone waited quietly at first, but eventually started chatting among themselves. Suddenly, the call went through.
Everyone fell silent, listening to Jiang Cheng’s speakerphone.
The operator’s voice was a little hoarse: “Temporary Emergency Command Center, please go ahead.”
“We are the Temporary Emergency Committee of Youth Apartments in the New Tech District. Please report to your superiors: many people’s phones are either about to reach their payment deadline or have already exhausted their prepaid balance. Right now, no one can go pay their bills, and there will soon be widespread service suspension due to overdue payments.”
“What I hope,” Jiang Cheng said, “is that the temporary emergency command center will suspend the policy of cutting off service for overdue payments as soon as possible.”
“Mobile phones are currently the primary means of communication in urban areas. If people—especially those within the same residential community—lose this means of contact, organizing collective action will become very difficult.”
“Please make sure the command center resolves this issue for everyone.”
Day after day, the operator had heard too much crying, cursing, pleas for help, and complaints, and was utterly exhausted.
Suddenly, a young, pleasant female voice calmly laid out the problem, offered a suggestion, stated the stakes, and expressed her expectations. The operator perked up.
“Understood. Your report has been noted and will be forwarded to the higher-ups as soon as possible!” The operator’s pitch rose. “Which community did you say you’re from?”
“Youth Apartments in the New Tech District. We are the community’s temporary emergency committee.”
Mayor Zheng sat with his eyes closed, resting—he was simply too exhausted.
Suddenly, he heard someone speaking in low voices nearby. He opened his eyes sharply and saw, through the half-closed door, his secretary’s figure talking to someone.
He waited. Sure enough, after the secretary finished the conversation, he poked his head in, saw that the mayor’s eyes were already open, and walked in.
“What’s the situation?” Mayor Zheng asked.
“Do you remember the Youth Apartments?” the secretary said.
“I remember,” Mayor Zheng said. “That young woman. What about Youth Apartments?”
“The operator received a call, probably from that girl—they said it was a young woman’s voice.”
The secretary handed over a folder.
It was a handwritten work log, used for reporting.
Mayor Zheng glanced over it and finished reading in one sweep.
“Completely forgot about that!” he said. “So now?”
They had taken over everything in an emergency, and several critical systems were already being maintained—water, electricity, gas, communications. But the guiding principle had been “keep things running.” They had forgotten that water, electricity, and gas required door-to-door meter reading and billing, whereas communications had a unique feature: users had to proactively pay or top up themselves.
Everyone makes oversights. In such a critical moment, when the temporary emergency command center was first established, everyone was working around the clock under immense mental strain.
Everyone was exhausted.
It was normal for oversights to occur.
“I’ve already passed down the order. They’re making calls now.”
Mayor Zheng nodded, handed the work log back, and added: “Also forward this to the central government. This should be implemented nationwide.”
“Yes, sir. Please rest a bit more.”
Mayor Zheng nodded, closed his eyes, then suddenly opened them again: “What’s that girl’s name?”
The secretary quickly glanced at the work log, which had a summary of the call, and confirmed: “It’s not written. She probably didn’t say—just identified herself as the Youth Apartments temporary emergency residents’ committee.”
Mayor Zheng nodded again, and this time closed his eyes: “Let me know when that’s handled.”
The secretary quietly acknowledged and withdrew.
Meanwhile, the building leaders were still discussing: “Can they do something about it?”
“They will, right?”
“Hopefully.”
They also chatted about some of the issues reported back from their respective buildings.
“People on the first and second floors of our building say the garbage smell drifting over from the clubhouse is especially noticeable—especially at night. They can’t open the windows to sleep.”
“A few jerks in our building sleep during the day and make a racket at night—they’ve already gotten into several fights. I told them that if they end up with any wounds, and get caught during entry checks, they won’t be able to explain themselves and will have to be quarantined. That shut them up.”
Overall, order in the community had been maintained.
Various repairs and maintenance were mostly keeping up, though Master Luo was exhausted. But now with thirteen extra laborers, things should improve.
Compared to the chaos in surrounding communities, Youth Apartments could already be considered paradise.
But it was impossible to have absolutely no conflicts. In fact, the building leaders had to deal with this kind of petty nonsense every single day.
Before, everyone went to work during the day and came home to sleep at night—life was routine, and they didn’t have this much time spent together.
Now everyone was stuck at home, and all kinds of trivial issues kept popping up.
Annoying.
The building leaders gathered to vent a little.
Suddenly, Song Jingshuo’s phone rang. He glanced at the caller ID, looked slightly surprised, and answered: “Hello?”
“Please hold.” Then, with an expression that said “just as expected,” he handed the phone to Jiang Cheng. “For you.”
“It’s the command center.”
Leave a Reply