Seven large vehicles had gone out in the morning. By evening, ten large vehicles and six small vehicles returned.
They’d brought back over nine hundred survivors.
Sure enough, splitting into teams had made things much more efficient.
Several more cooking stations had been added to the outdoor stoves in the youth apartments’ small square—otherwise, there wouldn’t have been enough capacity.
Among the refugees who had already been settled, many without superpowers had signed up for cafeteria work. Just peeling potatoes and mashing them required a lot of hands.
Aside from potatoes, the vegetables that had been selected for cultivation were mainly eggplant, napa cabbage, bok choy, cucumbers, radishes, garlic sprouts, and leeks. Soybeans and peanuts were reserved for special purposes.
The central greenbelt and surrounding greenbelts of the youth apartments had all been converted into vegetable plots.
In the process, people had gotten into heated arguments over whether the garlic sprouts should be called suanmiao or suantai, each side insisting on their own hometown’s terminology.
Although the number of rescues today was high, Song Jingshuo was holding things down at the youth apartments—orderly, busy but not chaotic.
If you looked down from a high floor, you’d see the courtyard, especially the small square, teeming with bobbing black heads—groups moving east, then west, like busy little bees.
Here, the refugees were given a life-sustaining meal. After being fed, they were handed over to Xiao Dan at Jixiang Jiayuan.
Xiao Dan had recruited two very capable helpers today—one older sister named Wu Yan, and a young woman named Tao Xiaoxiao. By the end of the day, Xiao Dan knew she’d made the right hires.
These two had exceptional organizational skills and sense of order—they left her in the dust.
Xiao Dan was decent enough at going it alone, but when it came to organizing, coordinating, arranging, and planning within a collective, she wasn’t great.
But that was exactly where Wu Yan and Tao Xiaoxiao excelled.
Xiao Dan immediately felt her burden lighten significantly.
She’d been so exhausted these past two days that her voice had gone hoarse.
After dinner, Jiang Cheng usually held a brief work meeting to review the day’s gains and losses.
Today, Jiang Cheng and Zhou Wang weren’t back yet, so Song Jingshuo chaired the meeting.
Everyone was summarizing the day’s events.
Each team said: “It’s so much more comfortable going out with Jiang Cheng.”
Jiang Cheng had her spatial storage—all kinds of supplies, gear, and provisions—like lunch ingredients and cooking utensils—could be stored with her. It was incredibly convenient.
After splitting into teams, each team had to carry its own things.
Although earth-type, fire-type, and metal-type superpower users could still cook together on-site, all that gear took up vehicle space and had to be loaded and unloaded constantly. Plus, people couldn’t resist snacking along the way.
And they could only bring essentials—extra things weren’t practical. Unlike Jiang Cheng, who could have a little bit of everything on hand.
Back when they’d operated as one large team, almost everyone was from the youth apartments—even Sister Pan counted as one of them. The only outsiders were Zhou Wang and Xiao Huang from next door, people they’d already worked with and meshed with during the last disaster.
The few kids who’d joined later had been rescued from schools. They followed orders and did as they were told.
And if any issue came up, the person best suited for it would step in, while everyone else just followed instructions.
Now that they’d split into teams, each team had some newly recruited refugees. Not only were they unfamiliar, but they weren’t obedient kids—they were adults.
Though each team leader was a powerful superpower user, superpower strength didn’t mean they excelled in other areas. Once they had to lead on their own, their strengths and weaknesses became starkly visible.
Sister Pan spoke up: “I’m not really cut out for this.”
Sister Pan and Master Luo were both honest, straightforward people—poor with words. They had no children and had been looked down upon back home, never winning arguments. That was why they’d given up their farmland and moved to the city to work.
The big city was far more tolerant—no one mocked or looked down on them for not having kids.
But Sister Pan really wasn’t good at managing teams or assigning tasks. She’d just quietly do her work.
When she had to lead a team alone, especially when people asked her how to handle certain things, she’d draw a blank.
Sister Pan meant that she didn’t want to be team leader anymore—she just wanted to fight zombies. Someone else could be the leader, and she’d follow orders.
But Song Jingshuo didn’t go along with that.
He assigned her a reliable deputy commander, while keeping Sister Pan as the nominal leader.
People who were too honest tended to get taken advantage of.
Before, Master Luo had been around—though he wasn’t much of a talker either, he understood people and the ways of the world. Sister Pan had never been bullied with her husband there.
Now Master Luo was gone, and there was no one to shield Sister Pan from those petty people.
Of course, Sister Pan’s superpowers were strong enough that no one would dare bully her openly. But the little subtle maneuvers and sly tricks—Song Jingshuo knew all about them.
The meeting ended, and Jiang Cheng and Zhou Wang had just returned.
The cafeteria had saved them a meal and reheated it.
Song Jingshuo sat with them as they ate, giving Jiang Cheng a brief report on the day’s work meeting.
By the time they finished eating, it was completely dark, and everyone dispersed. Zhou Wang, Xiao Huang, and a few people from the TV station headed back to Jixiang Jiayuan.
Song Jingshuo asked Jiang Cheng: “Why are you so happy today? Because of the Shilong District government?”
Jiang Cheng asked: “Is it that obvious?”
“Not obvious, exactly… it’s more… natural,” Song Jingshuo said. “It’s clear you’re genuinely happy.”
Song Jingshuo admitted that the establishment of a provisional government in Shilong District was indeed exciting.
Everyone had felt a surge of energy when they saw the new live broadcast today.
But the happiness in Jiang Cheng’s eyes seemed different from everyone else’s. If he had to describe it, it was almost like a child getting candy—not the kind of emotion someone as rational as Jiang Cheng would easily show.
“Jingshuo, have you ever tried to change yourself as an adult?” Jiang Cheng asked in return.
Song Jingshuo raised an eyebrow: “Like what?”
“Like…” Jiang Cheng thought for a moment, “trying to be a saintly, selfless do-gooder?”
Song Jingshuo: “…Are you calling me a social Darwinist?”
Jiang Cheng denied it: “No, I mean—trying to become someone completely different from who you used to be.”
Song Jingshuo paused thoughtfully, then said with certainty: “That’s still calling me a social Darwinist, isn’t it?”
Jiang Cheng held her forehead.
Song Jingshuo’s phone rang. He answered: “Yeah, I’m done eating. Coming right over. Let me grab my stuff first. You guys go ahead and start.”
Jiang Cheng: “Who was that?”
Song Jingshuo: “Yuxuan calling me to play games.”
Jiang Cheng: “See? That’s a good example of trying something new.”
Indeed.
Song Jingshuo used to be someone who didn’t play games.
In his mind, men who were addicted to games were displaying a lack of ambition.
Song Jingshuo: “…They’ve corrupted me.”
—
Jiang Cheng and Moli went home and enjoyed a nice hot shower.
She curled up on the sofa with Moli and continued reading.
Changing one’s thinking as an adult was truly difficult—unless you finally encountered a powerful ideology that could pierce through the surface of the world, point directly to the truth of society, and clearly illuminate the way forward.
Why was Jiang Cheng so happy? Because she’d found joy.
It was no longer just about killing zombies. You could even say zombies had become a tool.
She had learned a different way of thinking, tried to put it into practice, and in the process, come to recognize its truth more and more.
This kind of joy was indescribable.
The locals probably wouldn’t understand, since these were things they’d grown up with.
Just like in “Jiang Cheng’s” memories—these ideas existed, but they had no presence. Having been exposed to them for too long, they’d become formalized, hollow, and hard to see their brilliance anymore.
But for Jiang Cheng, an outsider who’d crossed over, she could say with certainty that this was a way of thinking she’d never encountered before in her past.
The first time was always full of freshness and delight.
Indeed, it was like a child getting candy.
—
Gao Yuxuan’s place had over a dozen gaming consoles—all six of the latest models released this year. He’d spent all his money on them.
Gao Yuxuan, Li Jiangbing, and Song Jingshuo all had their feet propped up on the coffee table, each holding a controller, locked in intense gameplay.
So intense that their face masks almost fell off.
The face masks, of course, belonged to Song Jingshuo.
It started when Gao Yuxuan had come up to Song Jingshuo and asked directly: “Do you really wear face masks?”
Song Jingshuo had paused for a moment, then said slowly: “You think they’re cheap?” Later, when Song Jingshuo pressed him on who’d been spreading the rumor about him wearing masks, Gao Yuxuan stayed loyal and refused to rat anyone out.
Now, all three of them were wearing Song Jingshuo’s supposedly not-cheap face masks. Gao Yuxuan said: “They’re actually pretty comfortable. Hey, how much did these cost anyway?”
Song Jingshuo casually named a price.
“…” Gao Yuxuan, “Holy shit?”
Gao Yuxuan: “I’m keeping this on for another hour! I’m sleeping in it!”
Li Jiangbing quickly patted his mask down more smoothly: “Damn, that’s expensive! As expected of you. Even the ones the girls use aren’t this pricey, are they?”
Song Jingshuo: “Club exclusive. Not the kind you get at the mall. You have no idea how expensive that club is—even I can’t afford it. The few times I went, I was mooching off my boss or using the company budget to treat clients. I only bought a few masks for myself.”
Song Jingshuo pitched them: “There’s a reason it’s expensive—it’s really good. If I had an important meeting that day, I’d always put one on before heading out. It makes your complexion look great—gives you that energized, well-rested look.”
Gao Yuxuan: “No worries—we don’t have important meetings like that. I just sneak a nap in the back row.”
Li Jiangbing: “Hahahahahaha.”
Song Jingshuo asked curiously: “Where’s Zhao Yi? Why isn’t he here?”
Gao Yuxuan had brought four masks over specifically to try them out, but Zhao Yi hadn’t shown up. Weren’t he and Zhao Yi joined at the hip?
Li Jiangbing: “You just had to bring that up. He’s been fuming about it all night.”
Song Jingshuo: “…?”
Gao Yuxuan was furious: “Tell me if he deserves it or not!”
“This morning, he comes to me in a panic, saying Zhang Lesi wants to date him—scared out of his wits, asking me what to do.”
“As a true friend, I gave him honest advice!”
“…” Song Jingshuo, “What did you say?”
Gao Yuxuan: “I told him, whatever you do, don’t go for a tigress like her! You’ll be bossed around for life—where’s the fun in that?”
“He even nodded and said I made a good point!”
“And then?”
“After dinner, I looked everywhere for him. And what do I see? Him and Zhang Lesi walking hand in hand across the courtyard!”
Who could understand the pain of a severed conjoined twin?
And this betrayal—it was infuriating!
Gao Yuxuan was about to explode like an angry bird!
Li Jiangbing: “Your mask is wrinkling! It’s wrinkling!”
Gao Yuxuan quickly patted the outrageously expensive mask back into place.
It was too pricey—wasting even a single drop of essence would be heartbreaking.
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