Autumn in S City was relatively dry. A few rains had fallen in late August, and the autumn rains were now over.
The past few days had been clear skies and bright sunshine.
The little black cat, perched on Jiang Cheng’s shoulder, even let out a yawn.
Everyone knew he loved sunbathing, spending his days finding sunny spots in the neighborhood to nap in.
But who knew he could transform into something as big as a house?
That size gave everyone a visceral sense—this was no longer just an “animal.”
It triggered outright megalophobia.
Silence fell over the walkway inside the east gate.
Li Jiangbing rolled over and came back to life.
In theory, even though Wu Jiancheng had extinguished the flames in seconds and Zhang Lesi had healed his burns and internal injuries in a lightning-fast relay, those few seconds of searing pain and near-death terror should have left a lasting shadow.
But before that shadow could etch itself onto his heart, the little black cat had transformed!
It cut the whole process short.
Li Jiangbing had already skipped past the burning incident. He scrambled to his feet, walked over in the dead silence, pointed at Moli, and asked, “Was that him?”
His finger was about to poke right between Moli’s eyes—he snapped his jaws, and Li Jiangbing yanked his hand back.
They’d played together long enough to be familiar.
Jiang Cheng said, “It was him.”
Li Jiangbing stood with his hands on his hips, staring at Moli. After a long moment, he finally said, “Well damn. I thought he was fierce when he scratched Gao Yuxuan’s ass. Turns out he was going easy on him!”
In his mind, the image of Moli going “nom” on Gao Yuxuan automatically materialized.
With Li Jiangbing’s loud voice breaking the silence, the frozen air suddenly thawed.
A crowd swarmed over—
“How did Heizi transform?”
“That was amazing!”
“That scared me to death—thank goodness for Erhei!”
“Our Meiqiu is the best!”
Only Zhao Yi kept his distance, not daring to approach, watching with awe from afar.
In the golden sunlight, the girl and the cat.
He had no regrets in this lifetime.
Song Jingshuo, as always, played the annoying role of cutting the moment short.
“What do we do with these people?”
The scene went quiet again.
This was far more serious than the Liu Hongwang incident. Liu Hongwang had just wanted to slack off and get more by making a fuss.
This time, Cao Jiacai had tried to kill Jiang Cheng.
He had attempted murder—and now he was visibly dying.
As everyone looked at the dying man on the ground, Zhang Lesi quietly took a step back. She did not want to be called out.
The healing power heaven had given her was not meant to save someone like that.
Luckily, everyone seemed to have collective amnesia—no one remembered that there was actually someone present who could save Cao Jiacai’s life.
Because no one thought that man deserved to live.
When Cao Jiacai shouted that “no one has to work, everyone can just eat and laze around,” every educated person instantly understood what level of cognition he operated at.
This wasn’t their first time going through a zombie outbreak.
During the last one, every single person had volunteered at least four or five times.
Just keeping one neighborhood running smoothly required how many people’s labor?
Zhao Yi—a master’s graduate in environmental engineering—had spent every day reeking of trash!
If everyone had just lazed around and done nothing like Cao Jiacai suggested, they’d have been lying in garbage eating flies last time.
Ridiculous.
And that kind of person wanted to seize power and become leader. No—what he really wanted was to be a ruler, a petty tyrant.
What about the others? Everyone looked at them. Oh ho—wanting to claim the glory of backing the new emperor, huh?
Jiang Cheng turned around.
Those few people involuntarily took a step back.
The most regrettable among them was Xiao Wang, the metal-type user. Everyone had worked with him yesterday, and it had been genuinely pleasant.
His superpower was also strong.
Jiang Cheng asked, “What did he promise you?”
Xiao Wang and Xiao Zhao stared at the floor tiles and said nothing.
One cleaner, eager to curry favor, frantically ratted out the others: “He promised them big—said they’d get to be in charge of people later. Said they could pick whichever girls they wanted first.”
That one sentence froze the air again.
The hairs on Zhang Lesi’s back stood on end.
She looked up to find Su Yu, and Su Yu was looking for her too.
The two girls locked eyes—both saw anger, disgust, and lingering fear in each other’s gaze.
Li Jiangbing had nearly died.
If it hadn’t been for Jiang Cheng’s black cat transformation, who could have stopped Cao Jiacai?
Many people cursed out loud. “Fuck.”
“He was planning to set up a harem.”
“Holy shit, even I never dared to fantasize that far.”
The girls’ faces all changed—they were shaking with rage.
Cao Jiacai tried to cry for help, but every time he opened his mouth, blood gushed out.
No one pitied him. They just watched him bleed and convulse.
Security guard Xiao Fang shouted indignantly, “Wang Jinchuan, Zhao Hai—I never thought you two were like this!”
Xiao Wang stiffened his neck and said, “That was his own wishful thinking! I never agreed to it! I don’t think that way at all! I’m just angry because they—”
He had grievances and dissatisfaction he wanted to vent.
He hadn’t wanted to follow Cao Jiacai into building a harem. He was just deeply resentful of the inequality between him and the residents—ever since the Liu Hongwang incident.
He had so many emotions he wanted to express.
But Jiang Cheng drew two fingers through the air, cutting him off mid-sentence.
She had zero interest in his self-esteem, his inferiority complex, his upbringing, his childhood trauma, his adult struggles, or his emotional journey.
Every extra word was a waste of her time.
“You, you, you, you, and you.” Jiang Cheng pointed one by one.
Three security guards in total, and two cleaners.
Jiang Cheng announced, “You’re fired.”
Just fired.
Those few—especially the three without superpowers—let their shoulders drop, feeling the weak relief of having narrowly escaped something worse.
No one dared plead with Jiang Cheng.
The residents might have gradually forgotten the Liu Hongwang affair, but anyone from the property management who had been there that day could never forget.
At this moment, they finally understood what that line from TV dramas meant: “Thank you for not killing me.”
Jiang Cheng pointed to a few people not participating in the rescue mission. “Keep an eye on them while they pack up and leave.”
Everyone nodded in agreement. “Got it. Leave it to us.”
Cao Jiacai convulsed, spat blood, and finally died.
No one paid him any mind. When the cleaner testified that “he said the girls would be theirs to pick first,” Jiang Cheng’s moral justification hit its peak.
If the government were still functioning, of course the wrongdoers should be handed over to them.
But the government hadn’t shown up at all. In this special situation—without government or law enforcement—the people exercising basic justice was entirely legitimate.
But everyone’s gaze couldn’t help drifting to the other side.
There were two more people. Everyone had seen them—two residents who had sided with Cao Jiacai.
Some were curious about what they’d been thinking—why they’d thrown in with him.
Wang Haotian’s reasoning was actually simple: he wasn’t a leader-type himself, so he needed to follow the right leader to get a bigger share of the spoils.
But the leadership of Youth Apartments was firmly held by a woman—Jiang Cheng.
What effect did a woman among men have on the male group?
At meetings, you couldn’t smoke.
You couldn’t use profanity involving genitalia.
You couldn’t make crude jokes.
And that wasn’t even the worst part.
What was worse was that someone like Nie Kuizhang—who had contributed so much to the neighborhood—was punished just for making a crude remark and copping a feel.
Unfair! Nie Kuizhang had killed so many zombies—how many had that girl killed?
A significant number of men operate on the underlying logic that “when my contributions are great enough, women should be part of the reward.”
Wang Haotian felt that if the interim committee had been all-male, this wouldn’t have been an issue at all.
Everyone would have treated it as an unspoken rule.
The punishment of Nie Kuizhang, in Wang Haotian’s eyes, was like a whip lashing all men.
Even though Li Jiangbing and Song Jingshuo had carried it out, Wang Haotian knew the whip was actually in Jiang Cheng’s hand.
If Jiang Cheng hadn’t been on the interim committee, the He Tian incident would’ve blown over with a few laughs and scoldings.
Wang Haotian had wanted to bring Jiang Cheng down from the very beginning.
He’d even tried to stir up gender conflict right in front of Song Jingshuo, using provocation to goad him into competing for power.
But Song Jingshuo hadn’t taken the bait—instead, he’d mocked him.
Now Wang Haotian and his accomplice were terrified.
The property management people had been expelled—what about the two of them? Would they be dealt with differently?
Were they going to… kill them?
Did Jiang Cheng think that as residents who had betrayed her, they were even more unforgivable than the property staff?
Wang Haotian shook with fear.
But he had no idea how far his logic diverged from Jiang Cheng’s.
Jiang Cheng acted as if she hadn’t even seen them. She said, “Let’s move out.”
She took the lead and walked out through the east gate.
Everyone glanced at the two crumpled on the ground, pinched their noses, and stepped around them to follow Jiang Cheng.
Outside the east gate, only the first bus was directly facing the entrance—and only the people on that first bus had witnessed everything that happened inside.
Their faces were all pressed against the windows!
They wanted to see more clearly.
What happened? How did that little black cat—?!
Zhao Yi boarded and immediately looked for Gao Yuxuan. “Yuxuan!”
He leaned his face in.
Gao Yuxuan didn’t hesitate—he swung his hand and gave Zhao Yi a hard slap across the face!
Crack! The sound was loud and sharp, startling everyone.
“It hurts…” Zhao Yi held his cheek, smiling blissfully. “Not a dream.”
Everyone: “…”
Jiang Cheng couldn’t help but laugh.
Back in the neighborhood, the people left behind murmured, “Is Jiang Cheng really going to let those two stay?”
Someone else said, “Well, what can she do? They’re residents too.”
Jiang Cheng hadn’t even driven out the property management people—she’d just fired them.
But how could Jiang Cheng fire a resident?
A resident who bought a home here had the right to live here.
Someone muttered, “Actually…”
Everyone knew what he was implying.
There was still no news on TV—no sign of the government at all.
Maybe this time, it really was over.
But the people of Youth Apartments weren’t despairing or depressed. In fact, their spirits were remarkably high.
Because they had something to hold on to.
The government might be gone. Law enforcement might be gone. But at Youth Apartments, what was considered right under the rule of law was still right—and what should be done, still should be.
For example, if a resident bought a home with their own money, they had the right to live there—no one could kick them out.
Jiang Cheng was maintaining the entire social framework.
She was different from Cao Jiacai.
Cao Jiacai had no clue how a society actually operated. He wanted to ascend the throne, become a petty tyrant, have the final say, build a harem, and indulge in wine and flesh.
On the bus, Song Jingshuo was also pondering this.
He glanced at Jiang Cheng beside him. The breeze from the window stirred her bangs—there was a tranquil beauty in the movement.
Jiang Cheng never wanted to be a petty tyrant.
She could certainly expel residents who owned property here—she had the power to do it.
But if she did that, she would cease to be a leader and become a hegemon, a dictator.
Using hegemony and dictatorship might feel great in the moment.
But wherever there’s light, there’s shadow; wherever there’s good, there’s evil. Everything has two sides—nothing is ever absolute good.
The ultimate state of hegemony and dictatorship isn’t even that the few profit while the many suffer.
Its final evolution is that one person profits while everyone else loses.
Under hegemony and dictatorship, the legal framework and moral system would crumble to dust. In the end, one person wins—and everyone else loses.
That wasn’t what Jiang Cheng wanted at all.
Everything Jiang Cheng had been doing was about making the best possible outcome under given conditions—mobilizing all human and material resources to reach the best possible result.
Not perfect—but the best under the circumstances.
What kind of thinking was that? What kind of person was Jiang Cheng?
In the breeze from the bus window, Song Jingshuo found his answer—
An operator.
Yes, exactly.
Jiang Cheng was a classic operator—a successful one.
And that was why top professionals like Song Jingshuo were irresistibly drawn to her side.
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