Jiang Cheng asked Song Jingshuo, “Do you have a car?”
Jiang Cheng didn’t have a car—or rather, “Jiang Cheng” didn’t. So the knowledge stored in Jiang Cheng’s mind about “Jiang Cheng” included no familiarity with the underground parking garage at all. That was why she had overlooked the garage when making arrangements.
That had to be the reason… right?
As expected, Song Jingshuo replied, “Yes.”
So Song Jingshuo, unlike her, hadn’t forgotten about the underground garage.
Jiang Cheng said, “I don’t have a car. I didn’t think about the underground garage yesterday. We should clear it out today.”
“Also, if there’s any information I’ve missed, please be sure to point it out.”
Song Jingshuo glanced at her.
Earlier, when Old Huang had proposed home isolation, Jiang Cheng had sought his opinion with a look.
Jiang Cheng wasn’t an arbitrary decision-maker. Excellent people not only know how to listen to advice and suggestions but also know how to collaborate.
He was the same.
Song Jingshuo openly admitted that he had indeed thought of it: “I was planning to bring it up today. But with everything being so busy, I didn’t get the chance.”
That was understandable. The entire day on Sunday, from morning until night, had been intense. They had faced too many sudden situations and done too many things.
Whether someone had missed something or thought of it but didn’t have time to mention it, it was forgivable.
Jiang Cheng nodded. She took a couple of steps, then couldn’t help but say, “No one else mentioned it either. Did no one at all think of it?”
She found this a bit puzzling. Whether Song Jingshuo had intentionally or unintentionally overlooked it, the interim committee wasn’t made up of just him. Even if you set aside the committee, there were so many people in the entire complex—didn’t a single person think the underground garage needed to be cleared out?
The corner of Song Jingshuo’s mouth curled slightly, with a hint of mockery, or perhaps just amusement.
Jiang Cheng raised an eyebrow.
Song Jingshuo explained: “Of course some people thought of it. They’re just waiting for you to arrange it.”
The penny dropped.
In just one day and one night, Youth Apartment had already become a collective.
When everyone integrates into a collective—especially when the management or leadership of that collective demonstrates reliable administrative and leadership abilities—people naturally and comfortably start waiting to follow orders.
They all feel that Jiang Cheng and the interim committee must have a plan. Things need to be done one by one. Even if they haven’t mentioned cleaning the garage yet, once the immediate tasks are done, that will probably be the next step.
So I won’t be so presumptuous as to make suggestions. I’ll just wait for instructions, wait to follow the arrangements.
Obedience. Conformity.
This definitely has both pros and cons. But weighing it up, Jiang Cheng felt that for now, the pros far outweighed the cons.
Youth Apartment’s obedience, unity, and seamless coordination—seen in contrast with Jixiang Jiayuan—proved how valuable they were. This was exactly what was needed right now.
So be it.
The walkie-talkie on her waist crackled to life. It was the person guarding the conference room: “There was a huge commotion in the conference room just now—pretty scary sounds. Now it’s very quiet. I don’t know if inside… uh…”
Jiang Cheng thought for a moment and said, “Make some noise. If it’s still very quiet inside, then there are living people.”
If they were zombies—even though second-generation zombies seemed much more sensitive than original ones—they were still driven by a primal instinct to crave flesh and blood. When they heard sounds or smelled blood, they couldn’t help but pant or emit low growls.
If it was very quiet, then it could only be living people.
Living people trying not to make a sound.
The living people locked inside, waiting to turn and waiting to die, didn’t want to respond to the living people outside.
The person on the walkie-talkie said, “Oh, got it. We’ll give it a try.”
But Jiang Cheng felt there was no need to waste any more manpower on the conference room.
“Master Luo, Master Luo,” she called out.
Master Luo’s voice crackled back through the walkie-talkie: “Here, I’m here. Go ahead.”
“The property management has a welding torch, right?”
“Yes. What needs welding?”
Jiang Cheng said, “Weld the conference room door shut. Then block it as well. Double insurance. Once that’s done, the interim committee people can pull out of the property management office and stop guarding the conference room.”
Was this essentially passing a final death sentence on the people in the conference room?
Several interim committee members stopped in their tracks, listening to her communicate with Master Luo.
A sigh mixed with electronic static came through the walkie-talkie. But Master Luo didn’t object—he agreed: “Alright, I’ll get to it right away.”
Jiang Cheng instructed, “Make sure everyone around is on alert at the door while welding. Don’t let them take the chance to rush out.”
She clicked off the walkie-talkie and lifted her gaze. The people around her had stopped or slowed down, waiting for her.
Jiang Cheng’s eyes swept across them. Some met her gaze calmly, while others looked away.
But no one raised any objections.
That was good. It had been nearly 24 hours since the interim committee was formed, and so far, no one had publicly opposed any of her decisions.
Even if they felt a psychological burden, they chose to remain silent.
They also understood that some decisions were for the common good. As long as their own interests weren’t harmed, staying silent was the right move.
It also helped that they were mostly single young people—strangers to one another, at most vaguely familiar faces.
There were no family members crying, dragging, throwing tantrums, or blocking the way, like what happened at Jixiang Jiayuan.
Jiang Cheng skipped over the conference room and moved directly to the next topic: “There are two things right now. One is that the underground garage needs to be cleared out. But that’s not urgent—we can put it off for now.”
“The other, I think, is more pressing: I want to organize another supply run today.” Jiang Cheng checked the time—it was nearly noon. “Let’s do it in the afternoon again.”
“But we just did a supply run yesterday,” someone finally objected. “Is it really necessary?”
Jiang Cheng knew someone would think that.
It was perfectly normal. Many people were like that—as long as they felt “safe” in the moment, they considered themselves safe.
They had already stockpiled enough food to last a week or two, so they felt it was enough. Was it really necessary?
But Jiang Cheng couldn’t explain why she couldn’t feel “safe.”
From the night before last, when she woke up to face the first zombie—Little White’s father—in room 0308, she had already entered a state completely different from before.
Or rather, she believed this world had entered a completely different state.
It wasn’t like a flood that would recede after a while.
Nor was it like a typhoon that would stop after a while.
No, the world had changed forever. But it seemed not everyone realized this. They appeared to still be waiting for the flood to recede, for the typhoon to stop.
Standing on the road in the complex, at this moment, Jiang Cheng suddenly had an epiphany—she hadn’t traveled through time to live a mundane nine-to-five life earning a salary.
[She had traveled through time precisely to welcome a world like this!]
It had been a week since that afternoon when Jiang Cheng realized she was a time traveler.
But only at this moment—in the bright midday sunlight, surrounded by the crowd—did she completely break free from the shell of “Jiang Cheng.”
She didn’t know who she was or what world she came from, but she understood one thing: her sole purpose was to survive in this mutated world.
Song Jingshuo saw Jiang Cheng pause for an unusually long time. She was usually very quick to respond.
He was about to smooth things over when he noticed a subtle change in her bright expression beneath the dappled sunlight filtering through the trees.
Song Jingshuo was very perceptive, but the change vanished in an instant—he didn’t have time to observe it closely.
When he looked again, she was still the same young, pretty, and composed girl, wearing a gentle smile as she patiently explained: “This isn’t mandatory. It’s just a suggestion. The main issue is that there are a lot of things we need, but our carrying capacity is limited. Yesterday, I filled my handcart and backpack, but there were still some things I couldn’t buy.”
“Also, the city government has issued three news bulletins. You can probably feel it by now—the government hasn’t been able to organize an effective response yet. So the current situation might last longer than we expect.”
“I still think we should stock up on more supplies to feel more secure. Of course, it’s not mandatory—just a recommendation.”
“I want to organize another supply run, mainly because there’s safety in numbers. Whoever wants to come can come.”
The person who had objected was convinced: “That makes sense. There are things I didn’t get to buy either.”
Back then, everyone had prioritized the most essential food items, leaving less important things behind. After all, a person only has two hands and one pair of shoulders.
Many people hadn’t managed to grab handcarts. They went for supplies first, and by the time they looked for handcarts, they were already gone. They had no choice but to carry or drag their supplies home by hand.
The clever ones used suitcases, but many hadn’t thought of that at the time.
The interim committee members finalized the plan as they walked.
They would post a notice on the property owner forum.
The property management had a megaphone. Someone would take it and shout at the base of each building.
Then, each building would be broken down by floor. Every building had a few interim committee members, each responsible for a set of floors, and they would go notify those floors.
There was no need to knock on every door. Under these circumstances, shouting was the main method. Shouting in the stairwell was effective because the stairwell amplified sound—everyone could hear it.
If someone was sleeping so soundly that they didn’t hear, and also missed the notice on the forum, then they had no one to blame but themselves.
The execution plan was settled. When Jiang Cheng turned around, she noticed that Su Yu had been following her—following behind Li Jiangbing, but keeping pace with the interim committee members the whole time. Clearly, she had been listening in on everything.
“Ah, Su Yu,” Jiang Cheng called out to her. “This is Su Yu from Building 2. Su Yu, you should join the interim committee too. There’s too much to do, and we don’t have enough people.”
Su Yu had been sticking close precisely because she was waiting for this invitation.
When the interim committee was first formed yesterday afternoon, she had hesitated and missed her chance. Last night, when Jiang Cheng woke her up with those words, she regretted it. Today, she had been looking for an opportunity to bring it up with Jiang Cheng.
She immediately nodded. “Okay.”
Jiang Cheng said, “Do you have the messaging app? Go back and join the group.”
“Oh, and add Master Luo too. The property management staff also need to join the interim committee.”
“We shouldn’t call it the Interim Owner’s Committee. We should call it the Interim Emergency Committee.”
No one objected.
In fact, even while everyone was so busy yesterday, some people still contacted the property management about blown light bulbs, blown fuses, clogged toilets, and the like.
These things needed to be handled by someone.
The property management had no leadership right now. They couldn’t just leave things unattended.
Jiang Cheng immediately used the walkie-talkie to communicate with Master Luo.
Master Luo was older and had a deeper understanding of society than these young people. He had realized the significance and influence of the interim committee yesterday.
Although the property management staff currently stranded in the complex more or less listened to him—Master Luo being the head of the engineering department—he was essentially just someone used to working with his head down. Being the “head of the engineering department” merely meant assigning tasks like “You go fix the electricity meter in Building 4, you go unclog the toilet in Building 6.”
The interim committee now wanting to bring the property management under its wing suited Master Luo just fine.
In the face of overwhelming personal powerlessness, clear-headed people are afraid of being marginalized.
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