After everyone dispersed, the temporary committee arranged for people to keep watch over the fire.
Old Luo stayed there himself, keeping an eye on things. He didn’t quite trust these young residents—though the lads were brave, when it came to fire prevention and safety, it took people like them, who’d received proper safety training, to put everyone at ease.
In any case, with Old Luo on watch, Jiang Cheng felt at ease.
Everyone scattered and headed home.
Back in her apartment, Jiang Cheng set Moli down on the bed and hurried to take a hot shower.
Now that she was shouldering the responsibility of leading the youth apartment complex’s temporary emergency committee, emergencies could crop up at any moment—she even showered quickly.
Sure enough, she’d barely finished drying her damp hair and finally tossed the “battle clothes” she’d worn for two and a half days into the washing machine when the walkie-talkie crackled:
“Ms. Jiang, Ms. Jiang. This is the west gate. A few residents want to drive out—should we open the gate for them?”
Jiang Cheng was a bit surprised. She picked up the walkie-talkie: “Ask them if they’re going out temporarily to run an errand or if they’re leaving the complex.”
The security guard asked and replied: “They said they’re leaving to go elsewhere—won’t be back for at least a few days.”
Jiang Cheng understood. “Check if there are any zombies outside the gate first.”
The guard responded, “I don’t see any outside right now. There were two that wandered by during the day—we stabbed them through the iron fence and took them out.”
“Let them go,” Jiang Cheng said. “Everyone remember: residents of the complex are free to leave. We don’t have the right to stop anyone from leaving.”
“But no one from outside is allowed in.”
“The youth apartment complex is to be completely sealed off from the outside—no people and no zombies get in.”
Their conversation was on an open channel, so everyone could hear it.
This time, not just the west gate guard, but also the east gate guard, Old Luo, several property staff with walkie-talkies, and even Song Jingshuo and the building leaders all responded: “Understood!”
Sealed off. Zombie-free. Every household had some stockpile of food and supplies.
Given that the whole city was overrun with zombies and most people had been trapped in their homes for two days, everyone understood just how precious their current situation was.
And they’d paid for it with the lives of over twenty residents.
Some were locked in their own apartments. More were locked in the property management’s conference room in the basement—the door welded shut, the surveillance cameras destroyed. No one knew what was going on in there now.
They had all been brave, warm-hearted, responsible residents.
Those were painful losses.
This stable, united safe zone had been hard-won.
This was their own home! They had to protect it!
Someone couldn’t help saying, “What are they thinking? Leaving at a time like this?”
It wasn’t safe anywhere out there—even the roads were dangerous.
Someone replied, “Maybe they’re worried about their parents?”
At that, everyone instantly understood.
“Yeah, that makes sense. Sigh…”
“Is everyone here from the local area?”
“I am. I called home—my family’s safe. So I’m not worried.”
“I’m not.”
“Neither am I. But I’ve talked to my family too—they’re fine.”
Seeing the conversation trending toward a walkie-talkie group chat, Song Jingshuo stepped in: “Alright, take it to the group chat. Don’t waste the walkie-talkie batteries.”
These walkie-talkies ran on rechargeable batteries, and there were only a few chargers, all kept at the property management office. If they needed charging, you had to bring them there.
It was a bit of a hassle.
Everyone switched off their walkie-talkies, careful not to drain the power.
Song Jingshuo was really useful.
He wasn’t afraid to take charge. He didn’t second-guess himself—when something needed to be said, he said it.
And because he always hit the nail on the head, the people he addressed either listened or couldn’t find a reason to argue back.
Jiang Cheng blew her hair dry, thinking to herself: Good. I like this person.
A useful person.
After the shower, she felt light and refreshed.
She reached out to stroke Moli. During the daytime, his body had felt warm, but now that evening had come, his temperature seemed to have dropped again. He didn’t seem to have much energy either.
When her hand touched him, he only glanced at her—didn’t even let out a meow.
It was like he lost all his battery power the moment the sun went down.
“What’s going on with you?” Jiang Cheng had no choice but to tuck him against her chest to keep him warm.
She sat at her computer with Moli in her arms, browsing the internet.
The forum was buzzing. There was a sense of joyful relief in the posts—now that the complex had been cleared, everyone seemed to have finally relaxed.
Just now in the courtyard, if it weren’t for the fact that the fire was burning bodies, people might have wanted to dance around it in celebration.
The forum wasn’t the only thing jumping—the group chat was lively too.
And that was just the committee’s communication channel. You could imagine how many groups had already sprouted up across the entire complex through the resident forums.
At this hour, surely no one in the complex was asleep—everyone was online, chatting up a storm.
People could be so shortsighted sometimes, content with what was right in front of them.
In reality, beyond the youth apartment complex, the entire city—or perhaps the whole country—hadn’t received a single piece of good news.
The TV was still looping the same old announcements.
Nothing new was happening on the major forums across the country either.
There were plenty of posts about “went outside,” “grabbed rice from the supermarket,” “broke in through the door,” and the like. The same scenarios were playing out in different places on Monday.
But the youth complex was ahead of all of them—they’d already made their supply run on Sunday.
Apart from those households that had stocked up beforehand, if everyone was only going out for supplies when they ran out of food, given the current conditions outside, they’d only be able to search near their homes—long-distance trips were too risky. Crossing districts to reach a large supermarket wasn’t feasible.
And not every complex was lucky enough to have a big supermarket like Duodu nearby.
So for now, the youth apartment complex was probably one of the best-supplied groups out there.
Suddenly, a message appeared in the committee group chat: [The neighboring complex is in chaos again.]
There were several complexes near the youth apartment complex, but now when someone said “the neighbors” without any qualifier, it meant Jixiang Jiayuan.
Everyone asked: [What happened now?]
[I checked their forum. Apparently someone under home quarantine didn’t stay put—somehow got out, turned, and bit several neighbors on the same floor.]
[The one who turned got killed. Then they tried to quarantine the newly injured. Family members kicked up a fuss, a conflict broke out, and someone got killed.]
[A normal, uninfected person.]
The group fell silent.
Killing zombies was one thing. Even killing an infected person who hadn’t turned yet was now becoming acceptable.
But killing a normal, uninfected living person…
Every committee member, sitting in their own apartment in front of their own screen, stared at the message in silence.
No one wanted to admit or face it—the lines were being crossed, one layer at a time.
How long had it been? The outbreak hit Saturday night, and now it was only Monday night.
Just 48 hours.
The ordinary residents were still online, celebrating the youth apartment complex becoming a safe zone with the neighbors they’d grown close to over the past two days.
But the committee members sat with the weight of this news, unsettled and anxious.
Another message popped up in the group.
Jiang Cheng: [Everyone get some rest early. These past two days have been brutal. Tomorrow at 9:30 AM, all committee members meet for a discussion on what to do going forward.]
Everyone’s spirits lifted.
That’s right—though things looked bleak outside the complex, the youth apartment complex had a backbone.
They had organization. They had strength.
Over a thousand able-bodied young adults—in ancient times, that would be enough to raise a flag and start a rebellion.
[Got it!]
[Roger!]
[Sleeping now, sleeping now.]
Though the smell of burning corpses still hung in the air, that night’s sleep was far more restful than Sunday’s.
Sunday night, everyone had been on edge, terrified that zombies might pop out from some corner of the complex at any moment—they’d slept lightly, even had nightmares.
Tonight, after the committee announced the entire complex was clear, many people finally slipped into deep sleep again.
Jiang Cheng fell asleep holding Moli in her arms.
During the day, Moli had thought he was recovering, because sunlight allowed him to store up energy. But once night fell, the energy accumulated in his body stopped increasing—and wasn’t even enough to sustain his physical form.
Luckily, there was cat food to supplement him a little.
Then the girl held him close as they slept together.
Her body was warm, and the energy seeped through her skin and passed into him.
Moli fell asleep in Jiang Cheng’s arms too.
…
The sun rose.
Jiang Cheng had drawn the blackout curtains before bed, so sunlight couldn’t penetrate them. But even so, Moli’s eyes snapped open the moment sunlight hit the outside of the curtains.
In the darkened room, his pupils were large and round.
He lifted his head and turned toward the window.
It had been the same yesterday morning—that pull of energy, a craving that came from deep in his fur, his blood vessels, the very core of his cells.
Moli crept quietly off the bed.
The floor-to-ceiling window was an irregular bay window. A beanbag chair sat in that recessed space.
Last night before bed, Jiang Cheng had drawn the curtains, leaving the beanbag chair on the outside of them.
Moli nudged through the curtains and slipped inside.
The moment sunlight bathed his body, he felt every single hair stand on end.
Energy seeped through his opened fur into his skin, and a deep, profound comfort spread through him.
His little cat brain couldn’t make sense of much, so he simply lay still, feeling his body slowly repair itself, waiting for the girl on the bed to wake.
When Jiang Cheng woke up, she found Moli missing again. She rubbed her eyes, walked over, and pulled the curtains open—sure enough, the black cat was curled up on the beanbag chair, basking in the sun in an utterly contented pose.
“You really love the sun, huh.” Jiang Cheng stroked Moli and noticed his body temperature was much higher than last night. “So the sun really does work.”
His temperature went right up when he got some sun.
Jiang Cheng thought about leaving Moli at home to soak up the sun. But when she was ready to head out, the little cat bit at her clothes.
Every time she left, he had to come along.
So she put him back in her cross-body bag.
That bag was his designated seat.
Tuesday morning, the committee members gathered for their meeting.
Since the property management’s conference room was occupied and welded shut, they chose the vine-covered pavilion by the small square as their meeting spot. At least there was seating.
The smell of burnt corpses still hung in the air, but the sun was bright, and this was the most relaxed everyone had felt since Saturday night.
The previous meetings had been tense—Jiang Cheng, Song Jingshuo, and the others quickly conferring, making plans, assigning tasks. Everyone was wound tight, rushing off to handle their duties.
Now, finally, they could sit down and discuss things without haste.
Everyone felt like they were finally seeing daylight.
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