Jiang Cheng had made it clear to Brother Dong over the intercom: they had medicine, but it wouldn’t be given away for free.
She asked Brother Dong what else the supermarket still had in stock.
He listed off a bunch of things—pots, pans, bowls, chopsticks, slippers, brooms, chairs, stools, plastic goods—none of much value. Jiang Cheng wasn’t interested.
Brother Dong said: “There’s no food left anyway—not even fermented bean curd. Just some drinks.”
Those drinks were stored deep in the warehouse. The later waves of people who rushed in only wanted rice and flour; they overlooked the sugary beverages.
Jiang Cheng heard this and made the call: “We’ll take the drinks.”
And that was how the trade at the east gate came about.
Several carts of high-sugar drinks exchanged for a few small boxes of medicine.
Brother Dong: “That’s harsh.”
Jiang Cheng: “Then forget it. Deal’s off.”
Brother Dong: “Fine, fine, let’s trade!”
The interim committee members had rushed over at the broadcast thinking something serious was happening—they all came armed. Under Li Jiangbing’s leadership, many had already been outfitted with the new batch of steel pipes. There weren’t enough for everyone, so priority naturally went to committee members, especially the suicide squad—they were the neighborhood’s main fighting force.
The uniform look gave them quite an imposing presence.
But it turned out they were just here to pick up sugary drinks.
The Buyduo crew also had fairly uniform weapons—all hammers—but their presence was noticeably weaker.
The two sides conducted a peaceful and friendly exchange.
“Jiangbing,” Jiang Cheng said. “Take these to the plaza and distribute them to everyone.”
Li Jiangbing was particularly suited for handling this kind of task. With him in charge, order was always well maintained.
“You got it!” Li Jiangbing directed everyone to push the shopping carts toward the plaza, cheerfully announcing, “Drinks for everyone!”
A large crowd of onlookers followed along to the small plaza to claim their beverages.
In normal times, who would ever lack a bottle of drink? But over the past few days, most households had run through their supply. On those two trips to the supermarket, who would bother hauling back heavy drinks? Rice and flour came first—even toilet paper was more important than beverages.
The elderly from Jixiang Jiayuan hadn’t grabbed these either. People fought over baby formula, but nobody fought over soft drinks.
It was a small aside, but it seemed particularly fitting for this Wednesday morning.
The neighborhood was bright with sunlight, the grass lush green. Sharing a sweet drink—as long as you kept your eyes from the pile of charred remains in the plaza—almost made it feel like life had returned to normal.
Everyone could relax and wait for the government rescue, wait for everything to get back on track.
Jiang Cheng and Song Jingshuo stood at the east gate talking with Brother Dong.
Brother Dong pulled out a cigarette and offered one to Song Jingshuo while complaining to Jiang Cheng: “That’s really steep.”
Jiang Cheng just smiled.
Song Jingshuo explained on her behalf: “In theory, this belongs to everyone. We really can’t give it away for free.”
Ever since Monday afternoon, when Su Yu posted the announcement letting everyone know the interim committee had medicine on hand, they’d already received numerous requests for help regarding medication since that evening.
People had diarrhea, stomach aches, all sorts of things.
The interim committee had to prove its value to everyone; only then would people follow their orders.
Li Jiangbing distributed drinks in the plaza, one bottle per person. He also set aside two cases.
When someone asked why, Li Jiangbing said: “Those are for Xiao Zhao and the others. They’re at the clubhouse watching over the trash disinfection—it’s pretty stinky in there. If you want to go take their place, I’ll save one for you too.”
Everyone accepted that.
This was actually something Jiang Cheng had reminded Li Jiangbing about yesterday when he’d gathered all those steel pipes: “Give priority to the interim committee members, especially the suicide squad and volunteers, for everything. No matter what it is, don’t leave them out.”
Li Jiangbing strongly agreed and implemented it thoroughly.
The plaza was noisy and bustling, but the atmosphere was relaxed and cheerful.
Brother Dong could vaguely hear and feel it from the east gate, and he couldn’t help but sigh: “Your neighborhood is the best off out of everyone around.”
Song Jingshuo had stayed behind because he wanted to ask about the nearby situation: “What’s going on with Yujing Xiangyuan?”
The other supermarket employees complained: “They’ve all gone crazy.”
“Their eyes are practically green with desperation.”
“Damn it, the only reason we held our own is that we’re all manual laborers and not afraid of them.”
People who did physical labor for a living—even the lean-looking ones—were much stronger than the average person. In the fight, both sides had injuries, but the Buyduo crew hadn’t come out on the losing end.
“We went easy on them because they looked pitiful.”
“There were also a few people from Shanshui Yayuan, Deqingli, and Lekang Jiayuan who showed up. Deqingli has its own convenience store inside the neighborhood—supposedly it’s already emptied out.”
“Lekang Jiayuan reportedly organized some people to go to Haolinju—they’re closer to Haolinju anyway.”
Haolinju was a small convenience supermarket.
Song Jingshuo nodded: “That’s alright then, as long as they can get food.”
But having been through two rounds of panic-buying and even looting, Song Jingshuo also knew that a small place like Haolinju wouldn’t be nearly enough to feed an entire neighborhood’s worth of people.
Good thing Youth Apartments had acted early.
He couldn’t help but glance at Jiang Cheng again. He noticed that although she was also standing there listening to their conversation, nothing about what was happening seemed to surprise her.
Of course—the person who’d been the first to mobilize everyone to fight their way out of the neighborhood and raid the supermarket had probably foreseen all this long ago.
Jiang Cheng said: “You’d better hide your food well. People will keep coming.”
Buyduo was just too big of a target.
When people in the surrounding areas finally dared—or were forced—to step outside to find food, almost the first place they’d think of was Buyduo.
Brother Dong said: “But the government’s already started the rescue, hasn’t it?”
Jiang Cheng replied: “They’re in the south. Let’s see how far they push today. Based on their pace, and the distance from here to the south, we can roughly estimate when they’ll reach us.”
The Buyduo people’s faces darkened at that.
They took the few boxes of medicine they’d traded with Jiang Cheng and left.
The gate of Youth Apartments was closed and locked again.
Zhao Yi and his group were called out from the clubhouse and given their share of drinks.
He was now a recognized figure in the neighborhood—many people knew him, referring to him as “that environmental engineering guy, Zhao Yi.”
Back when everything was orderly and running normally, no one thought much of it. But when all the public services people took for granted suddenly ground to a halt, they realized just how impossible it was to live without them.
Waste management was incredibly important. Humans really did produce way too much garbage.
As Song Jingshuo and Jiang Cheng strolled over, residents were gathered in the central plaza drinking their beverages.
Some people were under the pavilion making “tsk tsk tsk” sounds, trying to coax the black cat on the beam above.
It was very relaxed—practically a tea party of sorts.
Li Jiangbing had naturally saved drinks for both of them. No one would be left out before Jiang Cheng.
When Mo Li spotted Jiang Cheng, he raised his neck.
She could sense his irritation. Having people constantly “tsk tsk tsk” at him from below was indeed annoying.
Jiang Cheng raised her hand. Mo Li stepped onto her palm, then settled onto her shoulder and lay there.
She sipped her drink while gently patting Mo Li to calm him down.
Song Jingshuo chatted with Li Jiangbing and the others, relaying what he’d heard from Brother Dong.
Life inside the neighborhood was so comfortable that people sometimes forgot that outside the gates, others were suffering terribly. Hearing Song Jingshuo talk about it now made them suddenly realize the harsh reality.
Jiang Cheng squinted for a moment, then asked Zhao Yi: “Can that pile be dealt with?”
She tilted her chin toward the charred remains.
Zhao Yi said: “It’s already been sanitized and rendered harmless.”
“No, I mean,” Jiang Cheng said, “get it out of here. Can we move it to the swimming pool?”
Zhao Yi was silent for a moment: “It’s not impossible…”
But that would mean treating the dead like garbage.
They hadn’t touched it before because these were people—they’d still held onto the thought that maybe, after everything was “over,” the police would need to collect DNA and identify them.
“The living are more important,” Jiang Cheng said. “Let’s just deal with it.”
Everyone supported this decision.
It wasn’t just about attracting flies. More importantly, sometimes when you accidentally let your gaze slip and looked over there, your heart would jolt.
It was like shattering some beautiful illusion—unsettling.
The interim committee called over the cleaning staff, along with Zhao Yi and his crew, and organized some volunteers. Finally, they removed that pile of “things” in the small plaza that had been making everyone uncomfortable.
Someone relaxed their shoulders and sighed: “Even the air feels fresher now.”
The central courtyard plaza became a social hub, and the hot topic of conversation was, of course, the ongoing rescue effort.
Many people noticed Jiang Cheng was there and couldn’t help gravitating toward her to ask what she thought—how long she thought it would take for the troops to reach the new district.
Song Jingshuo was nearby chatting with others but kept half an ear on Jiang Cheng’s conversation, inwardly amused.
They were treating Jiang Cheng like some kind of oracle.
A bottle of drink didn’t last long, and it was nearing noon anyway—time for lunch.
But many had woken up late and eaten breakfast late, so they weren’t ready for lunch yet. Jiang Cheng, however, had gotten up early: “I’m going to make lunch.”
She made her escape.
Mo Li still didn’t want to go back inside. Jiang Cheng found a quiet spot, set him down, and let him find his own place to continue sunbathing.
It wasn’t until evening, when she saw the sunlight slanting westward and fading, that she went downstairs and called out a few times. Mo Li appeared quickly, settled onto her shoulder, and went home with her.
The post Jiang Cheng had put up on the major forums had also gotten some replies.
They were all consistent—no one had yet seen any animals infected or mutated. Some people were now worried: [If animals can mutate, that would be terrible.]
Others replied that there were animals that had been bitten to death.
For example: [There was a dog in our neighborhood that was fiercely protective of its owner. Thanks to it, the owner escaped. But the dog bled a lot and died.]
There were several cases of pet dogs protecting their owners, but none had mutated.
From the looks of it, Mo Li was an isolated case.
At eight in the evening, when it was completely dark, the follow-up report that the entire city had been waiting for all day finally came:
[A correspondent from the on-site Temporary Emergency Command reports: The area from XX Street to XX Street, and XX Road to XX Road in Chaoqing District is now under the actual control of rescue forces.]
[XXX Garden, XX Court, XXXX Li, XXXX Garden… all residential complexes have been fully cleared.]
[The first batch of supply supplies has been delivered to residents.]
Along with the announcer’s crisp, clear broadcast, footage from the front lines was also shown. Residents scrambled and pushed to get to the military trucks, fighting over supplies, while soldiers tried to maintain order.
In theory, this should have been uplifting news—but no one felt uplifted.
Because the TV also displayed a map, with the controlled areas colored green.
That small patch of green was, compared to the entire city of S, far too tiny.
Inside Buyduo Supermarket, Brother Dong turned his head and said: “Get me a map!”
Someone immediately ran to the stationery section and grabbed one.
Brother Dong spread the map out, marked the controlled area according to the broadcast, and stretched his hand out to measure it with the span between thumb and forefinger.
Just as Jiang Cheng had said—divide the distance, and you could roughly estimate.
The result was despair-inducing.
Someone looked like they were about to cry: “That’s gotta be half a month…”
Brother Dong stared at the map for a long time, then cursed: “Fuck.”
Leave a Reply