S City’s emergency management command center was established at the City Operations Management Center.
Here, there was a city surveillance hall that could connect to all of S City’s public cameras, with monitoring coverage spanning almost every street in the city.
The monitoring systems of the police command center and the traffic command center were both submodules of this system.
This department operated 24 hours a day, with many staff on duty even at night.
Because of this, when the zombie virus broke out, it could be said that they suffered near-total losses.
As Jiang Cheng had noted, at the time of the outbreak, all such spaces where many people gathered simultaneously became ground zero.
The government forces faced great difficulty when they mobilized to retake this building—many of the zombies inside were agile second-generation infected.
But despite the sacrifices, the government eventually regained control of the building and cleared out all the zombies inside, turning it into S City’s emergency management command base.
Now, presiding over operations here was a deputy mayor named Zheng.
He had originally been S City’s fourth-ranking deputy mayor, overseeing education. But all the officials above him had been confirmed dead on the night of the outbreak. So now, he was the one leading S City.
The situation was far from optimistic.
The rescue forces were advancing much slower than anticipated.
Due to the nature of zombie virus transmission, an area could only be declared a “green zone” after every last zombie within it had been eliminated. This meant rapid advances were simply impossible.
But S City was a metropolis with a population in the tens of millions.
Mayor Zheng took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose, utterly exhausted.
All the police forces that could be assembled within the city were already here.
Multiple fires had broken out across the city, and the fire department was completely overwhelmed. Too many firefighters had been lost on Sunday and Monday.
All major hospitals had fallen. The scenes captured on surveillance were like something out of a horror film.
College students were fighting desperately to survive—they were the nation’s future, and Mayor Zheng watched helplessly as those young people died or became infected, turning into second-generation zombies.
Citizens with empty pantries stepped out of their homes wielding kitchen knives, only to be surrounded by zombies.
—All of this was playing out in real time on the screens.
Whoever coined the term “zombie” had hit the nail on the head.
But all official channels tacitly avoided using that word. If even the government used it, it would be too despairing.
To this day, official communications still used the term “mutants”—first-generation mutants, infected mutants, also known as original mutants and second-generation mutants.
Mayor Zheng’s exhaustion wasn’t just physical—it was mental. The pressure on him was immense.
Beside him stood his secretary—or rather, his temporary secretary. In fact, many people in this command center had the prefix “acting” or “temporary” attached to their titles.
With the previous occupants gone, they’d had to step up and take on the responsibility in a time of crisis.
The secretary reported the latest updates from several fronts, ending with: “In the development zone, two communities—Youth Apartments and Jixiang Jiayuan—have had residents independently clear the nearby mutants and jointly sealed off the road. The two communities are now connected as one green zone.”
Amidst a sea of grim news, this one piece of encouraging information lifted Mayor Zheng’s spirits. He put his glasses back on: “Is that so? Let me see.”
The dispatch hall had a wall of dozens of screens.
An operator pulled up the surveillance footage from Jixiang West Street this morning.
Many people stopped and gathered behind Mayor Zheng to watch.
“They’re cleaning up.”
“Looks like they cleared the zombies off the street earlier—look at those bodies, already decomposing.”
“People from both communities are working together.”
“Someone must be leading them. Without a leader, there’s no way they’d coordinate like this.”
“There—those few people.”
The operator zoomed in on the area others had pointed out.
While everyone else was working, a few people stood there talking, and no one around them seemed displeased by their behavior.
Clearly, those were the organizers and leaders of the two communities.
Based on their positions, the middle-aged man at the head of one group was likely from Jixiang Jiayuan.
On the other side, Youth Apartments—everyone had heard of this development project aimed at young people—so it was easy to imagine that side’s leaders were a younger crowd.
But the fact that the person standing at the forefront, conversing with the middle-aged man from Jixiang Jiayuan, was a young woman—that surprised everyone.
No one doubted that this girl had just happened to be standing in front.
Because everyone present was from the establishment. People within the system were most attuned to and sensitive about seating arrangements and positioning.
With a single glance, they could all tell: this girl was the one calling the shots for Youth Apartments.
Even her posture and bearing carried the air of someone in charge.
It was puzzling—that kind of demeanor usually came from years of accumulated experience in officialdom or the business world. It was rare for someone so young to have that kind of presence.
Or there was another possibility—some second-generation heirs born with silver spoons, who’d enjoyed superior status since birth, might also carry themselves that way.
But then, why would such a person live at Youth Apartments? That development was aimed at the young middle class.
“Organized, proactive. Courageous, and with good judgment.” Mayor Zheng sighed. “If only we had more communities like this.”
But then he fell silent.
Because across the wall of screens, what dominated were scenes of citizens being chased down by zombies, tripping and getting torn apart; citizens crying and cursing on their balconies; citizens brawling and grabbing supplies in convenience stores with shattered glass doors.
All screens were set to mute by default. But these silent images, side by side, covering the vast hall’s high walls, only made the atmosphere more oppressive.
Of course, Jiang Cheng and the others at Youth Apartments had no idea that someone was watching them through the surveillance cameras.
In any case, the haggling was left to the finance guy, who didn’t look like he’d let anyone take advantage of him—and he didn’t disappoint Jiang Cheng, negotiating half a sack of rice as compensation for the tech geeks.
Zhao Yi was called over, and Jiang Cheng gave him a brief rundown.
Zhao Yi had no objections. He agreed with Jiang Cheng’s philosophy: in terms of both safety and sanitation, two communities this close to each other couldn’t afford to remain isolated. Helping the neighbors was helping themselves.
Song Jingshuo, afraid Zhao Yi might be too honest, made a point of clearly stating the compensation in front of Zhou Wang, grinning: “If it’s too heavy, have Jiangbing go over and help you carry it back.”
Zhao Yi: “I can carry it.”
“Good.” Song Jingshuo patted him on the shoulder.
Song Jingshuo was very good at socializing, and everyone liked him, but Zhao Yi inexplicably couldn’t stand him.
After eating, he headed over and returned to the community in the evening.
People were scattered in twos and threes throughout the courtyard—these were the same people who used to hide in their rooms blasting the AC and playing games, but now they treasured any chance to go downstairs and socialize with healthy, living people. They all came down to enjoy the evening cool and chat.
Seeing Zhao Yi, many greeted him: “Back already?”
Zhao Yi was a bit unaccustomed to suddenly being treated like a celebrity. But indeed, everyone now knew him and deeply appreciated his contributions to the community.
Someone told him: “They’re at the pavilion.”
“They” of course meant Jiang Cheng and the other core members.
Zhao Yi swung the sack onto his shoulder and hurried over. From a distance, he could see those few people indeed talking under the pavilion.
Jiang Cheng was the most conspicuous—the only girl among the core members. Her black cat lay on her shoulder, giving off a very anime-like vibe.
Usually in anime, that kind of companion pet would even transform into a giant battle beast.
Ah, he was getting off track.
Zhao Yi shook off these random thoughts and went over to report to Jiang Cheng: “I’m back.”
“Good work,” Jiang Cheng said. “How was it over there? Everything arranged? Took until now?”
At that, Zhao Yi had complaints: “Don’t even mention it.”
Since it was his area of expertise, he’d gone over full of confidence, expecting things to be like at Youth Apartments—everyone with their own assigned roles, cooperating actively, even brainstorming creative solutions.
Instead, there were problems at every turn, starting with the site selection.
Zhao Yi: “They don’t have anything like a swimming pool, but they do have sunken gardens, so I thought we could just pick one spot.”
“Whichever one I picked, people from the nearby buildings would rush down and kick up a fuss—refusing, demanding we choose somewhere else.”
“A lot of them were old folks; I didn’t dare touch them.”
Everyone sympathized. Jiang Cheng said: “Brother Zhou really has it tough.”
She asked: “Where did you end up choosing?”
Zhao Yi: “Eventually we settled on the underground garage. Transporting the trash is more of a hassle. And those people were shouting that we couldn’t use the elevators to move trash down to the garage—had to use the vehicle ramps.”
Just hearing about it gave everyone a headache. Zhou Wang really had it rough. Even Song Jingshuo felt that if it were him, he might have lost his temper—it took a middle-aged man worn smooth by the world, with no edges left, to have that kind of patience.
Song Jingshuo glanced at the sack on Zhao Yi’s shoulder: “Got the payment, I see.”
It was actually a flour sack.
You rarely saw flour sacks like that at Youth Apartments. The young people here bought their flour in small paper-bag packages from the supermarket.
These big flour sacks were something only older people would buy at the market.
Now the sack was filled with rice.
Zhao Yi opened it for everyone to see. They said: “Why does it look mixed? Is it grains?”
It looked like several different kinds of rice mixed together, with even some beans in there.
Zhao Yi actually admired Zhou Wang: “It’s a hundred-household rice.”
Zhou Wang certainly couldn’t foot the “payment” himself. With how sensitive food was right now, no matter what, he couldn’t be the sucker who paid out of his own pocket.
He’d broadcast an announcement through the loudspeakers under every building, informing residents about the garbage disposal, then declared: “The payment for the Youth Apartments workers will be shared by all residents, per household.”
He’d sent people door-to-door in each building to collect. Each household only had to give about a bowl’s worth. Since the amount per household was tiny when spread out, no one complained—they all gave.
Though some sly residents threw in beans and insisted: “We only eat grains in our house.”
The collectors didn’t fuss—it wasn’t for themselves anyway; as long as each household gave something, it was fine.
In the end, they scraped together half a sack of food.
It was actually pretty heavy. Carrying it on the back was easier than holding it, so he’d slung it over his shoulder.
It made him look a bit like a famine refugee fleeing with a begging sack.
Song Jingshuo struggled to hold back his laughter.
Zhao Yi hated him even more.
He tied the flour sack back up, lifted it with one hand and supported it with the other, and brought it to Jiang Cheng: “Should I hand this over to you?”
Jiang Cheng: “Why give it to me? This is yours. You did the work—you should get the compensation.”
“Keep it safe.” She said, pulling out her phone to check the time, almost to herself: “Today’s progress update should be broadcasting soon, right?”
Song Jingshuo also raised his wrist to check his watch.
Nowadays, with smartphones almost universal, who among the young still wore watches?
Zhao Yi really hated this show-off.
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