The residents of Building 25 huddled in their apartments, eating whatever rations Zhang Yi had doled out for dinner. Nobody had showered in weeks. Skin itched, rashes surfaced — yet even the thought of boiling a kettle felt like a luxury nobody could afford. Every drop of hot water might be the difference between life and death the next day. Who would risk getting sick from a single bath?
Jiang Lei and Li Chengbin shared a room. They'd been best friends since college, now working at the same place — close as brothers. That night they were in high spirits: Zhang Yi had handed each of them a box of braised pork rice. The meals were rock-hard from the freezer, but they tucked them under their down jackets to thaw until they could bite through.
In the black room the two men lay wrapped in quilts, only their heads showing. Jiang Lei struggled to scoop a chunk of pork with his spoon, chewing slowly until the flavor finally hit. His face lit up with pure bliss. "Lucky we stuck with Zhang Yi, huh?" he sighed. "This feels like a five-star meal."
Li Chengbin said nothing, devouring his meal straight from the box — no spoon required. Jiang Lei nudged him. "You hear me? Let's keep following Zhang Yi. Look at Zhou Ke'er — she still has clean clothes, a Canada Goose jacket, she even manages to shower!"
Li Chengbin's tone was blunt. "Envy all you want. You don't have what it takes to be in her position."
Jiang Lei shrugged. "If I did, I'd have tried. But I can help you —"
"Shut up," Li Chengbin snapped. "The more you talk, the grosser you get."
Silence fell. Then Li Chengbin dropped a thought, low and urgent: "Have you ever considered that when Zhang Yi gives us food, he's just using us as cannon fodder? He probably never intends to let us live freely."
Jiang Lei's eyes widened. "You mean all those times we almost took his place? We couldn't even do it. He almost killed us. Whoever has the biggest fists rules now. He gives us food, so we follow. What else can we do?"
Before they could argue further, Li Chengbin's phone buzzed. He checked it; his expression turned serious, a mix of tension and excitement spreading across his face. Whatever the message was, it mattered.
The next morning Zhang Yi left the community on his snowmobile as usual. After yesterday's ambush, he took a long detour and left from a different direction — this time without Uncle You. He was heading for the military barracks to dig out weapons and equipment hidden beneath the snow, and to cut down trees he could use later.
The night before, the leaders from other buildings — Li Jian, Chen Lingyu and others — had pressed him about cooperating. Zhang Yi had brushed them off: "I'll think about it." He didn't care about their impatience. What mattered was how long it would take them to actually unite. The more time he had, the better he could prepare.
After two and a half hours of driving he reached the spot he'd scouted the day before. The snow stretched white and endless; only a few landmarks pierced the drift. He pulled an excavator from his space and began digging. Less than before, the machine ate through the white blanket; soon enough he hit structure.
He clambered down and checked inside, expecting an armory. Instead he found a barracks dormitory.
Logically, the blizzard should have left bodies everywhere. Any soldiers stationed there would have frozen if they'd been trapped. But the dormitory told a different story: beds were neatly made, sheets smoothed, rooms tidy. Not a single frozen body. Not a trace of panic.
"That's odd," Zhang Yi muttered as he checked the other rooms. They were all the same.
A theory clicked into place. When the blizzard warning first came, the officials with access and foreknowledge evacuated the key personnel and supplies into secure shelters. Ordinary soldiers, ordinary people — they didn't get the warning. The empty dorms and the stripped warehouses in the city matched the same pattern: those with power and privilege had taken the good stuff and the personnel with them.
The idea chilled him. When those sheltered elites finally emerged with their military-grade weapons, they could be a colossal threat. But that's a problem for later. For now, the armory was still buried beneath snow somewhere nearby.
Zhang Yi memorized the visible landmarks — the watchtower, the officers' office, the alignments of the dorms — and stored the layout in his head. If he dug in the right place later, with more equipment, he could reach the armory.
Night was coming on and they had hours to get back. He closed up and headed home. The trip back took time; the wind had gained strength and the temperature dropped further.
Meanwhile, over at Building 21 the attack had failed. Li Chengbin led a ragged group home: the Mad Wolf Gang's building had been trapped with defenses and booby traps. The offensive had cost them dearly. They'd killed a few of the enemy, but lost more men than they gained. Exhausted and near defeat, they withdrew.
Some returned with a grim tally of kills and injuries; others came back furious, convinced Zhang Yi had sent them in just to vent his anger while he and Uncle You stayed safe in the rear. A few middle-aged men — the ones who had done the least but complained the most — were loudest in their grievances.
Li Chengbin heard it and snapped. "Shut up! If Zhang Yi hadn't given us food, half of us would have starved to death! Who are you to complain?" The crowd simmered. Complaints abounded, but real action would require courage — and most of them lacked it. Given a gun and a loaf of bread, most would still kneel.
By the time Zhang Yi and Uncle You returned with two heavy bags of supplies, he put on a performance of generosity. He publicly rewarded Jiang Lei and Li Chengbin — who'd fought hardest — with oversized braised pork bowls. Everyone else received at least a small ration. But Zhang Yi could tell the mood had shifted: gratitude had thinned into unease. People whispered about being used; they'd die in the fights he sent them to. They resented that he never seemed to eat the good things he brought back.
Zhang Yi watched them all with a quietly amused contempt. Complaints could turn into mutiny, but most would grumble and do nothing. He knew their nature: they had the heart to talk, not the stomach for action. For now, food and fear kept them in line. For now, that was enough.