Zhang Yi didn't have time to linger on thoughts. Winter days were short and nights long; if he didn't locate the armory soon, he'd be returning in the dark.
At least finding the dormitories gave him a landmark. He climbed back up to the snow surface, reoriented himself against the surrounding features, and replayed Uncle You's directions from the day before.
The excavator roared to life. This time it didn't take long: Zhang Yi found the armory.
Buried under the snow, it looked like a stout concrete bunker. The iron door was sealed with a heavy silver padlock. He tried prying it with a crowbar, grunting and levering, but the lock didn't budge.
"Military armories aren't meant to be easy to crack," he muttered. He couldn't risk firing at the lock, though. Then he remembered the excavator sitting right behind him. Face-palming, he clambered into the operator's seat and rammed the machine straight into the door. The padlock snapped clean off.
He shoved the steel gate aside. The sight inside made his blood race.
It wasn't the picture he'd imagined—no piles of crates stacked to the ceiling. Neat iron racks lined the walls, each shelf filled with matte-black rifles—standard-issue infantry weapons. Heavy grey-green metal crates of unknown alloy sat in rows, camouflage uniforms and helmets hung from hooks, and cans of paint were stashed under the shelves.
Zhang Yi breathed deep and began stuffing rifles into his spatial storage. He now had more guns than he'd ever need. Most of them would never be fired again, but he took everything he could—the apocalypse taught you to hoard options.
What interested him more than firearms were ammunition, grenades, and anything heavier. He checked metal crates one by one. Sure enough: about 2,000 rounds of pistol ammo, over 5,000 rifle rounds, and 300 sniper cartridges. He found a military-grade sniper rifle—built tougher than his police model, better weatherproofed and cold-resistant. It wasn't as precision-focused as the police rifle, but for him that didn't matter; his aim more than compensated.
The biggest surprise: ten crates of hand grenades—five per crate. Fifty grenades in total.
It was a windfall.
"Most of the gear must've been taken when they left," Zhang Yi reasoned. The blizzard had come suddenly; the garrison likely evacuated in a rush and couldn't destroy everything. Still, what remained was more than enough for one man.
Uncle You had told him the Tianhai garrison was a full regiment—roughly 1,500 soldiers. There had to be other armories nearby. Bolstered by what he'd found, Zhang Yi used the excavator to clear the snow along the building's concrete foundation, and soon uncovered a second armory. It was smaller, but it yielded several thousand more rounds of ammunition and two more grenade crates.
"More than enough for now," he said, smiling. With this arsenal, no one in Tianhai could contest him. He'd never handled grenades before, but he could ask Uncle You later or look it up.
No heavy weapons turned up—unsurprising for an infantry garrison. Heavy machine guns and vehicles had almost certainly left with the troops. If the blizzard hadn't hit, even these supplies might already be gone.
Satisfied, Zhang Yi stowed everything and drove the excavator a short distance to cut down lumber. The surrounding wilderness was full of trees—exactly what he needed. He felled trunks, packed them into his space storage, and worked late into the evening before heading back.
When he returned, everyone in the building was waiting for him—hungry eyes, hopeful faces. But this time Zhang Yi came back empty-handed.
He spread his hands. "I checked dozens of places today. No food. You'll have to hold out a little longer."
You can't feed people too well, he thought. Full bellies breed entitlement. Yesterday some had gotten greedy—demanding clothes, expecting more. He'd deliberately returned empty to remind them who kept them alive. If they wanted to eat, they had to obey.
Grumbles rose at once. "What? No food today?" "You looked and found nothing?" "How do we survive the night?" "You worked all day and came back with nothing?"
Zhang Yi smiled and waited.
"Are you done?" he asked finally.
The crowd fell silent, startled into submission.
"You all seem to have gotten a little too comfortable," he said coldly. "Have you forgotten how you came begging to me? Do you think my bringing food is some right you're owed? If so, fine—go your own way. Find food yourselves."
Faces fell. Panic flitted across them.
Li Chengbin rushed forward. "Brother Zhang, that's not what we meant. We know how hard you work. Please—rest. Let us help."
Zhang Yi watched them, weighing the room. He'd gathered food and gear today, but leadership wasn't just about piling supplies—it was about keeping people in line until the real work began. He nodded once, saying nothing more for now, and led them inside to prepare for the night.