On the seventh day after the rain stopped, the water level began to recede.

That day, Yu Xifeng skewered over a hundred fish balls using bamboo sticks.

She was thinking about heading out again to see if she could gather more supplies for storage.

Her physical training seemed to have hit a plateau—despite good nutrition, her weight wasn’t decreasing but instead had gone up.

Yu Xifeng pinched the flesh on her arm.

It felt firm, not flabby.

She took a walk through her space and retrieved six or seven eggs from the simple chicken coop built out of cardboard.

That was about three days’ worth.

Currently, her space was cultivating vegetables like bok choy, scallions, perilla, and chili peppers. Fruits included watermelon, durian, coconut, and mangosteen.

As for livestock, she had fish, shrimp, and two chickens.

She had ample rice and flour, and because her garden area was limited, Yu Xifeng had no immediate plans to plant rice or wheat.

However, she was considering raising more poultry to diversify her stock.

In her space, she still had fertilized chicken, duck, and goose eggs, along with a small incubator.

But her space’s live animal quota had already hit its limit. If she wanted to expand further, she would need to find more antiques to upgrade the space.

Her last trip out had been to lure Ma Tian out. That villa area still hadn’t been fully explored.

Yu Xifeng planned to go back after the New Year, while the waters hadn’t fully receded and the weather remained calm—she’d spend a few days out and return.

Just before the New Year, the government had hurriedly repaired a signal station, and cell phones regained some signal.

It wasn’t internet access, just a basic radio-style signal that could only receive broadcasts.

Broadcasts began at 7 p.m. daily and repeated at 8 a.m. and 2 p.m.

Since most households still had no electricity, the community had installed a high-decibel loudspeaker.

The speaker carried a tinny electric echo; the audio wasn’t clear and often cut out.

Yu Xifeng had heard it in her previous life.

This time, with her generator, she had enough power to charge her phone and didn’t need to crowd into the hallways to listen.

The government was gradually relocating survivors out of shelters.

They were also actively organizing the construction of new settlements.

The broadcasts also included emergency response tips for unexpected situations.

Meanwhile—

Yang Rong’s family had been living in the shelter for over a month.

Their home had been badly damaged in the heavy rain. Although the rain had stopped, the house was still soaked and uninhabitable.

The shelter didn’t accept cash—everything had to be exchanged for contribution points.

If they wanted to rent a kayak to find Yu Xifeng, they’d have to earn it by working as volunteers.

Yang Silong went to work one day, came back complaining endlessly, and refused to go again.

Xu Qingrou and her daughter had been pampered all their lives, lacked strength, and couldn’t even get hired.

Even without doing hard labor, just staying in the shelter was exhausting.

There was noise day and night—people arguing, shouting, snoring.

The air was a mix of unpleasant smells, and the ground was always muddy with dirt from outside. Every moment there was unbearable.

Yang Sizhu dreamed again.

In the dream, her family was living in a house.

It wasn’t big, but it had everything—kitchen, bedroom, living room, dining room.

Rain was pouring outside the windows.

Waves rippled on the water, and Yang Sizhu saw herself holding a bowl of hot soup.

White fish meat floated in the broth, with sweet potato noodles, and beneath that, a golden fried egg.

A very hearty bowl.

Yang Sizhu could almost smell the fragrance and instinctively began to salivate.

It had been over a month since she’d had a proper meal.

Every day they were fed mush made from vegetable broth and crushed biscuits, bulked up with whatever scraps were available.

She’d more than once found flies or unidentifiable arthropod legs in it.

The taste was awful.

Compared to that unknown mush, this bowl of fish noodle soup was undoubtedly a heavenly delicacy.

Yang Sizhu wanted to eat, but in the dream, her dream-self set the bowl down and looked toward Yu Xifeng beside her.

Yu Xifeng had a wound on her face and stared longingly at the bowl in her hands.

“This fish is too rich for someone injured like you, Xiao Yu. I’ve made bone broth for you instead—drink this,” said her mother’s voice.

Apparently, her mother had set aside the fish soup for Yu Xifeng.

A dull hunger gnawed at Yang Sizhu, and she swallowed hard, craving the soup.

And yet, in the dream, “Yang Sizhu” only took two bites.

When she found the bowl too hot to hold, she spilled it.

She lost her appetite completely.

She got up and left.

Behind her, Yu Xifeng squatted on the floor, using chopsticks to pick up the spilled fish and noodles.

…

Yang Sizhu opened her eyes, awake.

She stared at the dark ceiling, her stomach cramping with hunger.

Somehow, she felt like the life in the dream was the one she should have had.

What about Yu Xifeng? Where was she now?

Was she really living in that tiny but fully equipped house, leading a frugal yet comfortable life?

Whether from hunger or jealousy, a bitter taste rose in Yang Sizhu’s throat.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

How could Yu Xifeng be living better than her?

Before long, it was New Year’s Eve.

This year’s New Year was bleak like never before.

Outside was still a mess.

There were rumors that a group had been executed at the square—criminals who had committed crimes in Linfu.

The broadcasts played a few festive songs. In addition to news, there were even a few comedy sketches.

For most people, this was a desolate New Year.

The only notable dish on the table was fish—meat, and a symbol of abundance.

People still managed to catch some fish from the flooded waters each day.

Neighbors pooled what they had, traded, and could usually scrounge enough for a bit of fish.

Yu Xifeng retrieved a portion of braised pork with potatoes from her space, half a roast duck, stewed some cabbage with vermicelli in the kitchen, steamed a crucian carp, and sliced two oranges into a bowl. She also grabbed a handful of sunflower seeds and peanuts, topped with mini packets of spicy strips and candy beans.

That made six dishes.

Her drink was a glass of green plum tea.

The flavor was odd—sweet, but not bad.

Yu Xifeng enjoyed a hearty New Year’s Eve meal at home.

She gave Little Orange (the cat) a treat too—some dried shrimp and a cup of goat milk powder mixed with hot water.

The shrimp, sourced from a supermarket, had a strong fishy smell.

It ranked among Little Orange’s top three favorite foods.

One human and one cat ate harmoniously.

Little Orange licked the plate clean.

Yu Xifeng had a lot of leftovers and stored the extra directly in her space.

No need to wash dishes either.

She reached out to stroke the fluffy cat’s head.

Then she got up and did a thorough cleaning of her home inside and out.

According to tradition, cleaning wasn’t done on New Year’s Day.

It had been a long time since Yu Xifeng had properly celebrated a New Year.

She searched her space and found no Spring Festival couplets, but she did find an unopened pack of red paper from a hardware store.

She stared at the red paper for a while before remembering—she didn’t have a calligraphy brush.

But she did have a box of markers.

Yu Xifeng gave it a try and wrote the character 福 (Fu, meaning “fortune”).

It came out crooked and messy—not pretty at all.