“Yu Xifeng, are you in there? My grandfather asked me to bring you something—some tea, sesame beans, and shredded ginger from our hometown. They’re very fragrant and tasty.”

The door was suddenly flung open.

Zhang Qiu was startled by the ghostly pale face of Yu Xifeng.

“Is there something you need?” Yu Xifeng asked.

“Well, these are some local specialties from my family. I brought them for you to try. Thank you for your help before. My grandfather is getting old and resting at home, so I brought them over. I even ran into a patrol team at the door just now.”

Yu Xifeng glanced toward the Zheng family’s house.

No one came out.

Yu Xifeng said, “Come in.”

After closing the door, her face turned cold. “Did you forget? We’re relatives. You can talk to me a little more casually.”

Zhang Qiu was a bit confused, but agreed, “Oh, right. I also brought you some zhajiang—it’s a kind of savory meat sauce I made myself. A noodle shop even asked me for the recipe once. You can eat it with noodles or other carbs. If you have chili powder, you can mix it in too.”

This guy talks so much.

Yu Xifeng rubbed her forehead.

He handed her the sauce. Yu Xifeng’s expression softened slightly. “Thanks. I have a box of peach pastries here—can you take them to Grandpa Cai for me?”

“No need, no need. You’re the one who needs to replenish your sugar intake—don’t wear out your body.” Zhang Qiu glanced at her face. “You’re having menstrual cramps, and it’s compounded by exposure to wind. Your lung defenses are off balance…”

Yu Xifeng glanced sideways at him. “You know medicine?”

The chill in the room seemed to lift a little. Zhang Qiu gave a bright smile. “Want me to take your pulse?”

“Hmm… your pulse is steady. Your body is strong, but your stomach is weak. Looks like you haven’t eaten yet today. Dissolve the peach pastry in hot water and drink it right away. Your spleen has a bit of fire. You ate something inflammatory yesterday—was it lamb? Cold constricts the womb and causes pain when it clashes with internal heat.”

Zhang Qiu muttered, “You should take peach kernel, tangerine peel, bitter orange…”

Yu Xifeng asked, “You have Chinese medicine?”

Zhang Qiu answered, “Nope.”

“Then give me the Western medicine names. I’ll see if I can get them.”

Zhang Qiu replied, “You’re in this much pain—obviously take ibuprofen!”

Yu Xifeng’s eyes widened, almost laughing out of exasperation.

What was she expecting?

“I only studied a bit, haven’t practiced much,” Zhang Qiu said sheepishly. “Regulating qi and blood isn’t something that happens overnight. Avoid cold foods. In this kind of terrible weather, you should go out as little as possible.”

Yu Xifeng didn’t want to say another word. Her stomach hurt so much she felt like collapsing.

“You.” She pointed at the door.

Zhang Qiu quickly stood up. “Then rest well.”

Yu Xifeng took an ibuprofen, felt drowsy, and crawled back into bed for a nap.

When she woke up, she felt much better.

Her lower abdomen was still a bit swollen, but the pain had eased a lot.

She drank a cup of mung bean porridge and ate a flatbread with it. Her gaze landed on the jar of meat sauce on the table.

It looked quite good—oily and fragrant.

She didn’t touch it.

After finishing the meal, she lay on the bed playing Fruit Ninja. Her surveillance log showed someone had visited.

Yu Xifeng clicked it open.

While she was sleeping, Zhang Qiu had come again.

He was holding a kettle.

He looked like he wanted to knock, but after hesitating, he just left the kettle at the door and walked away.

She had slept for three hours. During that time, Zhang Qiu even came back to change the water.

Yu Xifeng wrapped herself in a blanket and got up to open the door.

The kettle was filled with boiled hot water, now at a perfect drinking temperature.

---

Cocoa County.

By the time Yang Rong’s family realized Yu Xifeng had moved out, half a month had already passed.

This reminded Xu Qingrou of Yang Sizhu’s dream.

In the dream, their family also lived in that apartment.

And later moved out.

The overlap between dream and reality left Xu Qingrou deeply uneasy.

The temperature was dropping lower and lower—so low that it felt like there was no future.

She urged Yang Rong to go find out more. But ever since the community had marginalized him, his information flow had slowed to a trickle.

He checked in daily, doing meaningless tasks.

Xu Qingrou comforted him: “You’re her father. Even if she doesn’t acknowledge you, you should still care. In this weather, if she’s not home and something happens to her outside, what then?”

Yang Rong found nothing.

The woman who was close to Yu Xifeng, Sister Yun, had also moved out.

Xu Qingrou went to see Zhao Yao, approaching humbly, buttering her up.

Zhao Yao was happy to chat—until Yu Xifeng came up, and her expression turned uneasy.

“How would I know where she went? Running around in this kind of ghost weather. Who knows what she’s thinking?” Zhao Yao said.

From Zhao Yao, Xu Qingrou learned that Yu Xifeng had given medicine to her family. She was surprised.

Yu Xifeng had medicine?

“Did she ask you to watch over her house before she left?”

But the answer disappointed her. Zhao Yao launched into a bitter rant.

She had sold the medicine—but now prices had skyrocketed, multiplying several times over.

She felt she had sold too early and lost out.

She wanted to use the money to buy food.

But people no longer accepted cash. Those with supplies only bartered for exactly what they wanted.

That money was no better than scrap paper.

Zhao Yao regretted it so much her guts turned green.

Now at home, she and Hu Qiangyong argued constantly—there was no peace.

It was so cold.

The children weren’t eating enough.

She felt like her heart was steeped in bitter medicine—pure misery bubbling over.

Xu Qingrou tried to console her, but when she couldn’t get any useful info, she said a few perfunctory words and left.

When she got home, she received devastating news:

Her son, Longlong, had fallen ill.

His fever lasted three days straight.

Yang Silong was wrapped in blankets, his body swinging between burning hot and icy cold.

Back when Yang Rong lied to Yi Jiancong, saying that was the last packet of medicine—

Of course it wasn’t.

He had always kept a full medical kit at home. That kind of medicine—he still had over half a box.

He wanted Yi Jiancong to feel grateful, but didn’t want to give it all away.

Luckily, he had held some back. Otherwise, what would have happened to Yang Silong?

Xu Qingrou changed wet towels to bring down her son’s fever day after day.

Yang Rong looked at his only son and encouraged him: “I signed us up for the underground shelter. Only 2,000 people ahead of us now. Longlong, hold on just a bit longer. Once we get in, you won’t have to freeze anymore.”

Yang Sizhu stood by with deep eye bags and panda eyes.

Yi Xiaohui’s blanket was now covering Yang Silong.

It felt like a curse—or maybe a cycle repeating itself.

She suspected Yi Jiancong had made Yang Silong sick.

Because that’s how Yi Xiaohui got sick too.

But she didn’t dare say it.

Lately, Yang Rong and Yi Jiancong had become inseparable.

Yi Jiancong seemed to see himself as part of Yang Rong’s family—eating and sleeping with them daily without feeling the least out of place.

The two men bonded over their shared frustrations and disappointments, lamenting how they were born in the wrong era.

They reminisced about their first loves and the struggles of their twenties—sometimes tearing up with emotion.

At peak moments of affection, Yang Rong would throw an arm over Yi Jiancong’s shoulder, and they looked like long-lost brothers.

Yang Rong looked at him with a warm, big-brotherly smile. “Jiancong, I signed you up too. Don’t worry—you won’t be left behind.”

Yi Jiancong’s face showed a strange smile. “Thanks, Brother Rong. I owe you one.”

Yang Rong said sincerely, “Take care of the house. As for Xiaohui… it’s something no one wanted. You’re still young—find another woman and have a child. You need a boy, after all.”