Chapter 92 – A Knock from 2001

Xiao Budian shot out of the door as soon as it was opened, as if it already knew what they were doing, and trotted straight down to the 20th floor.

“Come on, Mian‑mian, let’s hurry,” Jiang Yuan urged.
Although the dog was smart, it wasn’t human; if it ran off or barked at the wrong time it could alert the whole building—and if someone got hungry enough, who knew what idea they might get about a solid, well‑fed dog.

The shepherd mix waited obediently in front of #2002, round eyes shining in the dark.

“Good puppy, we’re going inside,” Mian‑mian cooed.
She and Jiang Yuan each had spare keys they’d found in the flat, so getting in was easy.

They set to work at once. Two big woven sacks were emptied onto the coffee table, sorted into four piles, then repacked—one full bag per person. Whatever didn’t split evenly was left on the table for a final divvy‑up.

“Mian‑mian, this bag’s full—take yours up, and drop Zhang Kai‑yang’s in his room. I’ll run mine and Song Yi’s upstairs. Little by little we’ll clear the floor.”

“Got it—let’s haul these two gas cylinders at the same time,” Mian‑mian said.

Even walking across the 20th‑floor corridor was hard now. After each pair of bags they had to carve out more space. By the time they lugged everything up and stashed it, the sky outside was paling.

Seven‑something in the morning they started the last round—water and drinks. The loads were brutally heavy, but they didn’t dare to stop. If the men came back with another boat it would be another pitched battle for living‑room space.

Just then they met unexpected visitors.

Xiao Budian stood in front of the door, hackles up, growling low. A man and a woman— the couple from #2001—were standing outside #2002. When they saw Jiang Yuan and Mian‑mian, hope flashed in their eyes.

“Hi, please—don’t be afraid,” the woman said hastily. “We’re your neighbours next door. We mean no harm. We’d like to … buy some food from you. We have nothing left at home.”

Neither Jiang Yuan nor Mian‑mian spoke. The woman grew anxious.

“Little sisters, please help us. I have a child—only four. He’s had nothing to eat for days.”

Mian‑mian looked at Jiang Yuan. After the service‑area fight her trust in Jiang Yuan was absolute; she’d follow her lead.

“Food? We barely have enough for ourselves,” Jiang Yuan said coolly. “The wind’s dropped— you can go out and scavenge like everyone else.”

The woman’s knees gave way; she sank to the floor.

“Please—please! We’ll pay whatever it takes!”

The man knelt, too. Mian‑mian’s heart twisted, but Jiang Yuan stayed silent.

“How much money do you have?” she asked at last.

“One… one million,” the man blurted.

“ A million?”
Ordinary families didn’t keep a million yuan in cash at home. It sounded far‑fetched.

Seeing her doubt, the man explained quickly, “We sold our old place for a bigger school‑district flat. When the heat wave started I pulled the cash, worried the banks might close.”

A million… a hundred bundles of cash. Jiang Yuan felt her heart skip.

“Wait downstairs,” she said. “Come back in half an hour. We’ll talk.”

Relief flooded their faces. “Yes—yes, we’ll wait!”

Inside, Mian‑mian fretted. “Are we really giving them supplies? What if they turn on us later? They live next door!”

“That’s what worries me,” Jiang Yuan admitted. “If we refuse outright they might go crazy. They’ve watched us bring load after load upstairs—they know we have stock.

“So I’ll handle the trade. We shift the attention to our flat upstairs; if anything happens, you on the 20th can still keep an eye on them.”

“But then you’re the one in danger!”

“It’s the best option,” Jiang Yuan said firmly. “And we do have more people, and cameras. Besides … a million isn’t pocket change.”

They hauled four more loads. When only bottled water remained, Jiang Yuan left Xiao Budian in Mian‑mian’s place with two sausages and went up to her own flat.

While her mother Qin Yue bagged the precious vegetables from the space‑farm, Jiang Yuan filled a woven sack: ten kilos of rice, ten of flour, two tins of infant formula, half a dozen packs of noodles, two sleeves of sausages, assorted snacks and drinks—completely full. She’d charge top price for it.

Too heavy for handles alone, she hugged the bag to her chest, opened the door—and found the 2001 couple already waiting, eyes shining.

Money first. The man thrust the bricks of cash at her with both hands. Jiang Yuan traded the sack, didn’t even count the bills, and slammed the door, eyes watchful.

Deal done.