Chapter 9: Blizzard Locks the City

She even successfully caught the attention of the Hot Spring Resort president’s wife, who directly @-mentioned her in the group chat and asked:

[@You — Are you feeling comfortable staying at the resort? If you have any feedback or suggestions, feel free to let the stewards know so they can make adjustments and improve the resort’s overall service quality!]

Before Mu Jiu could even reply, the message thread below was already flooded with flattering comments praising the lady as gentle, warm, and approachable…

Although Mu Jiu didn’t want to get involved, her emotional intelligence wasn’t so low that she’d offend someone outright and make herself a target.

[I’ve been here for a while, and the vacation villa is great! But I do have moderate bipolar disorder and need rest and quiet, so I don’t reply often. Thank you for your concern!]

The group chat went silent for a full minute after her message.

Then the lady of the house finally replied:

[Alright, then I wish you a speedy recovery! Everyone, please be considerate.]

Only after a while did the chat return to its usual lively chatter, and the topic finally shifted away from Mu Jiu.

—-

Five days into the blizzard, unrest began to quietly grow within the city.

The initial news had claimed the snowstorm would last two or three days, but it had already been five, and the snow was now past knee-deep with no signs of stopping.

Even more terrifying, the outside temperature continued to drop.

At this point, the average ground temperature was -18°C.

In some places, the weight of the snow had collapsed power lines, leading to blackouts and internet outages.

For southern regions reliant on electric heaters and air conditioners, this was a devastating blow. With no electricity, families trapped indoors suffered greatly.

In the north, it was still only August—nowhere near the centralized heating season. Even if authorities rushed to set up heating systems, it would take time, resources, and manpower.

Water was another issue. On day three, when temperatures consistently stayed below zero, most residential water pipes had already frozen.

Fortunately, with snow constantly falling, people figured out how to collect it in buckets from their balconies to use as a water source.

The hot spring resort, however, was an exception. Thanks to the geothermal heat, its water and electricity supply remained stable despite the snow piling up.

The entire resort seemed like a warm bubble in a frozen world, like a pot boiling amid the frost.

Perhaps because the boss’s wife lived here, the stewards were unusually diligent.

Each day, they cleared the snow off the resort’s paths, allowing guests to move about freely.

Moreover, the guests here had all come well-prepared. Compared to city dwellers, they had more food stockpiled, and as a result, neighborly relations remained relatively harmonious.

Every afternoon, Mu Jiu saw groups of wives, who had arranged meetups in the group chat, hiking up the mountain to soak in the hot springs.

Her neighbors next door were a family of four. The little girl was quite young but shared Mu Jiu’s love of flowers.

Their rooftop sunroom, originally meant for drying clothes, was now filled with flower pots they’d brought when they moved in.

They lived comfortably in the resort.

During the day, Mu Jiu often saw the older brother bundled tightly, being dragged around the yard by their dog.

After all, Alaskan Malamutes were famously unbothered by the cold.

Their mom busied herself in the kitchen, while the dad, dressed in thick pajamas, stood by the backyard bonfire doing tai chi, walking in circles, or smoking.

The little girl loved making snowmen in the yard, sometimes even with the whole family helping out.

From the second floor of her own villa, Mu Jiu could see their yard full of snowmen lined up in all shapes and sizes.

She silently watched their happy family life with envy in her heart. But that kind of life? She could forget about it in this lifetime.

After all, her so-called family was only good at one thing: leeching off her.

—–

Unexpectedly, on the seventh day after the apocalypse began—

Mu Jiu was watering her flowers in the yard. The seeds had already sprouted, encouraged by repeated infusions of spirit spring water.

Suddenly, the little girl from next door came over, holding a thermal container.

She stood outside Mu Jiu’s gate and waved.

This was the first time anyone had approached her since she’d publicly “revealed” she had bipolar disorder.

Mu Jiu cracked open the glass door slightly and, speaking through the electrified fence, asked, “What’s up?”

The little girl gave her a warm smile and said,

“Big sister, this is red date chicken soup my mom made. It’s super tasty and warms your body and tummy. I brought you some to try!”

“My mom’s a doctor. She said that illness isn’t a big deal — as long as you follow your medication and stay happy, you’ll get better.”

“If you’re not afraid of the cold, you can come build snowmen with us! Look, all those snowmen by the road over there — we made them together!”

Following the girl’s finger, Mu Jiu noticed a line of round little snowmen nestled beneath a tall snowbank across the road.

Just as she was about to refuse the kind gesture, the girl plopped the thermal container down by the gate, waved goodbye, and ran off.

“Drink it first, big sister! I’ll come get the container after lunch!” the girl called out while dashing away.

Mu Jiu hadn’t planned on entertaining it, but one glance at the container made her reach out and bring it inside without thinking.

She remembered how, back in school, her mom used to bring her lunch like this—handing over a thermal container through the school gate…

It had been so long since she’d tasted her mother’s cooking.

Mu Jiu set the thermal container on her kitchen island and poured the soup into one of her bowls.

She then brought it into her space and had the AI housekeeper, Beibei, inspect it for any issues.

Only after it was cleared did she return and slowly savor the meal at the table.

Even though it was made by someone else’s mom, the taste of a mother’s cooking truly was different.

When the girl came back later that afternoon, Mu Jiu handed her a box of strawberries and a small packet of strawberry seeds as thanks, along with the clean container.

The girl accepted happily, thanked her, and skipped back home.

Later that day, Mu Jiu spotted her busy in their sunroom — she had already planted the strawberries!

Human warmth was built through little exchanges like this.

Over the next few days, the girl often brought food her mom had made to share with Mu Jiu.

Mu Jiu no longer turned her away. Even in the apocalypse, she didn’t mind this kind of respectful, distant friendship.

In return, she’d send over seeds of different food plants for the girl to plant, as a token of goodwill.

In fact, of all South City, it was likely only the hot spring resort still carried on this peacefully — maintaining a somewhat normal life.

But on the tenth day of the blizzard, the city descended into chaos.

Most of the unrest broke out in crowded apartment complexes.

With snow already chest-deep, travel became nearly impossible.

Some who tried to leave ended up getting stuck in the snow… and never came out again.

Many hadn’t taken the warnings seriously at first, thinking the snowstorm would pass quickly.

After all, even the authorities hadn’t predicted this. As a result, most homes lacked adequate supplies.

On top of that, with electricity gone too soon, even those with rice and flour couldn’t cook them. Some tried eating raw food, only to die from stomach issues.

Combined with the extreme cold, many simply closed their eyes and never opened them again.

Buildings gradually became eerily quiet, which only increased the survivors’ psychological burden and fear.

With the city in total paralysis—no police, no hospitals—people were left with no choice but to save themselves.

Soon, groups began forming to raid other apartments.

Robbery, looting, bullying the weak—chaos spread like wildfire.