The 15th floor spent what could be called a comfortable night. The aroma of food squeezed out from under doors, sparking people’s imaginations.

Many people were lingering in the hallways.

Anyone with a sharp eye could guess there would be no more relief supplies. Everyone was asking around for connections to borrow kayaks to go out.

Shuttered shops, empty houses—every bit of food was a chance to survive.

Some people were still eagerly hoping for the day when the authorities would send relief supplies.

For example, Chen Caifeng.

Every day, Chen Caifeng squatted at her doorway, counting which households had food, then going door to door.

She dared not knock on Yu Xifeng’s door.

Rumors circulated in the hallway that Yu Xifeng had killed someone, and so had Xu Yun.

Chen Caifeng hated it deep down—she hated that Yu Xifeng had killed someone but was still fine, able to bring back so many supplies from outside.

Her own husband, Ma Tian, had been locked up.

Chen Caifeng’s heart bled with hatred, and whenever she met someone, she would say a few words.

“The few households on the 15th floor are all being kept by Hu Qiangyong.”

“We all live in the same building. Why should they hide so much food? They should share it with the rest of the floor.”

Out of pity for her—she was a pregnant woman about to give birth—some people would still give her a bite.

Aunt Liu was happy to chat with Chen Caifeng, but kept her own food supplies tightly hidden.

Their lips moved quickly, both overtly and covertly full of slander against Yu Xifeng.

None of these words reached Yu Xifeng.

Yu Xifeng closed her door and lived her own life.

Her daily electricity consumption roughly matched the power she generated by pedaling her bicycle.

As time went on, Little Orange grew much bigger, and its claws sharper.

It scratched the genuine leather sofa into a scratching board. To prevent it from damaging other furniture, Yu Xifeng took out a scratching post and cat tree from her space.

These had been picked up the day Little Orange arrived, from a pet store.

Little Orange’s destructive power grew, but in front of Yu Xifeng, it was still well-behaved. Whenever it jumped beside her, it carefully hid its sharp claws.

When Yu Xifeng occasionally pinched its paws, all she felt were the soft pads.

Day by day passed.

The seventieth day of continuous heavy rain.

The rain had lessened considerably—just a drizzling, the wind quieter, fine rain falling at an angle.

The water level no longer rose, which was a genuine relief.

During these days, Yu Xifeng had finally shelled all the sweet peas stored in her space.

While shelling peas, she finished watching a suspense drama at double speed.

She had steamed thirty-five large buckets of rice.

When not working, she would turn on a desk lamp to read novels, play games, slice fruit, or play tile-matching games.

Occasionally, she agreed to visit Sister Yun at her home.

Yu Xifeng seldom spoke, mostly listening to Sister Yun and Mother Hu chat.

Unlike before when the internet was available, entertainment now was far less abundant. They would chat idly, and half the day would pass just like that.

Sister Yun had good relations with the neighbors and was well-informed.

From Sister Yun, Yu Xifeng learned that the elderly lady Yu’s son and daughter-in-law downstairs were both doctors.

The hospital had lost much equipment and medicine in the damage and was forced to scale down.

Yet the number of patients kept increasing.

Many people had wounds infected from water exposure but couldn’t get medicine at the hospital.

Sister Yun spoke like this with a relieved expression.

She had been injured at the hotel last time but was lucky—Yu Xifeng had given her bandages and iodine disinfectant, and she had her own anti-inflammatory drugs, so she recovered quickly.

Yu Xifeng listened on the sofa to Mother Hu’s stories about little tips on how to save salt when curing bacon.

When Mother Hu went home to cook with satisfaction, Sister Yun closed the door and took out a piece of broken porcelain from her bedroom.

“I see you keep trading old things with people. Take a look at this and see if you want it.”

Recently, Yu Xifeng had rented out her kayak and exchanged it for a Guanyin jade pendant, a solid silver bracelet, and some odds and ends.

The piece of porcelain Sister Yun took out was large, with a sky-blue glossy glaze that brought a peaceful feeling just by looking at it.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t whole.

“This thing I got by chance. I asked a friend to examine it, and he said it’s a shard of Ru kiln porcelain. A whole piece could fetch tens of millions at auction, but mine is only a shard.”

Yu Xifeng took it and felt its smooth, warm texture.

A complete piece would indeed be a priceless historical treasure.

A shard was fine—it wouldn’t affect upgrading her space.

She carefully stored the shard and thanked Sister Yun.

The kayak rental business had built her a reputation, and she gradually got more good items in hand.

She could roughly judge whether something had value by holding it and connecting with her space’s awareness.

Someone once brought a supposedly authentic Tang Dynasty lady painting to rent the kayak for ten days.

When Yu Xifeng held it, her space gave no reaction.

She immediately kicked that person out.

Sister Yun’s porcelain shard was very useful to the space.

“The battery probably doesn’t have much power left. I’ll take it home and recharge it for you,” Yu Xifeng said, unable to hide the smile at the corner of her mouth.

Sister Yun was delighted: “Really? That’s great! Then I’ll boil some hot water to wipe my body too.”

Yu Xifeng returned home.

She stored the porcelain shard into her space.

Nearby, a mountain spring gathered into a small pond in the courtyard.

Since the museum trip, her space could hold living things.

But except for the flowerbeds, time was frozen in other places.

It could be described as dead silence.

This was great for preservation, but impossible for raising anything alive.

The pond was about ten square meters, with flowing water full of inexplicable vitality.

It felt a bit like the flowerbed did to Yu Xifeng.

She pondered around the pond for a long time.

Then she stood and threw some live fish she had gotten from the supermarket into the pond.

The fish tails swished energetically, lively and vibrant.

Yu Xifeng squatted beside the pond and smiled.

The pond really could nurture fish.

She had about seventy crucian carp of varying sizes, plus softshell turtles, grass carp, and other fish she couldn’t name.

She divided them into three groups, hoping in her heart that they would multiply endlessly.

That way, she would never run out of fish to eat.

After leaving her space, while cooking lunch, she found two potatoes sprouting in the kitchen pile.

She checked again and found five or six more.

She cut up the sprouted potatoes and buried them in the flowerbed inside her space.

Previously, a watermelon she picked from the space had her slice it into boxes of fruit slices.

She experimented with several watermelons.

Finally, she figured out a way to cut watermelon into evenly sized pieces—not too big, not too small.

Just right for picking up with toothpicks.

The rind wasn’t wasted—cut into strips and pickled into condiments.

Yu Xifeng made two jars of pickles.

After picking watermelon from the space, vines grew again in the same spot. She watched for days and saw they could still grow.

Her watermelon seeds were limited and could not reproduce the next generation.

Now with the space, the watermelon could keep growing after harvesting, which was definitely good news.

She steamed the remaining potatoes on the balcony in one big pot, mashed them, then poured a generous spoonful of meat sauce on top.

It was a flavorful little dish.

It worked well as a main course too.

That noon, she ate smoked duck leg, a small bowl of mashed potatoes, a plate of green peas with minced meat, and a bowl of rice.

In the afternoon, she had some watermelon fruit slices.

At night, she wasn’t very hungry and just ate a piece of glutinous rice cake to get by.

The eighty-third day of continuous heavy rain.

Ma Tian came back.