When Yu Xifeng returned home, she ran into Han Lei again.

He was with two staff members, going door to door registering the residents of each household.

In such cold weather, many people living alone could have met misfortune without anyone knowing.

The community center was conducting a sweep. They would help bury the dead and reclaim unoccupied homes to temporarily allocate to refugees in need.

To Yu Xifeng’s surprise, one of the people following Han Lei was Yang Rong.

Yang Rong wore a somewhat old but serviceable cotton coat—thickly padded and warm, though it made him look bloated, as if he’d suddenly gained a lot of weight and lost some dignity.

Yet for Yang Rong, that embarrassing coat was the best piece of clothing he could get his hands on.

When the two met, they acted like they didn’t recognize each other.

Yang Rong wore a sour expression as he handed Yu Xifeng a form to fill out.

He also asked her to present the property ownership certificate for her home.

Yu Xifeng, cautious, said the original certificate wasn’t with her—she only had a photocopy if they wanted to see it.

Yang Rong glanced at her but didn’t say anything.

In her past life, she remembered all too well how shady this process could be.

Even if a house was legally yours, once it was falsely marked as “ownerless,” it could be seized and redistributed.

On the other hand, if someone’s home was damaged or subpar, they might try to exploit the opportunity to exchange it for a better one.

Some were fishing in troubled waters, while others simply wanted to keep what was rightfully theirs.

Sister Yun, for instance, was staying in a friend’s house. Since the friend wasn’t around, she might not be able to claim ownership at a time like this.

She had specially come to warn Yu Xifeng, worried the younger woman might be too naive or inexperienced and would end up suffering for it.

Now that Yang Rong was working under Han Lei, the door to Apartment 1303 had nearly been trampled down by people hoping for favors.

That coat he wore had likely been a bribe.

Yu Xifeng, with such a strained relationship with her father, had no idea what tricks Yang Rong might pull behind the scenes.

She thanked Sister Yun for the warning.

“Sister Yun, if you trust me, don’t do anything unnecessary.”

Sister Yun looked surprised. “If my house gets reclaimed, I could be sent who knows where. Then what will I do?”

Yu Xifeng said, “The underground shelters are finished. If you have enough supplies, buy a private unit. If not, and your current place is taken, go register. Use your connections to get into the shelter instead.”

The underground shelters would open to the public sooner or later.

Getting in early meant a chance at a better spot.

Even those were ranked—being near a wall was better than being surrounded on all sides, and being inside was far better than being stuck on the cold perimeter where heating didn’t reach.

Sister Yun was quick-witted. After a moment’s thought, she grabbed Yu Xifeng’s hand, her voice changing tone: “Xiao Yu, how long is this cold going to last?”

It was already weather no human should endure.

Heavy snow had collapsed many structures, and roads that had just been cleared were buried again. Every step could plunge you into a frozen hole, packed with solid ice.

One wrong move, and you could be buried in snow with no way out.

People who went out lost ears to frostbite—and those were the lucky ones. Some came back with hands and feet frozen beyond saving, only able to wait for death.

Yu Xifeng looked at her and gave her hand a light squeeze, silently confirming the situation.

Sister Yun let out a long sigh and wiped her eyes. After a moment of despair, she composed herself. “I understand. Thank you for telling me. I’ll look into it.”

Her expression was dim.

Yu Xifeng wasn’t good at comforting people. She just stiffly said, “Be prepared,” and handed over a battery she had prepped.

Sister Yun’s eyes turned red. “I’m lucky to have met someone like you willing to lend a hand. If you ever need anything from me, anything I can do—I’ll give it everything I’ve got.”

The words made Yu Xifeng’s scalp tingle. She fled like she was escaping a disaster.

Sister Yun wiped her eyes again and smiled as she watched Yu Xifeng’s back disappear.

Yu Xifeng acted so composed and capable, it was easy to forget she was still a girl in her early twenties.

The registration efforts had reached Building 5.

Building 5 housed many elderly people living alone—many of whom hadn’t made it.

When knocking didn’t work, they brought in a locksmith. The people inside were already stiff.

The temperature was low enough that decomposition hadn’t advanced much.

There was no smell, so neighbors hadn’t realized that person had been dead for nearly half a month.

The scene inside was heartbreaking.

Yu Xifeng confirmed her house’s status and finally felt a weight lifted from her chest.

Unlike the underground shelters’ small rooms, her home had waterproofing, soundproofing, and even a top-grade ventilation system.

Those shelters were cramped, closely packed, and highly sought after.

Before she had to move in, Yu Xifeng got busy cooking.

She focused on staple foods—hearty, filling basics.

She steamed rice, made rice cakes, steamed buns and glutinous rice patties, cooked flatbreads.

She sealed all the interior-facing windows and stuffed the doorway with cloth strips.

The ventilation ran at full blast.

Cooking had its perks. Working by the fire and staying active kept her warm.

To save energy, Yu Xifeng didn’t turn on the heater. The stove was constantly in use, filling the kitchen with steam and keeping the place warm.

In the freezing air, smells didn’t travel easily.

Flatbreads sizzled in oil until they turned golden brown on both sides.

The exhaust fan buzzed non-stop.

Aside from daily exercise to maintain her physique, Yu Xifeng spent almost all her time in the kitchen.

The pork she had previously stocked was salted and steamed until tender.

For breakfast, she’d crack an egg, wrap some pork and sliced sausage in a flatbread, add freshly picked lettuce from her storage space, brush the surface with sweet bean paste, and sprinkle sesame seeds.

It became a proper, delicious jianbing guozi (savory Chinese pancake wrap).

At first, her skills were rough, and the wrap fell apart when she lifted it from the oil—meat, bread, and egg all separating.

But with practice, she became so proficient she could manage the stove blindfolded.

Even with a drama playing on the side, she could roll up a perfect jianbing without missing a beat.

Still, something felt off. She experimented with different sesame oils.

Eventually, she found the perfect flavor.

She packed the wraps into plastic containers—two per box.

Besides jianbing guozi, she also managed to make grilled cold noodles and stuffed egg pancakes.