She leisurely gathered the played poker cards, flipping over a particularly nice one as she did so.

“You two might manage playing like this among friends, but don’t embarrass yourselves out there. You’ll end up getting hustled so badly you’ll lose everything, even your underwear,” Sister Yun said.

Yu Xifeng exhaled and played her final pair of nines.

The paper strip stuck on her forehead fluttered like a beaded curtain.

Fatty, with the advantage of a larger face, had the strip stuck near his temple. It drooped down like two white braids.

He threw down his cards—a pair of eights he’d been holding onto but never got the chance to play.

Sister Yun got up to stick another note on Fatty’s face. He shot to his feet: “Let’s switch, let’s switch! No more Landlord.”

Yu Xifeng agreed.

Fatty and Yu Xifeng discussed for a moment and concluded that Landlord required too much strategy, which was why they kept losing to Sister Yun, a veteran of the card tables.

Better to keep things simple—just compare card values.

Sister Yun gave a half-smile, clearly indifferent. “Whatever you want.”

They dealt the cards. High card wins. One round, done.

Yu Xifeng and Fatty ended up with even more strips on their faces.

Together, they had over a dozen, while Sister Yun finally had one.

Fatty, getting flustered from losing, accused, “Xu Yun, you’re cheating.”

Yu Xifeng quietly flipped over her card and looked at it. Then she pressed it facedown again.

Sister Yun turned over her hand—straight flush, one of the highest possible.

She shook her head. “Fatty, that’s a pretty rude accusation. If you can’t catch me in the act, you can’t just call me a cheat.”

Seeing their unconvinced expressions, Sister Yun gathered the cards. “Alright, tell me. What card do you want?”

Yu Xifeng stared at her as she shuffled, eyes locked. “Six of Spades.”

Sister Yun tilted her head slightly, her hand gliding through the deck for a moment before flipping over a card.

It was the Six of Spades.

Yu Xifeng shot up from her seat. “I’ve got something to do. Heading back.”

Fatty scrambled to his feet. “I’m going to cook.”

Sister Yun chuckled and dusted off her sleeves as if brushing away nonexistent lint.

When Yu Xifeng returned to her room, she saw a man lurking outside her door, craning his neck to peer around.

He looked vaguely familiar, but Yu Xifeng was certain she’d never met him.

The man was sharply dressed, a look she hadn’t seen in years—tailored suit, polished shoes, the whole look.

Upon seeing her, the man gave a warm smile. “Hello, you must be the tenant here. We’ll be neighbors then. I brought a little gift. Here’s my card.”

The gift was a small, packaged macaron.

Yu Xifeng glanced at the business card: Zheng Weiyang.

Then it clicked.

He was the factory owner. Yang Rong had arranged a blind date between her and his son just to curry favor with him.

That guy with the bizarre way of speaking.

Though his son was a weirdo, it’s hard to be rude to someone being polite.

Yu Xifeng accepted the card but not the macaron.

Those things were cloyingly sweet and tasted terrible.

Yu Xifeng said, “Thank you, but there’s no need for the gift. Food is precious—better you keep it for yourself, Mr. Zheng.”

Zheng Weiyang laughed heartily. “It’s just a small token. Don’t mention it. Since we’re neighbors now, you know what they say—distant relatives aren’t as good as nearby ones. I’ll be hosting a little gathering next week. If you’re free, I hope you’ll come.”

This time, Yu Xifeng didn’t refuse.

Her moving into this single-room bunker had completely broken from her previous life’s trajectory.

She was going to be living in the underground shelter for quite a while.

Getting to know the neighbors wouldn’t hurt.

She accepted the macaron and gave a polite, faint smile.

Zheng Weiyang took his leave courteously.

Back in her room, Yu Xifeng checked the small security mechanism on the door. It hadn’t been tampered with.

She washed her hands and continued her workout.

Though she didn’t want to admit it, ever since she came to the shelter, she had been training far more frequently.

In her previous life, Old Man Cai constantly nitpicked her. Skills she had once taken pride in were belittled like they meant nothing. Deep down, she couldn’t accept it.

This time, she wanted to prove herself to Old Man Cai.

She might not be able to take him down completely—but she’d last a few more rounds.

That little competitiveness lit a fire in her. She trained harder.

---

Meanwhile, at Cocoa Grace District—

Yi Jiancong’s daughter broke into a violent coughing fit.

Yi Xiaohui’s face was flushed with fever, visibly weak.

“Daddy, I feel awful,” the little girl whimpered.

Yang Sizhu lifted her head and quickly glanced at Yi Xiaohui from the corner of her eye, then promptly looked away.

The girl looked at her father with innocent, tear-filled eyes. “Daddy, am I going to die?”

Yi Jiancong held her tightly, his voice choked. “No, Daddy won’t let you die.”

A few days ago, for reasons unknown, Yi Xiaohui had suddenly caught a chill.

Yang Rong gave their family the last packet of medicine they had, and Yi Jiancong was so grateful he nearly knelt in thanks.

The medicine worked temporarily—Xiaohui slept soundly that night.

But when she woke up, her fever hadn’t gone down.

“Daddy, I’m hot,” Xiaohui murmured.

Yi Jiancong’s eyelid had been twitching since yesterday. He barely left her bedside.

He gave up everything he had in trade and scraped together half a dose of medicine—not even a full treatment.

He heard the underground shelter had opened and that it had heating.

His daughter’s illness was caused by the cold.

If they could just get to the underground shelter…

“Daddy, there’s wind. I’m cold…” Xiaohui whispered.

She kept alternating between hot and cold, her body no longer able to correctly sense temperature. Huddled under the blanket, her eyes blinked slowly. Her once lively face dulled, then froze in a grayish, numb expression.

Xiaohui’s hand slid out from the edge of the blanket, and her eyes closed.

Yi Jiancong took off his coat and draped it over her.

All the clothes and blankets in the house had been given to Xiaohui. As usual, he tucked her in gently.

“Rest well. Daddy will wake you up tomorrow.”

Yi Jiancong stood up. Maybe it was the cold, or maybe he’d been sitting too long—he felt faint and almost collapsed.

“Jiancong,” Yang Rong called from the doorway but didn’t step inside.

If Yi Jiancong passed out and joined his daughter in death, that would be fine.

At least then, there’d be no more risk of him trying to kick them out again.

Even though ever since Yang Rong gave him the medicine, Yi Jiancong hadn’t mentioned eviction again, the earlier resentment had taken root.

To Yang Rong, Yi Jiancong was like a dog—he might grovel when it suited him, but he’d bite when bigger interests came along.

Unfortunately, Yang Rong didn’t have the courage to truly kill. He just stood by and let Yi Jiancong fall.

“There’s wind…” Yi Jiancong muttered. “Xiaohui… how can there be wind…?”

Yi Jiancong woke up.

Curled on the floor, he broke into a violent cough, his head foggy. He staggered to his feet.

“Xiaohui, Daddy will close the window for you.”

He never once looked at Xiaohui’s now bloodless face.

He stood in front of the window.

Windows always had small drafts.

There was a ventilation duct to the kitchen, and during the day, he often left a gap in the bedroom door for airflow.

Worried about the cold, he had long ago stuffed the window cracks with old fabric.

But now, the fabric had clearly been moved.

His daughter, afraid of the cold, would never go near the window.

Yi Jiancong’s head throbbed, nerves fraying, his heart pounding like a drum.

Who had touched the window?

He slowly turned around. His eyes were bloodshot, burning red.