The corner of Yi Jiancong’s eye twitched.

Just before departure, Yang Silong’s condition had improved a little. The group gathered what scraps of food they could find and made a big pot of stew.

Yi Jiancong somehow managed to get hold of a bowl of sweet fermented rice mash.

The smell of the mash was rich and fragrant—it was good stuff, said to restore energy and blood.

Yi Jiancong brought it out, intending to pour the entire jar into the pot.

Xu Qingrou suddenly called out, “Wait!”

Yi Jiancong paused.

Xu Qingrou smiled at him and scooped out a large spoonful. “Longlong just got better. I’ll feed him a spoonful first.”

Yi Jiancong obediently handed over the palm-sized jar.

Yang Sizhu licked her dry lips.

The mash smelled so incredibly good. Perhaps it had been over-fermented, because it gave off a faint scent of aromatic ether.

The rising steam made everyone’s heads feel a little foggy.

Yang Rong followed behind Yang Silong and scooped out another big spoonful.

Yang Sizhu felt something was off, but couldn’t quite place it. Her dissatisfaction at getting too small a share quickly drowned out her concern.

“Jiancong, you eat too,” Xu Qingrou said.

Yi Jiancong smiled. “I’m fine, you all eat. I already had some earlier.”

The mash went down.

Yang Sizhu thought it tasted a little strange.

But that didn’t mean much. They’d been eating spoiled food for days anyway.

Her stomach began to feel hot.

At first, Yang Sizhu thought it was just the food warming her up.

But the heat quickly turned to stabbing pain.

“Longlong!” Xu Qingrou’s hand trembled as she dropped the bowl.

Yang Silong’s body started convulsing violently under the blanket, twisting like a writhing serpent.

The pot was knocked over, spilling soup all over the floor.

Yang Rong was about to check on his son but doubled over in pain, clutching his abdomen.

Yi Jiancong was still smiling.

Yang Rong looked at him in horror. “You… you poisoned us!”

Yang Sizhu ran to the side and tried to force herself to vomit.

Yi Jiancong tore off his friendly façade, his face full of hatred. He growled, “My child is dead. What right do you have to go to the underground shelter? Don’t go. Stay here. Let’s all die together, isn’t that better?!”

Yang Rong, consumed with pain and rage, shouted, “Your daughter’s death—what does that have to do with me?!”

Yi Jiancong’s voice was chilling. “You’re the ones who opened her window. She was wearing thermal clothes, under a thick blanket, with a heater in the room—how could she have frozen to death?”

“At first, I wondered—who opened the window?”

Yang Sizhu thought Yi Jiancong glanced at her. She shrank back in fear, trembling uncontrollably.

“But later, I figured it out. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter at all. None of you are good people anyway. Just die. Die die die die!”

Yi Jiancong pulled out a steel shard and stabbed it toward Yang Rong without hesitation.

Yang Rong suffered another blow. Through clenched teeth, he gasped, “You… you’re insane.”

On the other side, Yang Silong, who had just recovered from his illness, fell silent under the blanket after a bout of intense convulsions. Xu Qingrou threw herself on him. “Longlong!”

Blood gushed from Yang Rong’s side.

Yi Jiancong laughed viciously. Yang Sizhu screamed from the corner, curled up in terror.

From the brazier, water dripped onto glowing coal, crackling violently.

Yi Jiancong pulled the steel shard out and walked toward Yang Sizhu.

He tilted his head, studying her face. His expression wavered in confusion. He muttered, “You kind of look like my daughter. I even wondered… when she grew up, would she have looked like you?”

His face twisted—one moment sinister, the next gentle.

Finally, he raised his hand and snarled, “But you’re the one who killed her!”

Bang.

Yang Sizhu thought she was going to die.

Yi Jiancong collapsed to the ground, a gaping wound the size of a bowl on his head.

Xu Qingrou had picked up the fallen pot and smashed it over his head—pot, soup, and all.

Yang Rong had already passed out.

Xu Qingrou, still shaken, turned to the only one still able to move—Yang Sizhu.

“Hurry. Go call for help!”

Yang Sizhu scrambled out in a panic.

Since Yang Rong was an employee of the community center, help arrived within thirty minutes. They even brought a doctor.

Yang Rong was carried away.

Xu Qingrou sobbed as she held Yang Silong in her arms.

But Yang Silong was already gone. The funeral team from the community came and took him away.

He hadn’t died from the poison but from asphyxiation caused by vomiting.

Xu Qingrou was pulled up from the ground, completely numb.

Just two hours ago, everything had been fine. She never imagined things would turn so nightmarish so quickly.

Yang Sizhu was taken for questioning.

She was like a quail—any little shock made her scream shrilly.

She couldn’t provide any useful information.

Xu Qingrou knew even less.

The community staff didn’t seem surprised. The questioning was just routine.

After the disaster, cases of people stooping to new lows were common. In terms of bizarreness or tragedy, this one wasn’t even near the worst.

The community center was about to shut down operations anyway. Once everyone relocated, they’d have to find other jobs.

They were just clocking in until the end.

As they left, they passed by Tan Wanwan’s house. Ever since her death, the place had become like a brothel.

Two women with heavy makeup leaned on the doorway, holding bowls of hot water.

The one on the left bore no resemblance anymore to the once-familiar Chen Caili.

A staff member gave them the standard warning. Chen Caili just smiled, looking completely indifferent.

Yang Rong stayed in the community center for five days—the last of his employee benefits.

Then he returned, hobbling home on a cane.

His lips were purple, and his face was ashen.

The same day he got back, he, Xu Qingrou, and Yang Sizhu packed up, preparing to head to the underground shelter the next day.

Because of his condition, they had received special permission to leave two days early.

The community was almost deserted—even Chen Caili had moved out.

They set off with Zhao Yao’s family.

Xu Qingrou remembered the medicine Yu Xifeng gave Zhao Yao’s family.

She and Zhao Yao discussed it.

Yu Xifeng had so many good supplies, and even got word early enough to move into the underground shelter in advance.

Yes, it was confirmed now—Yu Xifeng and Sister Yun had moved into the shelter ahead of everyone.

Zhao Yao felt utterly betrayed.

Back then, the three families had been close—playing mahjong together during New Year’s.

Now she was bitter that Yu Xifeng and Sister Yun were so secretive.

They never shared good news with her.

Xu Qingrou said, “Yu’s place has been empty for so long. They left in a hurry. Maybe there’s still something useful left behind. Times are hard—every little bit helps.”

If she’d been able to open that alloy door herself, she wouldn’t have asked Zhao Yao.

Zhao Yao’s eyes lit up. Why hadn’t she thought of that?

That night, Hu Qiangyong smashed the door open with an axe. Not just Yu Xifeng’s home—Sister Yun’s place too.

Yu Xifeng’s apartment was nearly empty—only the fixed furniture remained.

Yang Sizhu rummaged through the bedroom for ages but found nothing.

Zhao Yao searched every corner, didn’t even find an extra clothes hanger. The furniture was all synthetic plastic—not even burnable.