Chapter 48

City S’s Emergency Management Command was set up in the City Operations Management Center.

It had a city surveillance hall connected to every public camera in City S, with coverage that could span nearly every street in the city.

The monitoring systems of both the police command center and the traffic command center were sub-modules of this system.

The department ran around the clock; even at night, dozens of staff were on duty.

That was exactly why, when the zombie virus broke out, it was practically wiped out.

Just as Jiang Cheng had said, when the zombie virus hit, any space where large numbers of people gathered at the same time became a disaster zone.

Government forces had run into serious trouble when they tried to retake the building — many of the zombies inside were fast, agile second-generation variants.

But no matter the cost, after paying a heavy price, the government managed to reclaim control of the building and clear out every last zombie inside, turning it into City S’s Emergency Management Command Base.

Now, presiding over the situation here was a deputy mayor surnamed Zheng.

He had originally been the fourth-ranking deputy mayor in charge of education, but all of those ranked above him had been confirmed dead on the night the zombie virus broke out. So now, Zheng was the one holding things together in City S.

Things were not looking good.

The rescue forces were advancing far slower than expected.

Because of how the virus spread, an area had to be completely cleared of zombies before it could be declared a green zone. That made rapid progress impossible.

But City S was a metropolis of over ten million people.

Vice Mayor Zheng took off his glasses, pinched the bridge of his nose, and felt utterly exhausted.

Every police officer who could be assembled in the city was already here.

Multiple fires had broken out across the city, and the firefighting units simply couldn’t keep up. Too many firefighters had been lost on Sunday and Monday.

The major hospitals had all fallen; the footage on the monitors looked like something out of a horror movie.

University students were fighting desperately to save themselves — those young people were the nation’s future, and Vice Mayor Zheng could only watch as those kids died, got infected, and turned into second-generation zombies.

Residents whose homes had run out of food were braving the streets with kitchen knives in hand, only to be surrounded and torn apart by zombies.

All of this was playing out in real time, screen after screen.

Whoever came up with the word “zombie” had nailed it — too vivid, too apt.

But all officials, by unspoken agreement, never used that term. If the authorities themselves used it, the despair would be too much to bear.

To this day, officials still used the term “mutants” — first-generation mutants, infected mutants, also called original mutants, and second-generation mutants.

Vice Mayor Zheng’s fatigue wasn’t just physical; it was mental. The pressure he was under was immense.

The secretary beside him — more accurately, the temporary secretary — well, the same could be said for most people working in the command center; nearly every title had the prefix “temporary” attached to it.

Everyone was just filling in because the person before them had died, thrust into the role under emergency orders.

The secretary reported the latest updates from several parties, then finished with one final item:

“Two residential communities in the new development district — Youth Apartments and Lucky Family Garden — their residents cleared out nearby mutants on their own and barricaded the roads together. The two communities have now merged into a single green zone.”

Amid the flood of gloom, one piece of good news. Even Vice Mayor Zheng felt a jolt of energy. He put his glasses back on. “Really? Let me see.”

The dispatch hall had a full wall of dozens of screens.

An operator pulled up the surveillance footage from Lucky West Street this morning.

A group of people gathered behind Vice Mayor Zheng, all watching.

“Looks like they’re cleaning up.”

“Seems they’d already cleared the zombies off the street before this. Look at the corpses — they’re already decomposing.”

“Looks like residents from both communities are working together.”

“Someone must have organized this. Without a leader, there’s no way they could cooperate like this.”

“There — those few people right there.”

The operator zoomed in on the spot someone had pointed out.

While everyone else was working, a handful of people stood there talking, and no one around them looked resentful or bothered.

Clearly, those were the organizers, the leaders of the two communities.

Judging by where they stood, the middle-aged man at the front of one group was clearly the head of Lucky Family Garden.

On the other side, Youth Apartments — everyone had heard of that project, marketed to young buyers, so it was easy to guess that side was a younger crowd.

And yet, standing at the very front, conversing with the middle-aged man from Lucky Family Garden, was a young woman. That surprised everyone.

No one suspected the girl was just standing there by coincidence.

Because everyone in that room was career government workers. People in the system were the most attuned to the meaning of seating arrangements and positioning.

One look told them all: she was the person in charge on the Youth Apartments side.

Even her stance and bearing carried an air of authority.

That was confusing. Such an aura was usually cultivated over years of holding power in officialdom or the business world — not something most young people could have.

Unless, of course, she was one of those second-generation rich kids born into privilege, raised from birth with a status above others — that too could produce such a presence.

But then, why would someone like that be living in Youth Apartments? That project targeted young middle-class professionals.

“Organizational ability. Decisiveness. Courage. Brains.” Vice Mayor Zheng sighed. “If only more communities were like this.”

But as soon as he said it, he fell silent.

Because across that entire wall of screens, what filled the view were more scenes of residents being chased down by zombies, tackled, and torn apart in the streets; residents on balconies, crying and cursing through tears; people in convenience stores with shattered glass doors, grappling and fighting over supplies.

All screens were muted by default. But those silent images, spreading from one screen to the next across the vast, towering wall, only made the heaviness worse.

Back at Youth Apartments, Jiang Cheng and the others, of course, had no idea someone was watching them through the surveillance cameras.

Anyway, bargaining was left to the Finance Guy — someone who clearly would never let himself take a loss — and he didn’t let Jiang Cheng down. He managed to score half a bag of rice as payment for the technie.

Zhao Yi was called over, and Jiang Cheng gave him a quick briefing.

Zhao Yi had no objections. He agreed with Jiang Cheng’s philosophy: in terms of both safety and sanitation, two communities that close together couldn’t stay isolated. Helping the neighbors was helping themselves.

Song Jingshuo, afraid Zhao Yi was too honest to ask for what he’d earned, deliberately spelled out the payment in front of Zhou Wang, then said cheerfully, “If it’s too heavy, just have Jiangbing go over and carry it back for you.”

Zhao Yi: “I can carry it myself.”

“Then that works.” Song Jingshuo patted him lightly on the shoulder.

Song Jingshuo was good with people — everyone liked him. But for some reason, Zhao Yi had always found him irritating.

After dinner, Zhao Yi went over, and by evening, he was back in the neighborhood.

The courtyard was dotted with small clusters of people — the same people who used to hide in their rooms blasting the AC and playing games now cherished every chance to come downstairs and socialize with healthy, living people. They were all down in the cool evening air, chatting.

As soon as people saw Zhao Yi, many greeted him: "You're back."

Zhao Yi wasn't used to suddenly being treated like a celebrity. But everyone really did know him now, and they genuinely appreciated his contributions to the community.

Someone else said to him: "They're over by the gazebo."

"Them" of course meant Jiang Cheng and her core team.

Zhao Yi swung the sack onto his shoulder and hurried over. From a distance, he could see that group talking under the gazebo.

Jiang Cheng was the most conspicuous — she was the only girl among the core members, and her black cat was perched on her shoulder, giving her a very anime-like vibe.

Usually in anime, that kind of pocket-sized pet would transform into a giant war beast.

Ah, getting off track.

Zhao Yi shook off those random thoughts and went over to report to Jiang Cheng: "I'm back."

"Good work," Jiang Cheng said. "How did it go over there? Everything sorted? Took you this long?"

Speaking of which, Zhao Yi had a complaint: "Don't even get me started."

Because his expertise matched the job, he'd gone in full of confidence, expecting it to be like at the Youth Apartment — everyone having their roles, working together actively, even brainstorming and coming up with creative ideas.

Instead, problems popped up right from the site selection stage.

Zhao Yi: "They didn't have anything like a swimming pool, but they had sunken gardens, so I thought we'd just pick one."

"Whichever one we picked, people from the nearby buildings would rush down and kick up a fuss, saying no, pick somewhere else."

"A lot of them were old men and old ladies, I didn't dare touch them."

Everyone gave him sympathetic looks. Jiang Cheng said: "Brother Zhou really had it rough."

Then she asked: "So where did you end up picking?"

Zhao Yi: "We ended up in the underground parking garage. Transportation was a real pain. Those people also made a fuss about not letting us use the elevator to move the trash down there. We had to use the vehicle ramp."

Just hearing about it gave everyone a headache. Zhou Wang really was something. Even Song Jingshuo felt that if it had been him, he probably would've lost his temper — only someone who'd been worn down by the world, a middle-aged man with no rough edges left, could have that kind of patience.

Song Jingshuo glanced at the sack on Zhao Yi's shoulder: "You got paid, right?"

It was actually a flour sack.

Flour sacks like that were rarely seen at the Youth Apartment. The young people there would buy flour from the supermarket in small paper bags.

These big flour sacks were something only old folks would buy at the market.

The sack now contained rice.

Zhao Yi opened it for everyone to see, and they said: "Why is it mixed? Is it a grain medley?"

It looked like several different types of rice and grains mixed together, even some beans.

Zhao Yi had a lot of respect for Zhou Wang: "It's 'hundred-family rice.'"

Zhou Wang naturally couldn't pay this "fee" out of his own pocket. Food was such a sensitive topic these days; no matter what, he couldn't be the one to take that hit himself.

A loudspeaker had been set up under each residential building, announcing the trash disposal matter and then declaring: "The compensation for the Youth Apartment staff is to be shared by all property owners, per household."

He had people go door-to-door collecting from every building. Each household just contributed about a bowl's worth. Since it was spread out and each household's share was so small, no one had much to complain about, and they all gave.

But a few sneaky owners tried to cheat by offering beans, insisting: "We only eat mixed grains in our house."

The collectors didn't bother arguing. It wasn't for themselves anyway — every household just needed to give a little.

In the end, they gathered half a sack of grain.

It was actually really heavy. Carrying it on the shoulder was easier than holding it in hand, so that's why he had it on his back.

It looked like something out of a famine scene — a refugee fleeing with clothes and food.

Song Jingshuo struggled to hold in a laugh.

Zhao Yi hated him even more for that.

He retied the flour sack, held it with one hand and supported it with the other, and offered it to Jiang Cheng: "Should I hand this over to you?"

Jiang Cheng: "Why would you hand it to me? It's yours. You did the work, so you definitely get the reward."

"Keep it," she said, then pulled out her phone to check the time, muttering as if to herself: "The daily progress update should be broadcasting soon, right?"

Song Jingshuo also raised his wrist to check the time.

Nowadays, phones had almost completely taken over. What young person still wore a watch?

Zhao Yi really hated that kind of show-off guy.