At two o’clock in the morning, Su Wanqing opened her eyes.
She didn’t turn on the light, sitting up in the dark, her bare feet touching the icy floor.
From the neighboring east room came a chorus of snores: Su Jianguo snoring loudly, Liu Meilan occasionally grinding her teeth, and little Su Xiaobao muttering “candy” in his sleep.
The timing was perfect.
Silently, Su Wanqing crept to the door and gently opened a crack.
The living room was pitch-black, only the embers in the stove emitted a faint, dark red glow.
Like a cat, she slipped out, keeping close to the wall, reaching the kitchen doorway first.
The grain cabinet was in the corner, a wooden cupboard about half a person’s height, painted dark green, with a large brass lock hanging on it.
Liu Meilan never let this lock out of her sight; the key hung on the keyring at her waist.
Su Wanqing stood in front of the cabinet, placing her palm against the door.
She focused her mind.
Nothing happened.
Frowning, she tried again—but still no response.
The cabinet itself was fixed; the grains inside were loose, so theoretically they could be taken in portions…
Wait.
Suddenly, she understood the problem: she didn’t know the exact location of the grains inside the cabinet.
To extract items into the space, one needed to “lock onto the target.” If she couldn’t see it, she couldn’t lock onto it.
She had to unlock it.
Su Wanqing turned toward the closed east room door.
The key was on Liu Meilan.
Going in to steal it now was too risky—Liu Meilan was light-sleeping and would wake at the slightest movement.
She thought for a moment, then retreated to the small compartment under her bed and retrieved a thin wire.
Back in the kitchen, she squatted in front of the grain cabinet, bending the wire into a hook and inserting it into the lock.
This lock was more complicated than an ordinary box lock, with multiple pins and a tight structure.
Su Wanqing held her breath, probing carefully, relying on the memory her mother had taught her.
Time ticked by.
Sweat beaded on her forehead, her fingers trembling slightly from the tension.
In the darkness, only the faint scraping of metal against the lock could be heard.
“Click.”
A soft sound.
The lock opened.
Su Wanqing exhaled, gently removing the lock and opening the cabinet door.
A wave of grain scent hit her.
The cabinet had three layers.
The top layer held half a bag of white flour, roughly ten pounds.
The middle contained cornmeal in a bulging cloth sack.
The bottom had sorghum and millet, each in its own earthen jar.
She first reached into the cornmeal sack.
Focusing her mind, she locked onto the target.
Part of the cornmeal disappeared—about five pounds—and appeared in her spatial storage area.
Success!
Su Wanqing’s heart leapt. She tried the white flour next. Just as smoothly, she retrieved about two pounds.
But soon, a problem became apparent.
Although time was frozen in the storage area, items retained their original state.
Loose grains like cornmeal and flour would scatter, taking up space and mixing easily.
She needed a solution.
Exiting the space, her consciousness sank into the small cabin.
In the storage area, the grains she just retrieved hovered like two clouds of yellow mist.
“Containers…” She glanced around the cabin, eyes landing on the empty multi-tiered cabinet.
Nothing.
She remembered the items in the yard.
Quietly, she slipped to the back door and gently opened it.
Outside was the cluttered backyard of every household. In the snowlight, she saw several broken earthen jars and old sacks stacked in the corner.
With a thought, one intact jar disappeared from the clutter and appeared in the spatial storage area.
With another thought, it appeared at her feet.
Su Wanqing picked up the jar and returned to the kitchen.
Placing the jar on the ground, she used her mind to guide the cornmeal from the storage area into the jar.
Half a jar went in—about twenty pounds.
She repeated the process with the white flour, putting it into a slightly smaller jar.
Next came the bottom layer of grains.
The sorghum and millet were already in jars, so she could retrieve the whole jars at once.
Placing her hands on the jars, she focused her mind—
Both jars vanished.
In the storage area, two jars hovered.
Looking at the half-empty grain cabinet, she paused. She didn’t empty it completely.
First, taking everything at once would be too obvious; Liu Meilan would go mad the next day.
Second… she needed to leave a “bait.”
Exiting the space, her consciousness sank into the storage area.
Looking at the grains, a plan formed: take a little each day, keeping it within what Liu Meilan would consider “normal consumption.”
In the last three days, she’d empty it completely.
Like boiling a frog slowly.
Closing and relocking the cabinet, she stepped back, inspecting the scene—no trace, the lock restored to its original state.
She returned to the small compartment, closed the door, and leaned against it, calming her racing heart.
Her first “real operation” had succeeded.
Lying back on the bed, her consciousness entered the space to tally tonight’s haul:
Twenty pounds of cornmeal, five pounds of white flour, ten pounds of sorghum, eight pounds of millet.
And an unexpected find—in the far corner of the cabinet, she felt a package wrapped in oiled paper.
Inside were cured meats!
Five pieces, roughly a pound each, tied with hemp rope, shiny and aromatic from smoke-curing. Clearly, Liu Meilan’s “private stash” saved for the New Year.
Su Wanqing took it all without hesitation.
Now the spatial storage area held:
Forty-three pounds of grains
Five pounds of cured meat
Cash and vouchers from her mother’s tin box
Evidence of Su Jianguo’s corruption
And the ten-foot cloth voucher collected that afternoon
Exiting the space, she considered her next steps.
Grains secured—but food alone wasn’t enough. Traveling would cost money; settling on the island required supplies.
Everything in the house that could be taken had to be taken.
Clothes, bedding, pots, and utensils…
Suddenly, she remembered something.
Tiptoeing to the door, she peeked at the wall clock in the living room—her father had bought it from the secondhand market last year; it kept decent time.
Three a.m.
Three hours until dawn.
Su Wanqing gritted her teeth, making a decision: tonight, she’d take everything she could.
Starting in the kitchen.
Iron pots, spatulas, ladles, knives—one by one, they vanished.
Coarse porcelain bowls, enamel basins, chopstick holders from the cupboard—all taken.
Two broken bowls and a pair of snapped chopsticks were left—to complete the act.
Next, the living room.
Thermos, gone.
Enamel jars, gone.
Old newspapers, gone.
Su Jianguo’s canvas work bag, gone.
She even peeled off the faded New Year painting from the wall—a chubby child holding a carp, bought by her late mother.
Liu Meilan had long wanted to tear it, but Su Jianguo wouldn’t allow it, saying, “Keep it, at least it’s a memory.”
Memory? He had the right?
Su Wanqing rolled it up and stored it.
Then the east room—the riskiest step.
She stood outside, listening for five full minutes to ensure even breathing.
Gently pushing the door open, moonlight leaked through the curtains, revealing the room’s layout: the kang bed took up half the room, with a wardrobe at the head and a chest at the foot.
Su Jianguo and Liu Meilan slept in the middle; little Su Xiaobao slept against the wall at the far end.
Su Wanqing hugged the wall, inching forward to the wardrobe.
Unlocked—the wardrobe wasn’t considered necessary to lock by Liu Meilan.
She gently opened the door.
Inside hung a row of clothes.
Su Jianguo’s work clothes, Zhongshan suits.
Liu Meilan’s floral jackets, padded coats.
Little Su Xiaobao’s new cotton pants and padded coat.
Her eyes landed on the dark blue wool coat at the back.
Her mother’s coat.
Su Jianguo wouldn’t let it be thrown out, saying, “The fabric’s good, can be altered and worn.”
But Liu Meilan considered it unlucky, stuffing it in the far corner.
Su Wanqing reached out, brushing the collar.
The wool was thick and warm.
Her mother had worn this coat, taking her to the park to see ice lanterns, wrapping her in her arms, saying, “Wanqing, don’t be cold.”
Tears welled up. She blinked hard and stored the coat in the space.
Next, her mother’s other belongings: a wool scarf, a pair of gloves, two half-new shirts.
Liu Meilan had never let her wear them, wanting to “save them to give away.”
Now, they were back to their rightful owner.
She also retrieved a few practical items: a thick military coat of Su Jianguo’s (likely taken from the factory), two wearable padded coats of Liu Meilan’s, and old clothes of little Su Xiaobao (the new ones would remain for Liu Meilan to find).
Bedding on the kang: two cotton quilts, one half-new for the couple, one thick and soft for little Su Xiaobao. Two additional patched mats.
Su Wanqing decided to take the half-new quilt and one mat.
Leaving one for little Su Xiaobao and one for the couple—couldn’t let them freeze; that would be too easy on them.
Finally, the small items: kerosene lamps, matchboxes, sewing baskets, scissors, thimbles…
Everything that could be taken, she took.
She stepped to the door, taking one last look at the three sleeping people.
In the moonlight, Su Jianguo’s face looked greasy, Liu Meilan’s mouth sagged, and little Su Xiaobao drooled.
She felt no attachment to this home.
Quietly closing the door, she returned to the small compartment, exhausted—not physically, but from the intense mental strain.
Leaning against the wall, she entered the space, reviewing the night’s “spoils.”
The storage area was getting crowded.
Grains, cured meat, cookware, clothing, bedding, various items—all floating, neatly categorized.
She noticed a pattern: identical items grouped automatically.
Cornmeal formed a pile, bowls stacked together, clothes hung on invisible “hangers.”
The space was intelligent.
Exiting the space, she lay back down.
Dawn approached; the east sky was tinged with pale white.
She closed her eyes, forcing herself to rest—she had another act to perform tomorrow and needed her energy.
Half-asleep, she remembered a line from her mother’s diary:
“Wanqing, one must live with dignity. Better to starve standing than beg on your knees.”
Mom, I didn’t kneel.
I stood up.
And I’ll make those who forced me to kneel, kneel before me.
…
At six in the morning, Liu Meilan’s sharp scream rang on time.
“Jianguo! Jianguo, come see!”
Su Wanqing was startled awake, rubbing her eyes as she stepped out.
Liu Meilan stood at the kitchen doorway, pale, pointing at the grain cabinet.
“G-grain… it’s… gone!”
Su Jianguo, dressed, came over: “Gone? You must be mistaken.”
“How could I be mistaken!” Liu Meilan’s voice trembled. “There was half a bag of flour yesterday, a whole sack of cornmeal, and now… so much is gone!”
She opened the cabinet. Su Jianguo peeked in, stunned.
The grains were indeed reduced.
Still some left, but clearly not as full as yesterday.
“Did you eat it?” Liu Meilan spun around, grabbing Su Wanqing’s collar. “Tell me! Did you steal the food last night?”
Su Wanqing recoiled in fear: “I didn’t… Mom, I didn’t…”
“Dare to deny it!” Liu Meilan raised her hand to strike.
“Wait.” Su Jianguo intervened, frowning at the cabinet. “Doesn’t look like it was eaten by a person.”
He crouched, inspecting the area carefully.
Small specks of powder on the floor, a few black dots in the corner.
“Mice,” Su Jianguo concluded. “See, there’s mouse droppings here.”
Liu Meilan leaned closer—sure enough, a few black mouse droppings in the corner.
“But…” she still didn’t believe it. “Could mice take this much food?”
“What can’t mice do if there are enough of them?” Su Jianguo said impatiently, standing. “I’ll get some mouse poison from the factory today. Put all the grains in jars and seal them tight.”
Liu Meilan muttered while fetching jars.
Su Wanqing kept her head down, a faint smile curling her lips.
Mice?
Not a bad excuse.
She volunteered, “Mom, I’ll help you pack them.”
“Go away!” Liu Meilan snapped. “Just seeing you annoys me!”
Su Wanqing stepped aside, watching Liu Meilan pack the remaining grains into jars, cover them with wooden lids, and weigh down bricks.
“Let’s see how mice steal now!” Liu Meilan ground her teeth.
Su Wanqing added mentally: indeed, the jars were sealed—next time, I’ll take the jars too.
At breakfast, Liu Meilan still fretted over the grains, cooking the porridge thinner than yesterday.
Su Wanqing sipped slowly, planning tonight’s actions.
Clothing and bedding mostly done; next were the larger items: jars of pickles, water jars, tables, chairs…
And the barrels of lubricating oil in the backyard.
First, she had to confirm their location.
After breakfast, Liu Meilan took little Su Xiaobao to visit neighbors—actually to show off his new cotton pants.
Su Jianguo went to work.
The house was left with only Su Wanqing.
She went to the backyard.
Not large, filled with coal, firewood, and broken furniture.
In the corner stood an abandoned doghouse—formerly for a dog that had since been killed, leaving the kennel empty.
Su Wanqing approached, peering inside.
Sure enough, three blue metal barrels were neatly stacked.
Covered with worn mats, not easily noticed.
She touched one barrel.
Cold, heavy.
One barrel of oil weighed around fifty kilograms.
Three barrels—one hundred fifty kilograms.
Could she take such a large volume?
Focusing her mind, she locked onto one barrel.
It didn’t budge.
Too heavy—beyond her current capacity.
She adjusted her strategy.
Focusing on the oil inside—
Success!
About a fifth of the oil from one barrel disappeared.
She repeated the process with all three barrels, removing a fifth each.
The barrels still appeared full, but were actually reduced.
As for the missing oil…
Su Wanqing’s consciousness entered the space, seeing a large area of viscous black liquid floating in the storage area, forming a massive oil sphere.
How to handle this… she hadn’t figured out yet.
Better to store it for now—it wouldn’t be wrong.
Exiting the space, she restored the doghouse to its original state.
Back inside, she began cleaning.
This was Liu Meilan’s “daily task”; no rest until finished.
Sweeping the floor, she planned her next moves.
Evidence secured, supplies gradually transferred.
One last piece remained:
The report letters.
She needed to write three, sending them separately to the steel mill disciplinary committee, the street office, and the women’s federation.
Each letter would emphasize different points, but the evidence needed cross-verification.
Tonight, they would be written.
Sweeping near the living room corner, she spotted a scrap of paper.
A bus ticket, dated three days prior, from the machinery factory to the “Red Flag Hotel.”
The Red Flag Hotel—a famous “high-class” place in Liaocheng, normally unaffordable.
What was Su Jianguo doing there?
Pocketing the ticket, Su Wanqing had another question in mind.
Just how many secrets did this household still hide?
No matter.
Gripping the broom firmly, her gaze hardened.
Whatever there was, she would uncover it.
To the root.
Until this rotten house collapsed completely.