June 17, 2027, 19:47.
The numbers in the bottom right corner of the screen ticked over.
Yu Molan stared at the spreadsheet on his computer. The column that should have been a green "Delivered" was now a sea of glaring red. Besides the red deficit of "-340.00," what was even more alarming was the logistics status below:
Vehicle Stationary (6 hours 24 minutes).
GPS Signal: Weak.
His phone, pressed to his ear, was burning hot. Through the receiver, the voice of Lao Liu, a refrigerated truck driver from Henan, sounded utterly exhausted:
"Manager Yu, I really don't want to raise the price. The highway navigation is all red. They're saying it's a military exercise up ahead, but it doesn't look like it to me... It's all military vehicles, forcing private cars off the road. My reefer's about to run out of fuel. If you don't cover this, I'll be losing money on gas..."
"Screech—"
A piercing static shrieked through his eardrum.
"Lao Liu?"
No dial tone, just a dead silence. The 5G icon in the signal bar flickered twice, then turned into an "x".
The central air conditioning in the office had been off for forty minutes. The property management claimed it was a "power grid overload, temporary power rationing." The air was a mix of the sour smell of fermented chili oil noodles and the stuffy odor of sweaty feet. Yu Molan didn't move. That suffocating, heart-pounding feeling was back.
It wasn't just this one shipment.
Starting three days ago, the number of trucks entering the city had dropped by a third. The arrival rate for the fresh produce warehouse had fallen through the floor.
Gas stations were rationing fuel to 200 yuan per vehicle, and highways were being closed.
The vast machine of the city was still turning, but the lubricant between its gears had run dry, emitting a grating screech that set one's teeth on edge.
His phone screen suddenly lit up. Messages in the main logistics group chat were flooding in, scrolling too fast to read:
"Anyone see missile launchers on the ring road?"
"Why are all the birds over here flying around like crazy?"
"Boss, I want to go home. Something's wrong with the weather, it's so stuffy I feel sick."
Yu Molan loosened his tie and turned off the screen.
He didn't want to look.
The elevator descended. The car's walls reflected the puffy bags under his eyes. No one had slept well these past few days. His eardrums always felt full, like the low pressure before a storm, stretching everyone's nerves to the breaking point.
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Level B2, the underground garage.
The air smelled of damp and mildew. Next to his dusty Passat, Wang Zong, the owner of a BMW X5, was roaring into his phone:
"I can't sell! The system's frozen! What do you mean, a fiber optic cable failure?... Hello? Fuck, how come no one else got disconnected?"
Wang Zong viciously kicked a tire. He turned and saw Yu Molan, the muscles in his face twitching. Without a word of greeting, he jumped into his car and slammed the door with a loud bang.
Even Wang Zong, who cared so much about appearances, had lost his composure.
Yu Molan got into his car and started the engine. The car radio turned on automatically, a human voice struggling to break through the crackling static:
"...announcement from the National Astronomical Observatory... Near-Earth Asteroid 2026-HY7 will pass by at 22:00 tonight... no risk of impact... We urge the public not to believe or spread rumors..."
"No risk," Yu Molan repeated under his breath.
He folded and refolded the handwritten waybill, tucking it into his breast pocket. The wad of paper felt sharp against his chest.
At the school gate, the big yellow dog was going crazy. Usually a docile old dog, it was now frantically pawing at the concrete. The security guard, Lao Chen, sat in the shadows, too listless to care. He just smoked one cigarette after another, a thick layer of ash accumulating on his uniform. He recognized Yu Molan's car; the man was a teacher's husband and always left his child at school until late.
"Just getting here," Lao Chen muttered. "This weather's going to cook us alive."
The playground was empty, except for Yu Xiaoyu sitting on the edge of a flowerbed.
She wasn't wearing her backpack; its pink straps trailed on the ground. She tapped her heels against the steps, making a monotonous "thump, thump" sound.
Seeing the car, she jumped up, quickly and expertly opening the door and buckling herself into the back seat.
"Been waiting long?"
"Nope. I just finished a drawing."
Inside the car, the air conditioning was on full blast, but the sweltering heat still seeped in through the cracks. Yu Molan adjusted the vent behind the armrest, directing the airflow away from Xiaoyu's face.
"Dad," Xiaoyu said, looking at the solid red line of brake lights outside. "All the earthworms in the school flowerbeds came out. They're everywhere, so red and gross."
Yu Molan's grip on the steering wheel tightened. "It's just too hot."
"My teacher said it's because the meteor shower is coming." Xiaoyu unfolded a crumpled piece of drawing paper.
On it was a scribble of black and blue.
"This is the ocean. My teacher said the ocean is blue, but I added gray."
"Why?"
"Because the ocean is angry." Xiaoyu looked down, picking at her fingers. "Dad, should we go hide?"
Yu Molan glanced at his daughter in the rearview mirror. Xiaoyu's eyes were bright, her eyelashes looking freshly washed.
"Don't be silly. Let's go home and eat."
At home, the roar of the range hood drowned out the unrest outside.
Lin Zhixi stood at the stove, her figure looking frail from behind. She stir-fried with forceful movements, the sound of the spatula scraping against the wok exceptionally harsh.
"You're back," she said without turning around.
"Yeah."
"Wash your hands."
The water from the tap smelled of bleach. It was warm, not cool.
At the dinner table, the TV was replaying the news: "...Asteroid HY7... no risk of impact..."
Lin Zhixi set her chopsticks down hard on her bowl. "The price of rice and flour has gone up recently. They say shipments can't get in, and people are panic-buying at the supermarket downstairs. What's going on with your logistics company?"
"The roads are jammed, the signal's bad, and the drivers are getting antsy." Yu Molan shoveled a mouthful of dry, hard rice into his mouth.
"So they can just stop making deliveries because they're 'antsy'?" Lin Zhixi's voice suddenly rose. "Is it because of that asteroid on the news? It's been on all day."
"It's far from Earth." Yu Molan put some food on her plate with his chopsticks. "Don't scare yourself."
No one spoke again.
A muffled roll of thunder suddenly sounded outside. The windowpanes vibrated with a low hum, and the water in the glasses on the table rippled gently.
After dinner, Lin Zhixi had Xiaoyu wash up and go to bed. She curled up on the sofa, scrolling through her phone, the screen's glow making her face look pale.
Yu Molan went to the balcony for a smoke.
There was no wind outside. The city was like it was trapped in a giant steamer, the traffic lights at the intersection seeming to warp in the heat haze.
Suddenly, the cloud base to the southeast lit up.
It wasn't lightning.
It was a ghastly white light, like a scalpel slicing through skin, instantly illuminating the thick cloud cover before it sealed shut again. There was no sound, only the light, which left a pale afterimage burned onto his retinas.
The fingers holding his cigarette froze.
Lin Zhixi was standing in the middle of the living room, phone in hand, her brow furrowed.
"That's weird... None of the videos are loading."
She exited the page and tried another app.
The white loading circle spun for two seconds, then froze.
"Honey, can you check? Is the router acting up again?" She glanced instinctively toward the TV stand.
Yu Molan walked over and bent down to look at the router.
The green lights were blinking. He reached down, unplugged the power cord, and plugged it back in.
The indicator lights lit up in sequence, then quickly went dark, leaving only a single, dim red light blinking faintly in the shadows.
Lin Zhixi refreshed the page. Still blank.
"It's no use," she said, her voice a little lower.
Yu Molan took out his own phone, turned off the Wi-Fi, and switched to cellular data.
In the top right corner of the screen, the signal jumped between one and two bars, sometimes 4G, sometimes 5G.
He stared at it for two seconds. Just then, a new message popped up in the residential community's owner group chat.
"Is your internet down too?"
"Mine's totally frozen. Did lightning strike a China Mobile tower? @Broadband_Tech"
"Probably just base station maintenance or something," he said, offering the most cliché excuse, but his heart began to pound.
The wind picked up.
It came without warning, carrying a thick, earthy smell and the scent of moisture. Then came the rain. Fat drops hammered against the glass, "pap, pap," like someone frantically pounding on the windows from outside.
"I'll close the windows, you get the laundry from the balcony," Lin Zhixi said, running toward the bedroom.
Yu Molan stood in the center of the living room.
The feeling of unease finally broke through the dam of his reason.
Something was wrong.
Everything was wrong.
Just then, the dead phone in his palm suddenly began to vibrate violently.
No caller ID, no network connection.
It was the highest-level override, a forced awakening of the phone's core operating system.
"Woooo—woooo—woooo—"
A piercing siren tore through the sound of the downpour—the mandatory alert tone for a national-level emergency warning.
The screen instantly turned a suffocating deep red, a black countdown timer ticking down frantically:
【ALERT | SEISMIC WAVE ARRIVAL IN 3 MIN 50 SEC】
【ESTIMATED INTENSITY: 6】
【EPICENTER DISTANCE: 880 KM】
【MAGNITUDE: Mw 9.7】
【IMPORTANT: THIS IS NOT A DRILL】
Proofreader: Peter Pan