On the eighth day of the apocalypse, the temperature finally stabilized, hovering around -50°C.
Snow continued to fall from time to time—sometimes heavy, sometimes light. Many water pipes had frozen and burst. Because of earlier warnings, many people stopped drinking tap water after the apocalypse, fearing it might carry a virus. However, after it started snowing, many believed that freshly fallen snow was clean and safe to use, so quite a few people began collecting snow for water.
Zhou Kai was a man in his thirties. Before the apocalypse, he had a happy family: his elderly mother, his wife, a five-year-old son, and a two-year-old daughter.
But after the apocalypse, his wife and son turned into zombies, and no one in the family developed any special abilities.
After such a tragedy, he was filled with grief. But he was the only support for his elderly mother and young daughter, so he had to stay strong.
Like many who couldn’t bear to harm their loved ones, he locked his wife and son in a room. But on the second day of the apocalypse, when he returned from gathering supplies, he found the door wide open—they were gone.
His mother, holding his crying daughter, sobbed to him, “I had no choice! We can’t keep two ticking time bombs at home. I’m old, it doesn’t matter if I die, but you can’t ignore Xiao Yue!”
His eyes turned red as he looked at the family photo on the wall. His wife smiled gently at him, and his son made a playful face.
Then he looked at his daughter, crying so hard she could barely breathe. In the end, he lowered his head.
Today was the eighth day of the apocalypse. The authorities had issued some announcements, mostly telling people to stay safe and offering reassurance, but there were no real solutions yet. He understood—this crisis was too big, and it would take time.
Although they had stored plenty of supplies, he still felt it wasn’t enough. He kept wanting to go out and gather more, even though it was dangerous.
Today, his plan was to find fuel—wood, branches, books, anything that could burn. As for coal, he didn’t dare to hope for it.
Before leaving, he reminded his mother again.
“Mom, I’ve seen many people collecting snow outside. Don’t go, okay? Just stay home and take care of Xiao Yue. That warning said all water is contaminated after the apocalypse. Snow should be the same. We stored plenty of water—it’s enough.”
He was actually worried, but he didn’t want his mother to be.
“I know, I know. Just be careful out there,” she said, waving him off.
Zhou Kai left, but he felt uneasy. He laughed at himself—he must have been scared by the apocalypse.
He was lucky that day. He found an abandoned bookstore filled with secondhand books. He didn’t mind at all and packed them into his large bag.
With these books, they would have plenty of fire-starting material—enough to last a long time.
After a long journey, he returned home happily, but found it completely silent. Usually, at this time, his daughter would run into his arms, and his mother would have food ready.
The uneasiness grew stronger. He dropped his bag and rushed to the bedroom.
When he opened the door, he saw his daughter lying on the bed with her eyes closed, and his mother slumped beside her, unconscious.
He knew they weren’t sleeping. There was vomit on the floor, and his daughter’s face was pale.
“Mom… Xiao Yue…”
He rushed over and checked them. They had only fainted, which made him sigh in relief.
After trying everything, he finally woke his mother.
“Mom, what happened?” His voice was tired and worried.
At first, she refused to speak. Only when he threatened his own life did she tell the truth.
Since the day before, while he was out, she had been collecting snow, boiling it, and drinking it with her granddaughter. When he came back, she switched back to their stored clean water.
“I thought boiling it would kill all the germs. Why wouldn’t it be safe? I just wanted to save some of the stored water… how long can it last?”
Zhou Kai looked at his pale, tearful mother and felt deep exhaustion.
“Then why didn’t you let me drink the snow water?” he asked.
His mother’s face changed.
He laughed bitterly. “Because you weren’t sure it was safe. You love me, so you didn’t let me drink it. But you don’t love yourself. You don’t love my child. But I love you both… Mom, you’re trying to make me die.”
His mother stared at him, speechless, tears streaming down her face.
For the next few days, he didn’t go out. He stayed with his mother and daughter, watching them vomit, suffer, and grow weaker.
Five days later, his daughter died.
He carried a bucket of snow to his mother, who didn’t have much time left. As she confessed and apologized, he silently grabbed a handful of snow and stuffed it into his mouth.
When his mother died, her eyes were full of despair.
The day before, Cheng Feng had gotten up at 10 a.m. to harvest crops and fertilize the land. Today, with nothing urgent to do, he woke up even later.
He woke at noon, stayed in bed for another half hour, then slowly got up and dressed.
So cold. Time to make something delicious.
He set up his tablet—his “work companion”—and played a downloaded variety show. Then he took out a basin of river snails from his storage and began cleaning them.
He had gathered these snails from a stream before the apocalypse. Each one was bigger than a coin and very plump.
They had already been cleaned of sand before being stored, so now he just needed to scrub them and cut off their tails so they would absorb flavor better.
Beside him was a strong charcoal fire, and under the table a stove heating water. Wearing thick rubber gloves, he didn’t feel too cold.
As he cleaned the snails, he laughed at the show. This meal—whether breakfast or lunch—was finally ready at 2 p.m.