It was the seventh day of the typhoon.
Perhaps no one had expected it to last this long.
Lin Nan Nan peeked outside at the still pitch-black sky and felt a lingering sense of unease. She couldn’t help but complain, “Good thing we bought so much before, otherwise who would dare go out in weather like this? The warnings were completely unreliable—they said it’d only last three days.”
Because of the prolonged storm, the community’s natural gas supply had been cut off. Fortunately, this was an upscale neighborhood, and most of the lines were underground, so there was no power outage despite the typhoon.
“Maybe the reports were just wrong. We bought a lot last time, so we should be fine,” Song Ya reassured her.
Lin Nan Nan withdrew her gaze and walked into the living room. “I don’t even know when this will end. If it keeps going like this, there’s no way to earn money.”
Song Ya laughed. “Life is more important. With a typhoon this strong, would you dare go out even if there was money to make?”
“True.” Lin Nan Nan slouched on the sofa, letting out a deep sigh.
After lying there for a while, she suddenly sat up again, as if energized. “I can’t stay lazy like this. I need to get Haowen up to work out, or else my abs will disappear by the time the typhoon’s over.”
Saying that, she went to knock on the door loudly.
Because both Lin Nan Nan and Liu Haowen worked in fitness, their living room had some dumbbells and a stationary bike.
She vaguely remembered the bike could generate electricity. Liu Haowen had bought it for the house, saying it could be used to generate power when the electricity went out.
Seeing Lin Nan Nan so excited, Song Ya chuckled and returned to her room.
During the typhoon, since she couldn’t go out anyway, she started meditating at home.
Perhaps because it wasn’t the apocalypse yet and she could focus more easily, this meditation was surprisingly more effective than it had been after the end of the world, strengthening her mental power considerably.
Song Ya opened her eyes, exhaled slowly, and checked her phone. It was already past 4 p.m.
Ding~
A message popped up from the property group chat.
Property Manager Xiao Wang: [Dear residents, due to the typhoon, many households have run out of food. Please help each other @everyone]
After this message, many people started replying in the chat.
[Yeah, they said the typhoon would only last three days, so we only stocked enough for a few days. Now there’s nothing left.]
[If anyone is kind, I’m willing to pay double!]
[I’ll pay triple!]
[…]
The chat was buzzing, but Song Ya ignored it.
This typhoon was far from just a week-long event.
That evening, the four of them had hotpot again. After a week, most of the vegetables they had bought were gone, leaving only a bag of long-lasting potatoes.
However, the chives Song Ya had planted on the windowsill were thriving, a lush green patch ready to be eaten. Chives grew quickly, so cutting them wouldn’t deplete them.
Day Eight of the Typhoon
The wind and rain had now turned into wind carrying ice pellets.
The pellets were about the size of fingers, striking the glass with a sharp, distinct sound.
Residents in the property group were clamoring for food, willing to pay any price.
These past days, Lin Nan Nan had been working out in the living room with Liu Haowen while watching TV. Zheng Yiming rarely left his room except for meals.
Song Ya, aside from cooking, spent most of her time meditating in her room.
Ding~ Ding~
At lunchtime, the doorbell rang unexpectedly.
Song Ya found it strange—they weren’t locals and didn’t know anyone here. Who would be ringing the doorbell in weather like this?
Lin Nan Nan wanted to answer but was stopped by Song Ya. “Wait a moment. We don’t know who’s outside. Better to be cautious.”
Outside, impatient, someone began banging and shouting: “15th floor! Didn’t you say you have food? Let me up! Now you won’t open the door—what’s going on?”
Food? Song Ya was certain she hadn’t mentioned anything in the group chat. But with the persistent knocking, they had no choice but to open the door slightly and check.
Song Ya and Lin Nan Nan approached, opening the door just a crack, enough to block the view inside.
A security door had been installed outside, so even opening it slightly, no one could enter.
“We don’t have much food left. May I ask what you need?” Song Ya asked. Two men stood outside, both of medium build, around thirty years old.
Just as one man was about to speak, the door across the hall swung open. It was Elder Liu and her son, Huang Guolin.
Elder Liu held a white plastic bag with about five jin (≈2.5 kg) of rice. “It’s me. I accidentally wrote the wrong apartment number. Here, this is the five jin of rice you wanted—500 yuan.”
The man didn’t hesitate, pulling out five 100-yuan bills from his wallet. “Auntie, do you have more rice? We have a lot of people over there. With the typhoon this long, the children and elderly can’t go hungry.”
Seeing the money, Elder Liu’s eyes lit up. When she bought this rice, it cost only two or three yuan per jin. Now it had increased fiftyfold! This was faster than robbing someone.
She took the money, a hint of greed in her eyes. “I don’t have much food left at home. If you really want it, the price might go up…”
“Money’s no problem. Just sell it to us,” the man said. Judging by his designer clothes, he clearly wasn’t short on money.
“Okay, then I’ll sell you ten jin tomorrow. That’ll be 2,000 yuan, cash only,” Elder Liu said.
The man agreed and left.
Elder Liu looked at the 500 yuan in her hand and, remembering how decisively the man had agreed, felt a twinge of regret. “I should have asked for more. That man looks rich enough.”
Huang Guolin snatched the money. “Mom, this is easy money. Sell more. Who knows, the typhoon might stop in a few days.”
After the two men left, Song Ya glanced at Elder Liu. It seemed she had deliberately given the wrong address. “Elder Liu, now that you know you gave the wrong address, correct it. I don’t want to be disturbed.”
Elder Liu sneered, raising her eyes. “What? This isn’t your house! I can write whatever I want!”
With that, she grabbed her son and slammed the door shut.
Lin Nan Nan, exasperated and amused, pointed at the closed door. “She did it on purpose. Shameless.”
Lin Nan Nan closed the door. Elder Liu had deliberately posted the wrong apartment number in the property group. Checking the chat, sure enough, her note read Building 6, 1501!
Their actual apartment was 1501; Elder Liu across the hall was 1502.