Yan Ting wanted to say more, but Jiang Mo had already gone off on her own to deal with the trash.
All the garbage from floors 14 to 16 was being gathered on the staircase leading to the rooftop on the 16th floor. It had to be packed first, then moved up and piled in a designated area on the roof.
Wearing rubber gloves and a mask, Jiang Mo endured the stench as she picked up the scattered trash, tied up the bags, and carried them one by one to the rooftop.
Professor Jiang had said that if things returned to normal, they shouldn’t leave the place in ruins.
Standing at the edge of the rooftop, Jiang Mo leaned forward and glanced down. Beneath the faint green mist lay a dense layer of fog. The green mist had been present for six days now, yet she hadn’t heard any sign of rescue in the entire city.
Maybe the authorities were still trying, just too overwhelmed to reach them yet. After all, humans could survive for a short time on their own, but critical resources would need immediate securing to support future plans.
Jiang Mo firmly believed rescue would come. The scale of this disaster was massive—maybe they couldn’t send help immediately, but as long as there was even a sliver of possibility, help would eventually arrive.
For now, all they could do was wait—and protect themselves.
It took her two hours to finish cleaning up the trash. When she turned to leave, she suddenly realized the rooftop door was locked.
She couldn’t get out.
That was her first instinct.
She pounded on the door. “Is anyone there?”
The rooftop door wasn’t supposed to have a lock—that was common knowledge. But no matter how hard she pushed, it wouldn’t budge. Clearly, it had been blocked from the other side.
Who could it be?
Huang Yuan?
Jiang Mo instinctively rejected that idea. It couldn’t be her—Yan Ting had been keeping a close watch on Huang Yuan. She wouldn’t have had the chance.
Aside from Huang Yuan, Jiang Mo hadn’t had conflicts with anyone else.
“I-Is anyone there? Please open the door!”
She shouted for a long time, but there was no response. It was lunchtime—everyone was eating. The staircase was usually quiet anyway, and even more so now.
The wind on the rooftop was fierce. Cold air whipped across her face, making her tremble. Even her black coat couldn’t block the biting chill. She pulled her high-neck sweater up to cover her ears and cheeks, knocking and calling out at the same time.
“Is anyone there?”
“Help me open the door, I can’t get out!”
“Hello? Anyone?”
“Help! Fire!”
“…”
Finally, after shouting for an hour, she heard footsteps behind the door.
A girl’s voice came through, soft and hesitant. “Is that Jiang Mo?”
The voice sounded familiar. Jiang Mo immediately recognized her—Zhu Ci. She had once handed Jiang Mo tissues when she was crying over her boyfriend.
They had met a few times, but never really spoken. Jiang Mo hadn’t expected it to be her.
The door was opened shortly after.
Zhu Ci wore a brown hoodie. Her face was pretty and delicate, with a gentle, refined beauty. She and Jiang Mo were similar—both gave off the impression of being fragile and needing protection.
Looking at Jiang Mo crouched on the ground, her pale face tinged with pink, Zhu Ci spoke softly, “Are you okay?” She extended her hand.
Jiang Mo had been crouching for too long—her legs were numb. When she looked up, her clear, bright eyes shimmered, her voice hoarse. “Thank you.”
She used Zhu Ci’s strength to stand.
Her hands were cold—but her grip was surprisingly strong.
Jiang Mo was taller than her. As she stood, she could see the top of Zhu Ci’s head, and the thin layer of clothing beneath her hoodie. She lowered her gaze discreetly, then thanked her again. “Thank you. If it weren’t for you, I might’ve frozen out here.”
The temperature had dropped sharply these days. It wasn’t even winter yet, but it was already close to freezing. Jiang Mo wasn’t exaggerating—without Zhu Ci, she might’ve gone into hypothermia.
Behind her back, Zhu Ci clenched her hand tightly. Her gaze flicked to the wooden stick she had discarded nearby, a trace of coldness flashing in her eyes. “Someone tried to harm you?”
Jiang Mo looked over as well and shook her head. “I don’t know.”
Her legs were still numb, so she leaned against the wall, her lowered gaze thoughtful and complicated.
Who could it be?
From the doorway, whoever it was could clearly see her on the rooftop. It couldn’t have been accidental. And yet she hadn’t heard a single sound.
“I’ll head back first,” Jiang Mo said.
“I’ll go too,” Zhu Ci replied.
They went down from the rooftop and walked in opposite directions.
As the numbness faded, Jiang Mo limped along, leaning against the wall. With her injured hand, she could only brace herself with her wrist—taking a few steps, stopping to rest, then moving again.
Zhu Ci remained standing at the stairwell, watching Jiang Mo’s retreating figure, her fists clenched.
Click.
The door closed.
Jiang Mo leaned against it as tears rolled down in large drops. She wiped them away with the back of her hand—but the more she wiped, the more they fell.
She wanted to hold them back.
But she couldn’t.
She slid down to the floor, burying her face in her knees.
Jiang Zhe, who had just returned, clearly heard the crying next door. It wasn’t loud—just soft sobbing, like a kitten abandoned in the rain, helpless and pitiful, making one instinctively want to comfort it.
The image of her tear-streaked face immediately came to mind.
He knocked on her door.
“Jiang Mo.”
“Jiang Mo, what’s wrong?”
She didn’t respond.
Dragging her exhausted body, Jiang Mo sat on the sofa, swallowed two ibuprofen tablets, and curled up with a pillow.
She fell asleep.
She dreamed.
She dreamed her parents had come to take her home.
“Yao’er, come with Dad. Let’s go home.”
“Dad made your favorite sweet and sour ribs. Your brother is back too—why are you crying?”
“I told you, don’t cry. It makes Mom sad.”
“My little one, why are you crying again? Who bullied you?”
Jiang Mo looked at the familiar faces appearing before her. She reached out unconsciously, tears streaming down her face. “Why did you come so late…”
“Yao’er, you have to be strong. Move forward bravely. Your parents will always be your strongest support.”
“You little crybaby. Just because I’m not home doesn’t mean I can’t protect you. Don’t bottle things up if you’re wronged.”
“Next time, fight back. Don’t be afraid. If anything happens, I’ll handle it.”
She woke up.
No one had come.
The room was pitch black. It felt as if the whole world had sunk into darkness. Even the most ordinary things seemed like terrifying demons in the dark.
Jiang Mo hugged herself, too afraid to lift her head.
The memories she had tried to forget surged back like a tidal wave—bringing endless despair and sorrow.
“Run? Where do you think you’re going?”
“You’re crying again? Just like your trashy mother.”
“That little orange cat died because of you. Happy now? You’re a murderer, just like your father.”
“Murderers don’t deserve to live. Why are you still alive? Even your parents don’t want you anymore.”
“You’re worthless to the core. Isn’t your father supposed to be capable? Why hasn’t he come to save you?”
Why hasn’t he come…
Why hasn’t he come…