"I'll help out," the boy said. "I'm the only one living on my floor anyway. I was planning to come seal this window, and then I saw you already here."
He gave a shy smile. "What a coincidence. I'm the only one on the 33rd floor too, so I figured I'd come down."
Lan Jin took the scissors from the boy, and as he peeled off a strip of tape, she cut it cleanly. They worked together seamlessly. Seeing that the boy really did look young, she added a reminder, "Did you already seal the window in the elevator shaft? Our floor doesn't have elevator service, but there's still a window there. That area needs to be sealed up too."
The boy nodded. "Already sealed."
While they worked, Lan Jin gradually learned more about him. His name was Huang Jinghe. He was nineteen. He had been accepted into a university, but he didn't like the major, so he dropped out after half a year to study for the entrance exams again. That explained why she never saw or heard him before—his schedule was completely different from hers, coming and going at odd hours.
As for his parents, they didn't quite understand his decision, but they hadn't opposed it either.
Both of Huang Jinghe's parents were in the military and stationed outside the city. There were no other relatives living with him, which explained why he was on his own.
He had moved here entirely because he liked the unusual layout of this apartment. His parents hadn't even had time to object before he used his own money to buy the place. People really had all kinds of tastes—and apparently, kids these days had money to spare.
The small window between the two floors wasn't big, and the two of them sealed it up fairly quickly. Before leaving, Lan Jin asked with concern, "Do you have enough food at home? This poisonous fog came at a bad time, and the neighborhood's in a frenzy. It probably won't clear in a day or two."
"I do," Huang Jinghe replied. "Third-year students don't have time to waste, so I keep a ton of instant noodles at home. I've got enough for months."
He paused, then asked, "Did your family stock up? If not, I could share some..."
"No, no, it's fine," Lan Jin waved him off. "We've got enough for now. We won't go hungry. But no one knows how long this fog will last, so try to ration your food. And maybe don't hand it out too easily either. If you can, store more clean water at home."
She turned to leave. There was a child and a dog waiting for her, and she couldn't help but worry a little after being gone so long.
As for why she showed so much concern for Huang Jinghe, it was simple—he was just too young. Living alone and caught in this kind of crisis, what if someone tricked him into giving away all his food? Still, she knew it wasn't something to truly worry about. In about a week, once the authorities figured out how to move safely through the fog, they'd begin distributing supplies to residents. No one was going to starve. She was just overthinking things.
Lan Jin walked back home feeling more at ease.
Huang Jinghe, however, returned with a serious expression. Looking at the mountain of instant noodles piled up in his home, he started thinking about what Lan Jin had said. Water. Right. What good were noodles without water? He still had a few dozen boxes of drinks in storage, but it wasn't like he could live on soda alone.
He walked out to the balcony and picked up a bunch of empty bottles he'd been saving in a corner. Most of them were large soda bottles. Despite having money, he had always believed in being thrifty—and those bottles could be recycled for cash. So over time, he'd ended up with dozens.
After carrying the bottles inside, Huang Jinghe double-checked that the door was locked and all the gaps sealed, then began filling the bottles with water.
His faucet was fitted with a triple-filtration water purifier and a hot water option. He'd installed it mainly because he was too lazy to boil water every time he made instant noodles. He hadn't thought much of it before, but now he realized just how useful it was.
He filled every pot and bottle he had with cold water, then filled his thermoses with hot water. There was no need to worry about storing it too long—he could just use it and refill as needed. Plus, with all the drinks he had, he'd definitely have enough to get by.
As the night wore on, most residents had finished sealing their windows and doors. A few, however, still refused to listen—and no one could convince them otherwise. Whatever happened next, they would have to deal with the consequences themselves.
And then, under cover of darkness, the poisonous fog crept in.
The ones who hadn't sealed properly were the first to suffer. Even as the situation worsened, the community staff kept broadcasting warnings:
"Please take the threat of the poisonous fog seriously. During this time, no departments will be able to assist or provide rescue. If something happens, you are on your own. Residents must seal all doors and windows completely. This is extremely serious. Check everything. If an accident happens, there will be no help coming."
In other words, if you were going to die, you'd die alone at home.
Despite the repeated messages in the chat groups and through the loudspeakers, as soon as the fog truly arrived, cries for help still flooded in from households across the complex.
"Is anyone from the community there? My dad sealed everything—doors, windows, every gap—but now his skin's red and swollen. He has a fever and says he's in pain all over. His face is turning blue. He says it feels like his throat is closing. He can't breathe."
The staff responded quickly, "The poisonous fog is here. Those symptoms mean exposure. You must check again. If the gaps aren't sealed well enough, the fog will keep getting in. And once the whole city is covered, the situation will only get worse."
They followed up by tagging everyone in the group:
"All residents must check and reinforce every door and window. Do not leave any openings. This is critical. If you don't, the consequences will be severe."
The flood of messages left no time for replies. Everyone rushed to add more layers of tape, sealing every crack again.
But what about those who were already showing symptoms?
"What about my dad? He can't breathe. He's fading fast. Someone please help him."
But there was no need for the staff to reply. A chorus of messages echoed through the group chat:
"The community staff already warned us. Going outside now is basically suicide. Who could come save anyone?"
"Exactly. Even if someone tried, they'd die before they got out the door. The fog is deadly. There's no rescue. This fog is horrifying. It's only just started—what'll it be like when it fully hits?"
"I saw it on the app. Lots of cities are already covered. Tons of people are suffocating. It's terrifying. If you've got tape left, seal your rooms even tighter."
"But my dad... he can't breathe. Please. Please, someone help him."
"Who's going to save him? We can't even open the door. And even if we could—there's no medicine for this kind of thing."
No, there wasn't. If someone inhaled the poisonous fog and began to suffocate, there was nothing anyone could do. If it was just skin contact, there might be treatments later on—but that was later. The fog had only just arrived. There was no cure now.
Everyone in the group focused on reinforcing their seals, tape roll after tape roll. After a long pause, someone finally spoke up again:
"Stop asking for help. No one can come. My mom didn't believe any of this either. I sealed everything, every crack. She waited until the middle of the night and tore the tape off her room, said it was fine. Now she's curled up in bed, screaming in pain."