After handing out the day's rations, Zhang Yi noted a grim truth: the dozen or so deaths over the last forty-eight hours had conserved a frightening amount of supplies. Familiar faces were gone—Fang Yuqing, Lin Caining—he hadn't seen them in days. They'd almost certainly frozen or starved.
Back home, Zhou Ke'er emerged from the kitchen in an apron and smiled. "Welcome back, Master."
Seeing her—gentle, quiet, dutiful—Zhang Yi felt the day's tension ease. Zhou Ke'er had settled into the role he'd assigned: competent, obedient, useful. In this ruined world she clung to him like a vine clings to a tree; in return she did everything to keep that tree alive.
"What are you making?" he asked as he peeled off his outer layers.
"Braised beef brisket with potatoes," she said, kneeling to set his slippers beside the shoe rack. "You said you liked it. I hope it's alright."
He sank his feet into the steaming basin of water she brought. The warmth bled into his cold bones and for a moment the constant edge of danger dulled. Today had gone well: he'd finally located the military barracks' precise position. Next trip he could come back with excavation equipment and strip the armory of weapons and ammunition—maybe even artillery-grade supply, if luck favored him. That would change everything.
Practical doubts nagged him, though. The Mad Wolf Gang's ambush proved how lethal narrow streets and prepared traps could be. A frontal assault on a fortified high-rise was foolish; stairwells and corridors favored defenders. Molotovs and smoke could choke attackers as easily as defenders.
Then an idea clicked: use fire.
Smoke was a weapon that got where guns couldn't. Buildings were sealed tight now to keep heat in; smoke would fill those sealed spaces fast. If the Mad Wolf Gang barricaded themselves inside, a well-placed fire would force them into the open or suffocate them; if they tried to jump from windows, he could pick them off. The tactic fit the terrain and the enemy's weakness.
There were problems—wood was scarce, and most usable timber had been burned. But damp, snow-soaked branches would produce an unbearably foul, dense smoke; doused with gasoline they'd burn hot enough to make a firestorm. He could fell trees over a few days and stack them up; enough fuel would turn smoke into a siege engine.
Comforted by the plan, he ate. "Your cooking's improving," he told Zhou Ke'er between bites.
She lit up. "I'll make it for you every day if you like."
As they ate, Zhang Yi outlined a cautious timetable: no all-out war yet. First the weapons—dig out the armory. Then the fuel. Once the odds were overwhelmingly his, he'd burn the people who'd tried to kill him, erase their threat in one decisive stroke.
Halfway through the meal, Zhou Ke'er's voice cut through his planning. "A lot of people in the building have died these past few days."
He looked up, bland. "Oh? And?"
"I think they're starting to resent you," she said, concern plain on her face. "You should be careful."
Women noticed social shifts; she'd seen the cloud gathering with sharper eyes than his. He smiled, cupping her cheek. "If I needed someone to warn me, I'd be dead a hundred times over already."
Still, she persisted. "Too many have died. They might team up with other buildings and—"
"Let them," he said dismissively. "I never trusted them. I'll get rid of them sooner or later anyway."
Zhou Ke'er covered her mouth and sighed. "You're more ruthless than I expected." Despite the rebuke, relief warmed her—reliability mattered more than softness now.
Then the vulnerable question came. She'd given everything; she'd learned to rely on him. "Zhang Yi—do you trust me?"
In a world where trust was currency, she wanted to be his. He looked her in the eyes and answered without hesitation: "Ke'er, you're the only person in this world I trust."
Tears sprang to her eyes. "You're lying to make me feel better, aren't you?"
He shook his head. "No. You're the only one who matters right now."
She believed him. Her face bloomed; he offered her a piece of brisket. Watching her bite it, savor the simple comfort, Zhang Yi thought with a thin smile that winning a woman's devotion was rarely complicated—an unhesitating lie and the smallest kindness did the trick.
He liked Zhou Ke'er. But not in any way that would get in the way of his plans. She was a link in his chain of survival. If she trusted him absolutely, she would warn him, work for him, and keep the household secure. That was all he needed.
After dinner he planned to shower. As Zhou Ke'er rose—flushed and shy—she offered, "Do you want me to help wash your back?"
He glanced at her, feeling the new warmth in the room. "Yes," he said. "That would be nice. It's hard to reach on my own."