Zhang Yi let out a cold laugh. In his previous life he'd badly misread the storm. Thinking he was doing a favor, he'd handed out some hoarded supplies — and what did it buy him? Rumors that he still had a house full of goods, a break-in, a mob, and his death. He'd been eaten alive. Aunt Lin's lies and scheming had helped turn neighbors into wolves.
The corner of his mouth lifted. He lazily left a voice message in the group: "Perfect timing — we've run out too. Aunt Lin, when you collect everyone's supplies, don't forget to share a bit with me."
Aunt Lin swore out loud where she sat. "Pah! Who do you take me for? You've worked at the warehouse for years — you must be hoarding. I don't buy your act!"
She was confident for a reason. Zhang often helped people grab marked-down items from the Walmart warehouse — dented packages, near-expiry goods, staff giveaways. Internal employees had first dibs; everyone knew the backdoor. That made her certain he was a "big fish."
Her face went pale with greed and calculation. If she could make him hand over even a little, she and her grandson could survive another week. She steadied her voice and tried a tone that mixed sternness with false warmth: "Xiao Zhang, don't joke with Auntie. Everyone knows you're the warehouse supervisor. How could you run out? This is an order from the organization. You must comply. If you contribute, the organization and your neighbors will remember your kindness. Send your things to Auntie — lead by example."
Zhang picked a toothpick from between his teeth — he'd eaten a roasted lamb leg for lunch — and answered slow and lazy: "I'm not lying. I've run out. Even landlords don't have extra grain these days. Aunt Lin, send me a few packs of instant noodles. As a Neighborhood Committee member, you should set the example."
Gentle didn't work. Aunt Lin's voice dropped and hardened. "Zhang Yi! I'm not talking to you as an individual — I represent the organization! Refuse to hand over supplies and you're opposing the organization. We will deal with you later!"
Zhang laughed coldly. "Pah. You're turning a feather into an arrow. You're just a Neighborhood Committee worker — not a civil servant, not a government official. You fool retirees and busybodies on normal days, and you puff up now. Do your worst. I'll be right here at home."
He didn't sugarcoat it. He exposed her: neighborhood committees were civic volunteers and social workers, not mandarins with power. Aunt Lin was an errand-runner, not even a small boss. Even if she were important, Zhang didn't care.
After the rant he hung up and blocked her. The move nearly made Aunt Lin explode. He'd mocked her in public, rubbed her face in the dirt, and she had no answer. "Zhang Yi, you damned brat! I — I want to kill you!" she sputtered, but it was empty noise. She couldn't touch him.
She thought of kicking him out of the owners' group but it would change nothing. She thought of rallying everyone to condemn him — but that would expose her scheme: if the crowd learned he refused to hand over supplies, everyone might refuse too. So she swallowed her fury and went back to work the room, lying and threatening the gullible while they were still sleepy.
Over the next two days Aunt Lin used charm and menace to squeeze supplies from several households. But not everyone was a fool. Some ignored her; others shouted her off the doorstep. She didn't dare target people like Chen Zhenghao or Xu Hao — men you don't mess with.
Zhang watched it all on his surveillance feeds and ate as if nothing had changed. Five days had passed since the storm. Most families had three to five days' food, maybe more where warehouse workers lived, but the cold burned through supplies fast — fuel for heat, food for energy. Panic was seeping in.
The owner chat grew frantic. Those who'd trusted official rescue now panicked about heating and food. The ones Aunt Lin had tricked were loudest: "@Lin Chunxia, Unit 1, 25#1502 — Aunt Lin, you said you would redistribute the supplies evenly. Our food is gone. It's been two days. Please return some!"
Shouts flooded the group — even households who hadn't handed anything in now begged for relief. Aunt Lin, however, went silent. She read the messages but didn't answer. She had no intention of giving anything back. Only she and Zhang truly knew how bad things were outside; only they knew a hoard could buy days of life.
She hugged her grandson under five quilts, forehead wet with cold sweat, and whispered to herself: How could I give back what I fought so hard to steal?