Soon Zhang Yi heard Aunt Lin's pig-squeal of a scream.
Chen Zhenghao burst into the apartment and slapped her across the face. "Old hag, you tricked neighbors out of supplies—consider this justice!" he barked with a wet laugh.
Aunt Lin crumpled to the floor, dizzy and stunned.
Chen barked orders at his men. "Search everything! Take all the food and drinks—don't let her profit off other people's hard work!"
His underlings snickered and tore through the kitchen and bedrooms, ripping open hiding places. Piles of instant noodles, bread, cookies, bottled water—stacks of loot—soon came into full view.
Aunt Lin crawled forward, clutching at Chen's leg. "You can't take it all! We hoarded some for ourselves—if you take everything, how will my grandson and I survive?" she wailed.
Chen stared at her coldly and sneered, "Not my problem. Move." Then he kicked her squarely in the face with his good leg.
"Ahhh!!" Aunt Lin screamed and collapsed again.
From the bedroom came a sudden shout: "You bastards! Get out!"
It was Xiaohu. The kid had seen his hidden chocolate cookies discovered and snapped. He grabbed a fruit knife from a drawer and stabbed one of the thugs in the butt. In this weather, any wound was dangerous. The man howled, then, seeing it had been a child, his fury turned grotesque—"What do I tell the others?!" he spat.
"F**k you!" he roared and launched a full-force kick at the six-year-old. Xiaohu screamed, flew through the air, and smashed against the wall, sliding down to the floor like trash.
The room went ugly-silent for a beat. Then the thugs cracked up.
"Haha! Lao Wu, since when did you learn to kick like that?""You launched that brat—legendary!"
Lao Wu, fishing the knife from his butt, grinned and crowed, "We should've filmed it!"
Aunt Lin, already injured, had tried to curl up and play dead. Seeing her grandson crushed, she erupted: "Xiaohu! My baby!" and lunged toward him.
Chen pointed at her with theatrical rage. "This is what happens to people who scam neighbors—justice!" He and his men laughed as they hauled their haul out the door.
Zhang Yi raised an eyebrow at the footage. Watching Aunt Lin and her kin get stomped felt like a long-overdue reckoning; he felt no pity. But he understood the pattern: once civility cracked, violence spread. The ice had a hairline fracture now.
"Sigh. Glad it's not my mess," he muttered, stretched out on his imported couch, and smiled.
He posted the recorded clip into the building group.
When the scammed owners saw Aunt Lin's place smashed, her and the boy beaten, supplies carted away, the mood flipped. People cheered.
"Haha—serves her right!""Brother Hao's righteous—deal with scum like that with iron fists!""That's what scammers get!""Tried to steal a chicken and lost the rice—perfect!"
Some owners, thrilled, even labelled Chen a hero. "Brother Hao is mighty!" "Truly righteous!" "Without Brother Hao we'd be helpless against scum." A few warned him about police trouble, but mostly he gained fame and a haul—no collective pushback, just divided relief.
Zhang Yi snorted at the group chatter. They hadn't seen the logic: if Chen could take Aunt Lin's stash today, he could take theirs tomorrow. Yet the posts showed most still had something left. In Yuelu Community many worked warehouses and hoarded by habit—expired noodles could stretch a family for days. Survival was ugly, but it could last.
He shut the chat and grabbed a target from his pocket dimension, hanging it on the wall. Bow practice. Crossbow practice. Even in a steel safe house you couldn't stop sharpening skills. He picked up the compound bow and crossbow and drilled. Guns were a last resort—he had a shooting club membership and knew how to use them, but bullets were finite; arrows weren't. Practice was both preparation and entertainment.