Operating the excavator turned out to be almost embarrassingly simple — two levers, a joystick, and a little patience. Zhang Yi poured diesel from his spatial storage into the tank, fired the engine, and started cutting through the drift. He began cautiously, then picked up speed; thirty minutes later he'd carved a three-meter trench, the tracks chewing through the snow with mechanical confidence. This could double as a transport vehicle, he thought.
Seven hours later the cab rattled onto the gas station roof. He cleared a path to the convenience-store window, hauled himself inside, and found the underground fuel room: four giant tanks — three gasoline, one diesel — each holding two hundred cubic meters. He bled off static, sealed the lines, and slipped the tanks into spatial storage. No more fuel worries, he smiled. Another, wider thought followed: if he could dig this out, he could unearth anything buried under the white. The city had become his private trove.
Back at Building 25, he doled out the "trash food" as rewards. Li Chengbin and Jiang Lei pressed forward eagerly. "Can we hit other buildings for more rations?" they begged.
Zhang Yi grinned. "Of course. Kill someone outside our unit — especially the Tianhe Gang in 26# — and you get five rations." The promise landed like gasoline on embers; they cheered, hungry for both food and proof of loyalty.
Fang Yuqing didn't show — she'd stopped trying. Lin Caining came crawling, but Zhang Yi ignored her. The neighbors watched, appetite and avarice warring on their faces. Food had become the simplest, cruellest currency; violence the quickest way to buy it.
Zhang Yi looked at them and knew the chain was set. His cannon fodder was no longer theoretical — it was ready, willing, and primed to expand his rule.