When Wang Min and Sun Zhichao heard the rumor that Zhang Yi had medicine, hope flared in the cramped room like a match in the dark. Desperation makes people cling to any lifeline.
Sun Zhichao forced out a breath. "Is that true? He actually has medicine?"
Wang Min glared at Fang Yuqing. "Don't lie—we're bleeding here because of you."
Fang Yuqing swallowed and offered a shaky explanation. "A month ago Zhang Yi changed. I saw trucks deliver goods to his place every day. Once a pharmaceutical truck arrived and carried two big boxes into his house—those had to be medicine."
Zhou Ke'er, who had arrived wrapped in a black down coat and carrying an iron medical box, gave a professional frown as she examined the wounds. "Antibiotics aren't unheard of. If he stocked up ahead of time, he probably has anti-inflammatories and antibiotics," she said, calm but blunt. The news only fed the room's frenzy; Sun Zhichao's eyes lit with frantic hope. "Then go—make him give us medicine! He made us bleed, he owes us!"
Wang Min hesitated. "He hates us now. Why would he help?" Ge Jialiang, doubled over in pain, croaked, "I feel like I'm dying—beg him, please!" Zhou Peng, pale and trembling from his own injury, added, "We're a group—someone has to try."
Fang Yuqing volunteered reluctantly, pushed by the demands of those who stood to benefit most. The others crowded around as Zhou Ke'er set to work with what little she had. Her first-aid kit was nearly empty; gauze and basic dressings were all she could offer. "I'll try to stabilize them," she said, voice steady. "But these bolts are deep and dirty. Without proper tools and antibiotics, removing them risks fatal infection. We have no sterile environment and no post-op drugs. You must understand the reality—without medicine, there's only waiting to die."
That sober assessment fell on anxious ears. Wang Min burst into tears for a moment, then flung an accusing look at Fang Yuqing and Lin Caining. "You got us into this. Go call him."
Under the unbearable pressure, Fang Yuqing dialed. Zhang Yi picked up as she was about to faint from shame and exhaustion. He was in the middle of cooking; the clatter of utensils and the casual rhythm of his voice made her feel small.
"Called to curse me after getting beaten?" he asked, amused.
Fang Yuqing's voice broke as she pleaded through tears. "Zhang Yi… Lu Tao's dead, Zhou Peng's dying—we were just trying to survive. Please… you have medicine. You can save them. Please, I was wrong. Forgive me… I'll do anything—please don't let them die."
Zhang Yi listened without visible emotion. When he finally spoke, his words were cold as ice. "Dead is dead—everyone dies sooner or later."
He paused, then continued, blunt and unsparing. "Do you think you're safe because you begged? This storm turned the world into an island. Supplies will run out even if Chen Zhenghao doesn't get to you. You'll freeze or starve. Why should I risk my stock for people who came to my door with knives?"
The call left them stunned. Fang Yuqing's tears turned to sobs; she tried again, voice cracking, "Please—just some antibiotics, I'll pay, I'll—"
Zhang Yi cut her off. "If I give you medicine, what's to stop you from turning on me later? In the apocalypse, trust is a luxury. You tried to steal from me. You deserve what you got."
He hung up.
Silence swallowed the room. The hope that had flared so quickly died hard, and fear reasserted itself with chilling efficiency. Zhou Ke'er shook her head and continued to dress wounds as best she could; alcohol would freeze, sterile conditions were impossible, and medicine—if it existed—remained behind Zhang Yi's sealed door.
Wang Min clutched Sun Zhichao's hand and whispered, "We did this to ourselves." Around them, the reality settled like another layer of frost: in this new world, mercy was rare, and begging the man who had every reason to refuse might be the most shameless thing they'd yet done—but shame had long since been burned away by hunger and fear.