Zhang Yi asked, calm as ever, "So? What do you want?"
Wang Min and the others elbowed Fang Yuqing forward. She sniffed, blinked through tears, and forced the words out. "Zhang Yi… Zhou Peng was shot because of you. He's badly hurt. We don't have medicine—if he gets infected, he'll die. You stockpiled medicine before the storm. Please—lend us some. I swear we'll never bother you again."
Zhang Yi paused at the stove, spat out a dry laugh, then resumed cutting. "You want to know why I used rusty bolts?" he asked, voice flat. "Because I wanted the infection. I wanted them to rot. That was the point. And now you come begging for medicine? Are you insane?" He sneered and laughed, the sound sharp and small.
Fang Yuqing knew the truth—she'd seen the bolts—but desperation will make anyone lie. Losing Zhou Peng meant losing an ally, a shield, a future. She sobbed, "We were wrong. Please… spare him. We'll never trouble you again. The world's cruel—we should help one another. Don't be heartless—won't it upset you if they die?"
Before she finished, Zhang Yi cut her off, voice steady: "Yes. I'd be happier."
Wang Min, frantic, tried a different tack. "Zhang Yi—remember that dinner I covered for you once? You owe me." Zhang Yi rolled his eyes at the pathetic barter: a cheap meal traded for a life. "Is that supposed to mean anything?" he mocked.
Zhou Peng's distant screams seeped through the thin apartment walls; the sound made Zhang Yi's lips twitch into something like contentment. Wang Min pressed on, bargaining and threatening by turns. "We're all in danger—give us the medicine and we'll repay you."
"Repay?" Zhang Yi barked. "So I should save the people who tried to kill me and steal everything I prepared? Why would I make it easier for them to come for revenge later?" He spat the word revenge like it tasted sour.
Fang Yuqing grabbed the phone again, digging for every scrap of leverage. "Can't we start over? I always cared for you—really! I can move in. I'll be yours—only yours!" Her voice was frantic, pleading; it rang hollow and yet, bitterly, it cut closer than before. Zhou Peng, writhing from the bolt extraction nearby, nearly fainted on the spot at the sight. Zhang Yi watched the whole theater without blinking.
Then, in a velveted drawl that sounded like a promise, he said for everyone to hear, "Qing—(a name he used like a toy)—I still love you. You hurt me too much." His tone suggested wounded sincerity. It was the exact bait she needed.
Hope flared in Fang Yuqing's eyes so violently it hurt to watch. "I knew—deep down—you loved me! Those tests were just tests! You're such an idiot!" Her voice trembled between triumph and pleading.
The room went quiet; everyone froze, ears straining for any sign that Zhang Yi might relent. Some of the injured closed their eyes and clung to that hope like a life raft. Others watched with hatred and envy.
Fang Yuqing leapt at the opening with the single-minded hunger of someone who'd been starving longer than her stomach. "I'll come at once," she blurted. She dashed toward the door, ignoring the groans and the chaos left in Zhou Peng's wake.
Lin Caining lunged after her, tears and desperation in her own voice. "Don't leave me—please!" Fang Yuqing whirled, eyes hard as flint, and shoved her back so violently that Lin Caining staggered.
Wang Min slammed her down with a furious hand. "You slut—how dare you try to leave us when we're wounded? You put us in this mess!" The slap landed heavy and final.
Chaos erupted. Accusations, sobs, pleas and threats braided together in a single ugly chorus. The injured screamed when the makeshift wound care resumed; Zhou Ke'er urged the others to keep quiet so he could work. Blood, filth, and shame mixed with the frigid air.
And somewhere in the middle of it all, Zhang Yi stood by the stove, knife in hand, amused and merciless—entertained by the scramble, untouched by compassion. He'd put them where he wanted: on their knees, bargaining, raw and exposed. He'd watched them break themselves for a scrap of mercy.
When Fang Yuqing sobbed, "Please… let me in—please save him," Zhang Yi only smiled—a thin, satisfied curve. "You'll come alone," he said finally, "and you'll be the only one. Nobody else. Not them. Not Lin Caining. Not the rest. You come alone, on your knees, and promise to be mine. Then maybe—maybe—I'll consider it."
Her answer was instantaneous: "Yes—yes, I'll come. I'll do anything."
The others fell silent, a mixture of hope and hatred churning through them. Wang Min spat curses and slammed a fist into the sofa. Lin Caining sobbed and clawed at Fang Yuqing's coat, pleading for a share. But Fang Yuqing had already started out the door, propelled by the single-minded, humiliating calculus that had always been her survival strategy.
Zhou Peng's screams rose and fell, ragged and awful; the smell of burned flesh and antiseptic and fear hung in the room. Outside, the blizzard howled. Inside, human dignity was bartered away in pieces.
Zhang Yi watched the door close behind her, and for a long moment, he only breathed. Then he turned back to his stove, to the meal he'd been preparing, unfazed by the moral wreckage he'd orchestrated. The world could collapse into savagery beyond his walls—so long as his walls held, he would watch.