Zhang Yi felt a surge of pure, unfiltered disgust.
The woman was revolting. "Husband?" He'd never heard her use that word before today. Now, with Uncle You bleeding out, she had suddenly adopted the title like a coat of arms. It was transparent, shrewd, and utterly shameless. She wasn't mourning a partner; she was leveraging a sacrifice. She was using Uncle You's broken body as a bargaining chip to guilt Zhang Yi into becoming her new provider.
You really should have died out there with the rest of them, Zhang Yi thought, his gaze lingering on her for a second too long.
He glanced back at Uncle You. The man was a ghost, hovering on the edge of the abyss. His survival depended entirely on Zhou Ke'er. If the old man's heart had already stopped, Zhang Yi would have slapped the hysterics right out of Xie Limei's mouth and tossed her into the snow. But he couldn't. Not yet. Uncle You had traded his life for Zhang Yi's—he couldn't murder the man's lover while the body was still warm.
He kept his expression a mask of frozen granite.
Xie Limei continued her performance, but her eyes were darting, searching for a reaction. When Zhang Yi remained a silent statue, her anxiety spiked. Uncle You had been her carefully curated meal ticket, her shield against the apocalypse. If he died, she needed a replacement—someone stronger, someone with a fortress. She didn't care if Uncle You lived; she cared that she survived.
She wiped a streak of snot from her nose and looked up, her eyes swimming with practiced tears. "Zhang Yi... is my husband going to make it?"
Husband. Right. Zhang Yi didn't blink. "I'll do everything I can. Zhou Ke'er was a top-tier attending physician before the world ended. If anyone can pull him back, it's her."
He meant it. His "Space" was a literal mountain of medical grade-supplies, antibiotics, and surgical tools. He would give Uncle You every chance fate allowed. But whether the old man had the will to stay was another matter entirely.
"If he dies, I don't want to live!" Xie Limei wailed, burying her face in her hands.
Zhang Yi said nothing. His silence was a wall she couldn't climb. Inside, she was screaming curses at him: You cold-blooded monster! He took a bullet for you! Can't you just promise to take care of us?
But she wasn't stupid enough to say it. Instead, she thrust her swaddled infant toward him like a shield. "Zhang Yi, if the worst happens... please. For his sake. Look at the baby. You have to take care of her. I beg you!"
"That's enough, Ms. Xie," Zhang Yi snapped, his voice like cracking ice. He didn't reach for the child. He wouldn't touch that tether. "Focus on him surviving. I'm not discussing 'what-ifs' while he's still breathing."
"But what if you can't save him?" she pressed, her voice shrill with desperation. "What if—"
Zhang Yi stepped into her personal space, his shadow looming over her. "You do want him to live, don't you?"
The question hit her like a physical blow. She stammered, the realization dawning that her eagerness to secure a new "guardian" made her look like she was rooting for Uncle You's death. "Of course! I... I want him to live more than anything!"
She retreated into a quiet, trembling sob. Zhang Yi turned to the neighbors he'd commandeered. "Up the stairs. Twenty-fourth floor. If he so much as jolts, I'll consider it a personal insult."
The men scrambled to obey. They carried the stretcher with a terrified, prayerful focus. They knew the "Demon of Yuelu Estate" was one bad mood away from clearing the hallway with lead.
When they reached the door to his apartment, Zhang Yi dismissed the neighbors with a curt wave. They fled as if the devil himself were at their heels. Xie Limei, however, hovered at his shoulder, refusing to budge.
The moment Zhang Yi opened the heavy, reinforced door, a wave of warmth hit them. It was a physical sensation—an impossible, tropical luxury in a world of sub-zero death. Xie Limei gasped. She had spent the last month huddled under blankets, kept alive only by Uncle You's body heat and the desperate burning of scrap wood.
Seeing the pristine, heated sanctuary of the apartment, she began to cry again—this time, the tears were real. It was the crying of a predator who had finally found a lush forest.
Zhang Yi ignored her, calling out for Zhou Ke'er to help move the stretcher. Xie Limei, meanwhile, began to wander. She went straight for the water dispenser, filling Zhang Yi's personal cup and gulping it down like a desert traveler. She even had the audacity to turn to him and ask, "Do you have any formula? The baby is hungry."
Zhang Yi's blood reached a boiling point. He grabbed her arm, his grip bruising. "You want to stay in the heat? Then start helping. Move him to the generator room, or get back out in the hall. Choose."
The "generator room" was a spare chamber where Zhang Yi kept the machines that powered his world. It was clean, functional, and most importantly, away from his private living quarters.
Xie Limei went pale, the entitlement vanishing from her eyes. She shut her mouth and grabbed the end of the stretcher. Survival, she realized, required her to be a servant before she could become a queen.