On the morning of the fourth day of the lunar new year in 2026, at six thirty, the chill in the bedroom was already so heavy it made breathing difficult. I struggled to sit up from the pile of quilts, my fingers so stiff I could barely grip the quilt corners, every breath I exhaled immediately condensing into thick white fog right in front of my eyes and refusing to disperse for a long time. The air conditioner panel displayed the current temperature at -7 degrees — it had still been 3 degrees before sleep last night, dropping another exact 10 degrees overnight on schedule. Outside the window the heavy snow was still falling, the balcony glass covered with a thick layer of frost flowers, and when the wind hit it made a low, muffled "buzz buzz" sound, like someone far away pounding the wall with fists again and again. The entire room was terrifyingly quiet, only my own heartbeat echoing in my eardrums like a small hammer tapping my nerves one beat after another.
I did not rush to get out of bed. First I lay there with my eyes closed, concentrating on feeling the faint yet steady warm current inside my body. The light blue panel slowly emerged, floating on my retina like a thin protective film, carrying a cold mechanical feel:
[Current spirit-breaking power: 19 points (remaining from last night) + 10 points recovered from night rest = 29 points]
The recovery was a little more than yesterday, probably the system's compensation because the temperature was even lower. I knew clearly in my heart that this compensation was far from enough for tonight, but at least there was no continued deficit. I slowly moved the chair wedged against the door aside, opened the bedroom door a crack, and first listened carefully to the hall with my ears. The pressure-sensing floor mat was quiet, the smoke interference sprayer had not triggered, and the electric alarm trap sensors showed no red lights flashing. Only the low hum of the refrigerator compressor and the soft sha sha sound of clothes on the balcony drying rod swaying lightly in the wind. After confirming there was no abnormality, I stepped little by little to the suite main door and looked out through the peephole. The corridor light was still that deathly pale white, the opposite 1401 door tightly closed, and the corridor floor piled with seven or eight centimeters of snow powder with no traces whatsoever.
Back in the bedroom I relocked the door tightly, sat at the computer desk, and first turned on the phone. I only read WeChat and sent no messages at all. The corridor group was already 999+, and the 33-building community group had broken a thousand. I scrolled down line by line without blinking:
[This snow is too eerie, my balcony is piled ten centimeters high, the wind blows it straight into the house!]
[Is anyone home on the 14th floor? Property management is asking for stay-behind registration again, saying they will distribute emergency supplies.]
[1402 received several express deliveries during the day but never replies to messages — nothing happened, right?]
[The opposite 1401 seems to have had no movement since the second day, the elevator keeps ringing at midnight, could it be…]
[If this weather keeps dropping, minus tens of degrees, who can endure it?]
Property management @ all once again to count stay-behind personnel and said the community would uniformly distribute heating packs. My finger hovered above the keyboard, but in the end I typed not a single word. I would absolutely never respond to any knock, any message, or any request for help. No matter how familiar my parents' voices sounded from outside, I would only clamp my mouth shut tightly and not make a sound. In this parallel world, except for myself, anyone could be a dream hunter disguised to fish for information. No one could be trusted. If I replied with even one sentence, the other side could immediately confirm that 1402 still had a living person, and the following dream hunters would swarm like sharks smelling blood. That imagination made my spine run cold, yet it also made me even more determined: silence was the only law of survival.
Next was survival time.
It was daytime now, so I first opened instant delivery platforms like Dingdong Buy Vegetables and Meituan Supermarket, prioritizing searches for stronger defense items that could be delivered within 30 to 90 minutes. Taobao's next-day delivery was put in the second round again.
In Dingdong I searched "blank-level advanced hall trap" and "low-tier paralyzing spray", and found a "simple sound-light dual alarm" priced 189 yuan, estimated 55 minutes delivery, which could emit piercing alarm bells plus strong light flashes; another "basic paralyzing spray can" 169 yuan, within 70 minutes, which would spray fog that briefly paralyzed intruders after being triggered. The reviews were still very few, but I could not care about that anymore — buy first to preserve life. I paid with Huabei, total 358 yuan + 20 yuan shipping, placed the order. While paying my fingers were trembling slightly — every consumption might trigger cashback, but it might also continue to drain me; I had to spend every single spirit-breaking power point on the blade.
After confirming there were no more suitable options in the instant platforms for the moment, I switched to Taobao. The micro-lucky talisman I ordered yesterday was estimated to arrive today daytime, so I first checked the order status: showing "today morning 11-13 delivery". I searched again for "low-tier inscription reinforcement crystal chip", wanting to add another layer of insurance to the door, and picked a "blank-level extra impact resistance chip" 249 yuan, estimated tomorrow daytime arrival, which could let the inscription withstand two extra impacts from lowest-level dream hunters. Paid with Huabei.
I placed another order for "basic hall laser warning device" 179 yuan, blank level, which could fire weak lasers to interfere with sight during intrusion, also paid with Huabei.
Total three Taobao orders, the Huabei limit was still barely enough.
At seven thirty-five, the sky brightened a little and the snow still had not stopped. I went to the kitchen, heated a bowl of yesterday's leftover noodles with the electric stove, added some luncheon meat, and stood in the open kitchen eating slowly. The noodles were already frozen hard, the canned meat salty and bitter, but I had to swallow every bite to maintain strength. In the past during New Year I could still video with my parents while eating dumplings, but now I was alone gnawing canned food in a minus-seven-degree room, and the neighborhood outside the window felt like another world. While eating, I suddenly recalled how when I was little my parents always said "eat your fill to have strength to grow up", but now I was thinking: eat your fill to have strength to survive. That longing for family surged like a tide, and I forced back the tears so they would not fall into the bowl.
After eating I washed the bowl clean. At eight o'clock I used spirit-breaking power to upgrade the electricity meter once more — the hall now had all the alarms, sprayers, and traps running, and the power was strained.
[Consumed 9 spirit-breaking power points to upgrade the electricity meter to level 2 (can accommodate three additional high-power devices), remaining 20 points]
The golden cashback panel popped out:
[This use of 9 spirit-breaking power points, random cashback multiplier calculating…]
[This cashback multiplier 3.8 times, returned 34.2 spirit-breaking power points (rounded to 34 points)!]
[Current total: 54 points]
My heart suddenly jumped. 3.8 times! Finally a big surge again. Although it was only occasional, this wave directly made my spirit-breaking power explode. I did not hesitate for half a second and immediately invested 20 points into upgrading the suite main door inscription.
[Consumed 20 spirit-breaking power points, suite main door inscription upgraded to level 4 (can resist 8 attempts from lowest-level dream hunters). Remaining 34 points]
The golden panel popped out again:
[This use of 20 spirit-breaking power points, random cashback multiplier calculating…]
[This cashback multiplier 0.9 times, returned 18 spirit-breaking power points!]
[Current total: 52 points]
At nine thirty-five, the first batch of instant delivery arrived. I constantly monitored the app and, the moment the packages arrived, put on the thickest cotton gloves, confirmed the corridor was empty through the peephole multiple times, opened the suite main door a crack just wide enough for the packages to squeeze through, quickly dragged the two packages inside, immediately slammed the door shut, locked it, and chained it, the entire process making my heart race as if it would explode. I tore open the packaging, fixed the sound-light dual alarm on the hall ceiling, and installed the paralyzing spray can on the side of the door frame. Now the hall's warning and counterattack layers had two more. (I collected them immediately upon arrival to prevent any weird pollution.)
At ten forty-five, the Taobao packages began arriving one after another. First was the micro-lucky talisman I ordered yesterday. I repeated the extremely cautious process: checked the peephole three times, put on gloves, opened the door a narrow crack, quickly dragged the package in, immediately dead-locked and chained it. I tore open the packaging and stuck the small lucky talisman on the wall beside the computer desk according to the instructions. The panel refreshed immediately:
[Micro-lucky bonus activated (slightly increases the probability of the 0.1-0.3 range in current cashback multiplier)]
The effect was not big, but better than nothing. The low-tier water pipe insulation kit supplementary materials I ordered yesterday also arrived; I carefully received them again and finished wrapping all remaining anti-freeze tape on every water pipe in the kitchen and bathroom to further reduce the risk of freezing and cracking.
At eleven o'clock, familiar light slow footsteps suddenly came from the corridor outside, stopping right outside the main door. The door handle turned — once, twice. Almost at the same time, the two electric shock stickers both erupted with two crisp "pa pa" electric sounds, blue-white arcs flashing fiercely. A suppressed muffled groan immediately came from outside, as if the whole body twitched from the shock, and the door handle turning motion stopped instantly. Then the sound-light alarm host exploded at full power, the piercing alarm bells plus red-blue flashing light instantly turned the hall into a police interrogation room, the pressure-sensing mat screamed, and the paralyzing spray can and smoke sprayer both triggered, white fog instantly filling the entire hall. I grabbed the hand crossbow gun and aimed at the door direction, pulling the trigger; through that incomprehensible mechanism, the crossbow arrow's power directly penetrated the door panel, and a more miserable muffled cry came from outside, the footsteps staggered backward, and the elevator dinged and left quickly.
I huddled on the bedroom chair, my back covered in cold sweat. Only after half an hour did I dare move to the peephole to look — the corridor was still empty, only a little snow powder blown in by the wind on the ground.
At two o'clock in the afternoon, the temperature had already dropped to -8 degrees, the snow falling heavier and heavier, the balcony almost completely buried. I continued browsing Taobao for more practical low-tier defense props. After flipping for more than two hours my eyes were sore and swollen; finally I placed another order — "blank-level door panel reinforcement board" 299 yuan, which could be stuck on the inner side of the main door to increase physical strength, estimated tomorrow daytime arrival. Paid with Huabei.
Around three twenty, the basic hall laser warning device supplementary accessories I ordered yesterday afternoon also arrived. I repeated the same extremely cautious process again: peephole confirmation, narrow door crack, quick drag-in, dead lock and chain. I tore open the packaging and fixed the laser warning device in the hall corner, adjusting the angle so the weak laser would cover a wider area and interfere with sight once intrusion occurred.
At five o'clock, the sky had already darkened like deep night, the wind-snow sound growing more violent. I cooked some frozen dumplings, sat on the bedroom bed eating slowly. The computer was on but the volume turned almost inaudible, continuing the movie. In the group someone posted: "14th floor received even more express deliveries today, someone must definitely be home, why won't they reply to property management messages at all?" I immediately turned off the phone.
At eight o'clock in the evening the sky was completely dark, temperature -9 degrees, snow smashing against the glass like sandpaper rubbing. At nine thirty, movement appeared outside again. This time it was not only footsteps but also heavy "dong dong dong dong" like someone slamming the door with their body. The sound-light alarm host erupted at full power, paralyzing spray sprayed wildly, lasers swept randomly, and the electric shock stickers also triggered "pa pa" twice again when the handle was touched. I once more grabbed the hand crossbow gun and aimed at the door direction, pulling the trigger; through that incomprehensible mechanism, the crossbow arrow's power directly penetrated the door panel, and two continuous miserable cries came from outside, the slamming sound clearly weakened, hesitated for a moment, then slammed four more times before gradually weakening, and the elevator sound left.
I huddled on the bedroom bed, my fingers ice-cold and almost losing sensation. With 52 spirit-breaking power points, tomorrow daytime I could continue strengthening defense. The mortgage and credit card Huabei bills would be automatically deducted next month, and the system would remind me. I had to support myself step by step.
At two o'clock in the morning, the wind-snow sound had already turned into a wild beast's low roar. I lay in bed staring at the ceiling, listening to the increasingly crazy blizzard outside, my mind repeatedly calculating what to buy first tomorrow daytime and how to allocate the remaining spirit-breaking power. The entire suite was like an isolated island in the snowy night, quiet with only my own breathing left.