Yu Song snorted, then looked toward Rong’s group. "You think they’ll keep the peace?"
"For now." She tilted her chin toward Rong. "He knows what’ll happen if they don’t."
At that mont, as if feeling her gaze, Rong turned his head. Their eyes locked again — his still wary, but no longer openly hostile. A man who understood strength when he saw it. And perhaps, for the first ti, one willing to admit he needed it.
She didn’t look away.
Eventually, Rong gave a single nod — not of submission, but of acknowledgnt. A temporary truce.
Qingran accepted it with silence.
The cooking station had been established earlier in the day along a long counter cleared of clutter, close to the staff area where there was running water from a backup tank she had refilled with system tools. Her cookware—sleek, collapsible pieces sourced from the system’s inventory—had been unpacked and arranged with quiet precision.
It was Bai Shiyue who moved with practiced confidence as she washed a handful of green stalks under filtered water, her sleeves rolled up to the elbows. At fifteen, Feng Yuxi worked beside her with concentration etched into her face, sorting out system-dried vegetables—lotus root, carrots, and a pack of purple fungus already soaking in a clean steel bowl.
Mora stood at the center like a solid anchor, carefully kneading dough on a floured silicone mat. Her hands, large and precise, pressed and folded with a rhythm that spoke of old training and patience. She shaped the dough into flattened rounds, setting them on a tray dusted with flour.
"Fifteen wraps for now," Qingran said as she passed behind them, checking over their progress. "We’ll make the soup first. Stear goes on second."
She gestured, and Bai Shiyue turned off the smaller induction burner. The soup pot—sleek, double-walled, and temperature-locked—was already filled with a asured amount of water. Qingran herself opened a pouch of preserved pork slices, smoked and sealed under vacuum from her stock. The at went in first, followed by diced white radish, soaked mushrooms, and the rehydrated purple fungus.
Feng Yuxi added a pinch of powdered scallion, then reached for a tiny ceramic vial and opened it carefully.
"What is it?" Bai Shiyue asked, leaning closer.
"Star anise powder," Qingran answered for her. "Half a pinch. Go easy. Too much will ruin the balance."
Feng Yuxi nodded and tapped it gently in.
Qingran adjusted the induction burner’s temperature and sealed the pot. "Eight minutes. No more."
Then she stepped to the stear Mora was loading. Inside, she had arranged a layer of banana leaves salvaged from the rooftop garden three days earlier, spread flat inside the double-tiered steel stear. The wraps—flatbreads stuffed with finely diced pickled vegetables and crushed broad beans—would steam soft and fragrant over a slow, consistent heat.
"Add a strip of cloth between the layers," Qingran reminded. "We don’t want them sticking."
Mora obeyed without question, her steady hands quick and sure.
No one from Rong’s group was allowed near the cooking area. Not because of arrogance—but because none of them had earned Qingran’s trust.
They could sll the food though. The scent rolled through the supermarket’s hollowed interior, silencing conversations and turning heads. Hunger wasn’t clawing at anyone’s belly tonight—yet it still pulled sothing visceral from the bone-deep mories of starvation. And this al—this proper, fragrant, freshly stead al—triggered all of it.
One man nudged his companion. "They’re making soup."
"And sothing else. Flatbread, maybe?"
"I saw the little one—Feng Yuxi—carrying flour earlier."
"They’re not using leftovers. Not scraps either."
It was true.
Qingran had chosen this al with intent. One protein, one green, one starch. It was nutritionally balanced, flavorful, and didn’t waste ingredients. She hadn’t used the higher-grade ats or rare spices this ti. No need to flaunt. Just enough to send a clear ssage: they had food. Real food.
By the ti the soup was ready, steam hissed from the pressure vent, and a warm fragrance of at and radish filled the air. Qingran opened the pot, let the vapor clear, and tasted it with a bamboo spoon.
"Serve them," she said simply.
Bai Shiyue began filling bowls, her movents quick but careful. The soup went first, two ladles each, ensuring solid ingredients were evenly distributed. Then Mora lifted the stear lid and let the wave of fragrant steam roll out.
The wraps had puffed gently, the dough soft, the insides savory and lightly tangy from the pickled vegetables.
Each person in their group received a bowl and one wrap.
"Eat before it cools," Qingran advised. "We don’t waste heat."
Her people knew the drill. They sat in their assigned zones, spaced and orderly. There was no rushing, no second trips.
Once her team had been served, she nodded toward the far side.
"Alright. Please form a line and co here one by one."
A few from Rong’s side hesitated. Suspicion warred with hunger in their expressions. No one moved at first — until Rong stepped forward himself, quiet and deliberate, with one glance that quelled any scattered whispers behind him. He didn’t say anything. Just approached the serving line, eyes sharp but hands steady, and accepted the bowl and wrap handed to him by Bai Shiyue.
She didn’t smile. She didn’t look down either.
"Next," Qingran called, voice calm and without pause.
The line ford slowly. Fifteen in all. They ca forward one at a ti — tense, so avoiding eye contact, others trying not to show how tightly their fingers curled around the hot bowls.
Mora stayed beside the stear, doling out the flatbreads, while Bai Shiyue and Feng Yuxi kept the soup portions consistent. Qingran stayed behind them, watching every step. The system had already scanned every ingredient and asured out precisely what could be shared.
No one would go hungry on her watch. But no one would get more than they earned, either.
The final wrap was handed out, steam curling off it faintly as the last man stepped back with murmured thanks.
Rong’s group found a corner along the wall, clustered together but silent now. There was no talking as they ate. Only the quiet sounds of chewing, of tal spoons scraping bowls, of people savoring food made with care.
Qingran didn’t need to watch them to know what they were thinking. It wasn’t just that they were fed it was that the food tasted like sothing from before. Before the fall, before blood on the streets, before survival ant tearing into cold cans or swallowing bitterness with every bite.
This food had balance. It had warmth. It reminded them what a al was supposed to be.
Dinner ended without incident. Bowls were returned, washed, dried, and stacked away. Leftovers, were very few and sealed back into the system’s cold storage, not because they feared waste, but because every scrap mattered in the long run.
"Alright everyone, I guess it is ti for bed. Alright into the futons, Yuxi why don’t you count for the last ti. It’s gonna get awfully cold so if you don’t have a blanket, please signify."
Feng Yuxi wiped her hands on a clean rag, then raised her voice clearly, "Okay, headcount coming!"
She began pointing to each group as she moved along the space.
"Qingran-jie’s group 60, all accounted for.." she called out, gesturing to the three resting near the warr corner with extra blankets. "Rong’s group, fifteen, sa as earlier. No one new, no one missing."
Rong glanced at her but said nothing. There was a brief flicker of approval in his expression or perhaps it was just fatigue.
Yuxi turned toward the wall and raised a hand. "Everyone got a futon? Raise your hand if you don’t."
Two hands went up near the back , one from a younger woman curled protectively around a child, the other from an older man who had kept to himself for most of the day.
They were from Rongs group.
Qingran walked over silently and pulled two more mats from the system’s storage. She set them down without comntary. The older man gave her a look, hesitant, untrusting but bowed his head slightly.
The woman simply whispered a soft "thank you.." while the child beside her clutched the wrap he hadn’t quite finished, too full to eat more but unwilling to let go of it.
"Wrap up tight," Qingran said, adjusting the woman’s mat so the blanket would trap more body heat. "Put your shoes near your head. If there’s an ergency, you move imdiately, understood?"
The woman nodded quickly. The boy did too, mimicking her without needing the words.
"Thank you so much."
Yu Song moved to the entrance, where the barricade had been reinforced with shelving, crates, and an overturned freezer on its side.
A gap at the top allowed airflow and light, but not even a squirrel could get through.
"I’ll take first watch.." he said without waiting to be asked.
"Wake in four hours.." ng Nian replied from his spot against a nearby pillar.
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