He had stocked up on ten bags of flour back then. Over the past six months, he'd been alternating between rice, flour, and mixed grains, consuming more than half of his supplies already.
After skillfully slicing the pork into shreds, he chopped four green peppers, his mind drifting to another pressing concern.
"The most urgent issues now are basic utilities like water, electricity, and gas."
"The tap water is already contaminated. The power grid collapsed during the second week of heavy rains. If it weren't for that generator and my second-hand outdoor battery pack, charging my computer and phone would be a real hassle."
Fortunately, before the internet went down, he had downloaded numerous survival guides and various potentially useful documents.
All stored on his computer and external hard drives—though it meant deleting quite a few of his "teacher's works."
What a fool. In his free time, he'd browse through these files, thinking how valuable they might become someday.
At the very least, he needed to learn as much as possible while he still had power.
"Another critical issue is gas. The municipal supply stopped long ago. Thank goodness I installed two large propane tanks when I renovated the place."
Yes, his home still used propane tanks—a rarity in urban households these days.
Lin Dong had moved in during renovations before utilities were connected, unwilling to waste money on rent.
Back then, needing to cook for himself, he'd bought two 15-kilogram propane tanks.
They saw little use before natural gas was connected, making him regret the "wasteful" purchase.
Yet less than two months after the great floods, the natural gas supply was cut off.
With water levels rising and government aid delayed indefinitely, those two tanks became invaluable.
For three months now, they'd been his sole means for cooking and boiling water.
Truth be told, without the pressure cooker, the propane would've run out long ago.
Without gas, even basic cooking would become difficult.
Others sheltering in the building were already salvaging floating wood and plastic to make fires.
But water was the most critical issue.
Though surrounded by water, it was all seawater—salty and undrinkable.
Countless corpses floated in it, and Mutated Creatures lurked beneath. No one knew what drinking it might do.
Rainwater was collectible though. Lin Dong had seen neighbors hanging bottles and containers from windows to catch it.
His own water supply came from rainfall too.
But before use, he always filtered it through his filtration device and boiled it thoroughly for safety.
Lost in thought, he finished chopping the peppers.
Lin Dong heated oil in the wok with practiced ease. Ginger, garlic, and cooking wine were long gone.
Some green onions remained, growing sparsely on the balcony.
Half a year without proper sunlight had left them malnourished, each strand thin as hair.
He left them untouched, instead adding dark soy sauce to the pork shreds, stir-frying rapidly until the meat caramelized into an appetizing brown, its aroma filling the air.
At high heat, he tossed in the pepper strips, stir-frying vigorously.
A final sprinkle of salt, and the savory stir-fried pork with peppers was ready.
Lin Dong turned off the stove and opened the pressure cooker, dumping the shredded pork with green peppers into it all at once.
Inside the pressure cooker was rice.
With no electricity at home, the rice cooker had long been unusable, so now he relied on gas for cooking.
Using a pressure cooker was faster and more gas-efficient than a regular pot—rice only took five to ten minutes to cook.
This was his secret to making his two gas canisters last so long.
With a few stirs of the rice paddle, a delicious plate of shredded pork with green peppers over rice was ready.
As he stirred, Lin Dong felt a wave of relief.
He knew all too well that after six months of catastrophic flooding, those still alive outside had long been struggling with severe shortages. Some didn't even have a place to stay.
Many rooms in buildings were already packed with people, and corridors and walkways had been claimed as living spaces.
Others, with nowhere to go, turned desperate, resorting to breaking down doors and forcing their way into others' homes.
Some even got creative, building makeshift shelters on the water's surface.
But the biggest problem, of course, was the lack of supplies.
He didn't know about others, but the young couple living across from him had been coming to his door almost daily for the past week, begging to borrow food.
At first, when the husband came asking for food, Lin Dong had thought that as neighbors, they might help each other out if they ever needed to flee.
So he lent them some supplies.
But as time passed, it became painfully clear to everyone that the world was falling apart.
Six months of relentless rain, and the government still hadn't managed to organize an effective rescue. Months ago, politicians on TV had started looping the same message, urging people to fend for themselves.
After that, Lin Dong stopped lending food to his neighbors.
For the past month, the husband hadn't come knocking anymore—instead, his wife would sneak over, dressed in revealing clothes, to ask for food.
Lin Dong didn't know the couple well. They'd occasionally exchanged greetings in the elevator, but that was about it.
From lurking in the building's group chat, he'd learned they were locals.
Their apartment had been bought outright with money from a demolition settlement.
Locals in Linjiang City were well-off—most were nouveau riche from such settlements, owning multiple properties.
Due to past family planning policies, most families only had one child.
Those with just a daughter would often seek a live-in son-in-law.
But society was ruthless. Some people made a living scamming these families—posing as prospective grooms, only to swindle them out of their money after marriage.
Once word spread, locals became wary of outsiders and started marrying among themselves.
These local unions weren't traditional marriages but what they called a "Combined family."
The idea was simple: merge two families into one, eliminating dowries and bride prices.
Any children would be split—one taking the father's surname, the other the mother's.
It was all about fairness, ensuring neither side got the short end of the stick.
His neighbors were one such couple.
The husband was average-looking, in his early thirties, while the wife was strikingly beautiful, appearing to be around twenty-seven or twenty-eight.
Especially those twin pomelos, so big and round, knocking at the door several times—Lin Dong almost couldn't resist opening it.
Just as he was thinking this, a faint knock came from outside.
Lin Dong froze. That familiar sound immediately told him who it was.
"Speak of the devil."
He couldn't help but chuckle.
Only the young couple across the hall knocked so softly you could barely hear it.
If it were robbers, they wouldn't bother knocking—they'd just break the door down.
Lin Dong walked to the door, picked up the mirror from the entryway, and angled it to check through the peephole.
Outside stood a young woman in a snug goose-yellow step-mother dress, around twenty-seven or twenty-eight, with long, jet-black hair.
The dress accentuated her curvaceous figure, with a full bust and rounded hips.
A pair of plump pomelos pressed together, forming an unfathomable valley.
Her features were strikingly beautiful, bearing a resemblance to the actress Yang Gongru.
Lin Dong adjusted the mirror's angle, carefully scanning her surroundings to confirm no one else was there before unlocking the inner door.
"Sister Mei, what's the matter?"
Coincidentally, she also shared the surname Yang, though her given name was common—Yang Mei.
At twenty-five, it wasn't out of place for Lin Dong to call her "Sister Mei."
Yang Mei's face was slightly pale, her lips dry and cracked.
Yet she had clearly taken care with her appearance before stepping out—her glossy black hair sleek and styled, her face lightly made up.
She must have run out of lip balm; otherwise, she wouldn't have left her lips so parched.
"Little brother, I... I haven't eaten in days. There's nothing left at home. Could you... could you spare some food for me?"