Zhang Yi tore into Fang Yuqing with a savage tirade, ripping away the pretty mask to expose her as a hypocrite and a manipulative gold-digger. It hit her where it hurt. Fang Yuqing had always relied on looks, flirtation, and crocodile tears to get what she wanted—yet she convinced herself she was a "good girl." Zhang Yi's ridicule collapsed that self-delusion. If even a guy from the middle class looked down on her, then her charm had failed; her chances of snagging a wealthy heir and becoming a trophy wife were gone.
After he hung up, Zhang Yi's phone filled with a string of voice messages from Fang Yuqing—no need to play them to know they were full of venom. Did Zhang Yi care? Not in the least. In this apocalypse, that "white lotus" would be wasting away day by day in the freezing cold and hunger. He was only amusing himself, watching her flail. Why be angry at someone who was already dying? On the contrary, her tantrum made him feel deliciously satisfied.
He laughed, a deep, hearty laugh. Then he went to the kitchen and pulled a bottle of Romanée-Conti from the fridge. The wine—Romanée-Conti, a top Burgundy—was worth two hundred thousand yuan a bottle; he kept dozens of cases in a temperature-controlled wine cabinet at a Walmart warehouse. In a celebratory mood, he set a lavish spread on the table: French escargots, a tomahawk steak, a Stargazy pie, Jinling salted duck—paired with that Romanée-Conti. In this frozen world, the usual rules had evaporated. Zhang Yi ate without restraint, mixing flavors however he pleased—he even treated caviar like a bowl of rice. Such decadence was probably unmatched anywhere now.
Because the disaster had arrived so suddenly, even the richest and most powerful hadn't prepared properly. Xu Hao's father, for example, had been the head of a famous conglomerate in Tianhai—yet Zhang Yi remembered the old man dying about half a month into the apocalypse. All that wealth had turned to worthless paper; the corpulent old man had no survival skills. Money couldn't buy warmth or a fire in this new world.
Across town, in the cramped rental apartment shared by Fang Yuqing and Lin Caining, Fang Yuqing was unraveling—smashing things, spitting curses at Zhang Yi. Under ordinary circumstances she might have held it together, but seeing Zhang Yi's house—a cozy paradise with abundant gourmet food, the most precious commodities in this icy apocalypse—while she shivered outside was unbearable. "Zhang Yi, you bastard! Who do you think you are, insulting me?!" she howled. "If it weren't for this snowstorm, I wouldn't even give you the time of day!"
Lin Caining sat nearby on the sofa, a flicker of contempt in her eyes. "If you hadn't played hard to get back then, we'd be sitting by Zhang Yi's fireplace now," she said.
Fang Yuqing snorted. "What is he? Just some guy with a house and a few savings!"
"I'm going to marry into a rich family," Fang Yuqing insisted, voice trembling between bravado and panic. "I'll be a rich wife!"
Lin Caining frowned and peered out the window. Snow fell in steady sheets and showed no sign of stopping. For two days her phone had been buzzing with the same grim reports: the whole world was blanketed in snow. She hugged herself. "Will this storm ever end?"
The remaining official channels on TV still tried to put a brave face on it. Anchors bundled in thick down jackets, voices trembling, insisted experts said the disaster would pass soon—"Our people are strong; with perseverance we will prevail." But the weather offered no mercy.
"If the snow doesn't let up, we'll starve even if we don't freeze to death," Lin Caining said, voice hollow. The thought of ten days trapped indoors, each day stretching into an eternity, had already begun to erode their nerves. Without having gone through it, nobody could understand the kind of torment that makes people crack. Even two manipulative young women like Fang Yuqing and Lin Caining—used to getting their way—found themselves fragile under this endless white.
Fang Yuqing curled up on the sofa and obsessed over images of Zhang Yi's warm, well-stocked home. Rage bled into despair. "This is so unfair! Why does Zhang Yi get to live like that while I—so beautiful—suffer?"
Lin Caining glanced at her, unimpressed. Wrapped in a quilt, she fished out her phone and opened Zhang Yi's contact. She typed and sent him a message.
Zhang Yi, sipping his top-shelf wine amid his feast, noticed Lin Caining's text and grinned. Watching women like them struggle in the apocalypse was more entertaining than any film. He read: "Zhang Yi, I loved seeing you call out Fang Yuqing. I always knew she was a gold-digger who never took you seriously. I'm so happy you finally saw it—congrats on waking up!"
Zhang Yi snorted. "What plastic sisters—selling Fang Yuqing out so fast." That was to be expected; like attracts like. Neither Lin Caining nor Fang Yuqing were good people.
He replied, cool as ever, "Hmm. Nothing."
Undeterred, Lin Caining persisted: "It hurt me to see you chase Fang Yuqing all this time. Zhang Yi, actually… I've always liked you."
Zhang Yi nearly choked on his wine. "Damn, straight to the point," he muttered, shaking his head. "So pragmatic. Looks like ten days out in the cold have made you very practical."
Lin Caining had always looked down on him. Despite her own shaky situation, she fancied herself a delicate beauty—a fairy. Now that Zhang Yi had rejected Fang Yuqing and his place was a warm haven, she immediately pivoted. "Now that you're done with Fang Yuqing, let's be together!" she shot back in the chat.
Zhang Yi's grin widened. The thought of two pretty women tripping over themselves to worm into his comfortable life struck him as hilarious. He set his glass down, looking out at the window where the snow kept falling, and for a moment felt the arrogant, untroubled satisfaction of a man who had prepared for the end of the world—and won.