Anxious, the elderly man suffered a heart attack and collapsed by the window. The window was still ajar, allowing the freezing wind to pour into the room all night. By the time he was discovered the next morning, he was already gone.
The property manager, Wang Jian Country, could only explain repeatedly in the group chat, "An ambulance has already been called. Please don't panic."
People immediately began firing back at him:
"What's the point of calling an ambulance? He's already gone. Even if it gets here, can they bring a dead man back to life?"
"This is clearly the property management's fault! Why won't you admit your responsibility? [Question][Question]"
"@Wang Jian Country, I'm going to expose this whole thing on the internet. Treating human life like dirt! [Angry][Angry]"
Wang Liping could only try her best to continuously pacify the crowd.
The ambulance was called in the morning, but the paramedics didn't arrive until noon. Several of them, bundled up like bears, clumsily hopped out of the vehicle. They covered the long-breathless old man with a white sheet and loaded him onto the ambulance, even though everyone knew there was no saving him.
Perhaps the tragedy of the old man in Room 502 served as a wake-up call for the property management. That afternoon, Wang Liping led a team to visit the two elderly residents living alone in Rooms 709 and 804. They delivered vegetables, fruits, daily necessities like rice, flour, and cooking oil, as well as two heavy quilts to each of them. She also had the maintenance worker meticulously apply weatherstripping to every window and door, and install anti-slip measures on the floors.
To quell public outrage, Wang Jian Country posted photos of the staff visiting the elders into the group chat one by one. Only then did the agitated crowd finally calm down.
Chen Momo checked the news. The experts were still solemnly spouting nonsense they themselves probably didn't believe, telling the public not to panic, not to hoard supplies at supermarkets, and not to believe rumors about banks collapsing.
Chen Momo thought about it for a moment. Based on her years of life experience, she had discovered that as long as she did the exact opposite of what the experts said, her life would definitely be better.
The public, naturally, wasn't as easily fooled as they had been a few days ago. That afternoon, even though the blizzard was raging fiercely, every household began sending out their men to buy supplies from a supermarket five kilometers away.
To avoid accidents, the men didn't travel alone. Instead, they grouped up in threes and fours, bundled from head to toe like bears, and braved the heavy snow on foot.
Chen Momo logged onto the internet again. On Weibo, someone posted: "Do NOT listen to the experts! I advise everyone to stockpile as soon as possible. Grab whatever you can, the more the better! Withdraw all your money immediately, or you won't be able to get it out later! Liquidate any assets you can and convert them into supplies, otherwise you'll be left holding the bag!"
This post quickly attracted a flood of comments from netizens.
"Thanks for the reminder, heading to withdraw money right now!"
"Well said, liked!"
"I regret not seeing this sooner!"
Chen Momo was scrolling down to read more comments when a prompt suddenly popped up on her screen: "Sorry, this post has been deleted for violating community guidelines."
She clicked on the profile of the original poster, only to find their avatar grayed out. The account had been banned.
Many similar accounts were subsequently banned as well.
The only posts left on the internet were along the lines of:
"Expert Prediction: The blizzard won't last past next week. The public is advised to stay indoors." This was accompanied by a picture of an expert sitting at a desk, speaking passionately into a microphone.
"Rumor Debunked: Bank runs will not occur." This came with a photo of a bank manager.
"Winter arrives early: The public is advised to prepare for the cold."
In short, the only posts visible online now were debunking rumors or offering empty encouragement.
Chen Momo opened an e-commerce platform and found that deliveries had been suspended. Eighty percent of the listings displayed: "Item sold out."
As for the items that weren't sold out, they were mostly flashy but impractical goods that few people bought in normal times, let alone now.
On second-hand platforms, luxury brands like Hermès, Chanel, and limited-edition Nikes were being resold at a discount, with some even dropping to ninety percent off. Bags that originally cost tens of thousands could now be snagged for a few thousand or even a few hundred.
Even so, no one was buying them.
Food delivery services in most areas had been suspended. Aside from a few nearby communities that still offered delivery, the shipping fees were exorbitantly high.
On roads that had been cleared, the snow still reached calf-high. On unplowed roads, the snow had already mounted to an adult's waist.
Major companies had all issued notices granting time off, with the resumption of work to be announced later.
Day ten of the blizzard.
The middle-aged aunties, usually active at the forefront of square dancing, were no longer forwarding health articles in the group chat. Young people no longer asked when the snow would stop, and no one listened to the experts anymore.
The group chat fell suddenly silent.
The blizzard and the shortage of supplies had become the new normal, and the atmosphere gradually turned eerie.
In the afternoon, a resident named Liu Xuesong suddenly spoke up in the group: "Is there anyone who still has money in the bank? Hurry up and withdraw it! I went to New Western Bank this morning, and there's a limit of one thousand a day!"
New Western Bank was just on the street behind the neighborhood. Because of its convenience, many nearby residents had deposited their money there.
"A thousand?"
"Are you serious?"
"My god, all the money I've earned over the past few years is saved in New Western Bank! Please don't tell me I can't take it out!"
His words acted like a bomb thrown into a placid lake, instantly blowing up the once-quiet group chat.
Among these people were some who were busy with work, or older residents who rarely went online and were completely unaware of the danger. Coupled with the fact that the heavy snow blocked the roads, making withdrawing money inconvenient, they simply hadn't bothered going to the bank.
Only now, seeing the messages in the group, did they finally realize what was happening.
Soon, Chen Momo saw groups of twos and threes trudging through the knee-deep snow outside her window, struggling as they left the neighborhood. It looked like they were heading to New Western Bank to withdraw their cash.
By evening, public outrage flared up again. It turned out that New Western Bank, seeing too many people coming to withdraw cash, simply shut its doors.
They slapped a closure notice directly on the entrance: "Dear depositors, due to the blizzard, this bank will temporarily suspend operations starting today. Specific business hours will be announced later. Thank you for your patience."
As for mobile banking functions, they had been suspended much earlier.
The money in the bank had turned into a mere string of numbers—impossible to withdraw, impossible to transfer.
Those who had deposited all their savings in New Western Bank panicked. That very night, someone went and smashed the bank's doors.
Aside from New Western Bank, New Rural Bank, New Farmer Bank, and Long Bank all experienced similar incidents. The money in the accounts became mere numbers, with the blizzard cited as the reason for the inability to withdraw, and the time for future withdrawals to be announced later.