, she still could not fully drop her guard. She moved with steady steps, her posture still a little stiff from the day’s events, then reached for the TV and switched it on. Most of the channels were filled with static, white noise flashing across the screen in a broken blur. Only a few channels were still alive, and even those were all broadcasting the same kind of official news, the kind that sounded calm on purpose even when the situation was clearly far from calm.

Bai Li stopped on one of the news channels and watched the anchor speak with a serious face. The words were almost too neat, too orderly, as if the reporter was trying very hard to make the whole thing sound manageable. "Residents, please note that everyone should stay home and not go out. Jianghua City has dispatched a large number of troops to clear out the sick patients outside. Order will be restored soon. Please stay home in an orderly manner, do not be anxious, and do not hoard goods. Wait for rescue." The way it was said was calm, even gentle, but Bai Li did not take it at face value. She sat there and listened for a few seconds, then changed the channel. The result was almost the same. Another anchor. Another serious expression. Another message telling people to stay put, stay calm, and wait for help that sounded more like a hope than a promise. It was obvious enough that Jiangbei City wanted to keep the public stable for as long as possible. They were trying to keep panic from spreading too fast. That part made sense. If people fully lost control, the city would become even harder to manage. Bai Li kept the TV on for a little longer, not because she believed everything on it, but because even fake calm was still useful information. Then she turned away from the screen and walked toward the supply room.

The room was familiar to her now. Everything in the apartment had been stocked with survival in mind, and Bai Li had always been the kind of person who prepared before other people even realized there was a reason to prepare. She opened the supply cabinet and picked out a can of Dongpo pork knuckle. She looked at the label for a second, checking the ingredient list the way she always did. The contents were clean enough, and the shelf life was long too, three years when sealed properly. That was one of the reasons she had bought it in the first place. In situations like this, canned food was more than just convenience. It was safety. She opened the refrigerator next and saw there was still quite a bit of meat and vegetables left inside, but her hands were still occupied and sore, and the idea of cooking properly sounded like too much work for the moment. She was hungry, but not in the mood to spend a lot of time standing in the kitchen. So she did something simple. She took out a potato, peeled it quickly, then grabbed a small iron pot and opened the can of pork knuckle. She poured everything into the pot, then chopped the potato and threw that in too before placing it on the stove to boil.

The smell started coming out not long after that, and it was better than she expected. Besides the pork knuckle, the can had some kelp and soybeans inside, and once it all started simmering together, a warm and rich smell filled the room. It was not the kind of heavy greasy smell that made people feel sick. It was fragrant, soft, and strong in a good way, the kind of smell that could make a tired person sit up a little straighter. The pork knuckle itself was not the kind with the tiger skin pattern that some people liked to show off. It had been cooked down until it was soft and tender, and the potato soaking in that broth only made the smell better. The longer it boiled, the more the whole apartment felt less empty and more like a place where someone still lived a normal life. Bai Li stood there for a bit, watching the pot quietly while the steam rose in front of her. It was almost funny how something as simple as canned meat and potato could make the whole room feel less harsh. But that was how survival worked. You found comfort in small things when the big things had already gone wrong.

After the pot had boiled enough, Bai Li found a bag of bread and carried the little iron pot to the living room. She set everything down carefully and sat at the table with the meal in front of her. There was something almost peaceful about that ordinary lunch, especially when paired with the TV still droning in the background. The broth from the can carried a faint herbal smell, not too strong, just enough to make it richer. There was no strange fishy smell at all, which Bai Li appreciated because canned meat could go wrong very easily if it was not the right brand or if it had been stored badly. She picked up a piece of pork knuckle first and took a bite. It was exactly as soft as she had hoped, almost melting on her tongue. The meat had been cooked so thoroughly that it barely needed chewing. Then she tried a piece of potato, which had soaked up the broth and turned even better than it would have been on its own. The taste was simple but satisfying, and it warmed her from the inside in that quiet, dependable way that only food after a hard day can do. She ate slowly, not because she wanted to savor every bite in some dramatic way, but because right now there was no reason to rush.

The news kept playing in the background, looping over and over with the same kind of carefully controlled language, the same reassurance, the same promise that rescue would come soon.

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TO BE CONTINUED.