Just like last night, the bald man was still playing cards tonight.
The group was in the first-floor lobby. Since the shelter had a generator, electric lights illuminated the room. But this electricity was a privilege reserved for the shelter's shareholders. As for Huang Jin, a mere tenant? He relied on candles, batteries, and solar-powered devices.
When Huang Jin entered the lobby, he saw several people gathered around a table playing poker. Three men were in the room. The muscular, bald man in his early thirties was, unsurprisingly, "Baldie." Behind each of the three men stood a chair piled with their stakes: cigarettes, premium liquor, and food. The other two had stacks of supplies nearly half a meter tall behind them. Only Baldie's chair held a few remaining packs of cigarettes—clearly, he'd been slaughtered again tonight.
To be honest, Baldie's poker skills were terrible. Yet this very man was infamous in the shelter as a gambling addict. The trio smoked while playing, filling the room with a hazy fog. Huang Jin approached with a smile and greeted them:
"Brother Baldie, Brother Bai, Brother Tiger—playing cards again?"
"Yeah. Staying up late, huh?" replied Brother Bai, a man in his early forties. Brother Tiger simply nodded with a faint smile. Huang Jin had always "paid his respects" to these bastards with gifts, so they treated him relatively well. Only Baldie, irritable from his losses, ignored him.
"Royal flush! Hahaha! Farmers win—pay up!" Brother Bai slammed down his pair of kings, sealing Baldie's defeat as the landlord. Cursing, Baldie tossed his last few cigarette packs to the winners, then shot Huang Jin a venomous glare. "Damn it! You messed up my luck, you little shit!" he barked, grasping for excuses.
Brother Bai laughed. "Oh come on, what's that got to do with Ah Jin? You think his presence stopped me from throwing down my kings and four twos?" As the two collected their winnings, Huang Jin noticed something odd. The cigarette packs were smudged with red ink.
His heart sank.
Huang Jin had stored a batch of luxury cigarettes stained with red ink in a secret warehouse outside the shelter—exactly the same brands now sitting on the table.
Forcing a smile, he asked, "Brother Bai, these cigarettes are rare. Did you stumble upon some treasure trove?"
"Heh, you're sharp," Brother Bai chuckled, shuffling the cards. "This afternoon, we wandered outside and found a collapsed concrete building. By sheer coincidence, we discovered an underground storage room inside. And by total accident, we stumbled onto half a room of supplies. Who knows what idiot left all that stuff there? Bet they're pissing themselves now that it's gone!" He grinned triumphantly, oblivious to the curses Huang Jin was mentally hurling at his ancestors.
"Ah Jin, why're you here so late?" Brother Tiger interjected.
"Oh, rent's due soon, and I'm a bit short. Thought I'd go scavenging tonight to try my luck. Wouldn't want to miss a payment," Huang Jin replied. Shelter rules forbade tenants from leaving at night without approval from the higher-ups.
"Is that all? Go ahead. Just mention my name to the guards," Brother Bai waved dismissively.
"Thanks, Brother Bai."
"Wish all tenants were as obedient as you," Brother Bai muttered.
Huang Jin left quickly. He needed to check his secret stash—to see how thoroughly those bastards had ransacked it.
At the shelter's massive five-meter-tall iron gate, the guards let him pass without question. Huang Jin's reputation as a "model tenant" worked in his favor. He hurried to the collapsed building and navigated to the basement.
As expected, half the room's supplies were gone. He checked the other hiding spots—even the vacuum-sealed crackers hidden in the toilet had been stolen. Bandits. Worse than bandits.
In a single day, Huang Jin had gone from a well-stocked small-time boss to a destitute refugee. His stockpile was gone; only half a bucket of dried rations remained in his shelter room. That wouldn't last two weeks. So close…
Frustration gnawed at him. If Baldie's crew had waited just half a month longer, Huang Jin wouldn't have cared. By then, he'd planned to leave the shelter for good.
Two years ago, during the early days of the zombie outbreak, phones still worked. Huang Jin had been in City C on a job when his boss called.
"Goddamn world's gone to hell! Xiao Jin, you still in City C?"
"Yes."
"Godfather and Yin Yin are in City Z. It's chaos here—can't get to you yet. But don't worry, I won't abandon you. Stay put in City C. I'll hijack a helicopter and come get you. When you see it, light fireworks as a signal."
"Got it."
But two years passed with no helicopter over City C. Though Huang Jin and his boss had a formal employer-employee relationship, the older man—who'd lost his wife and son years earlier—treated Huang Jin like a son. The boss had a daughter, Yin Yin, but often grumbled to Huang Jin: "Daughters marry away. They can't take care of you in old age." Still, he doted on her.
Huang Jin's talent for the trade had earned the boss's favor, culminating in their pseudo-father-son bond. Yet after two years of radio silence, doubts crept in. If the boss isn't coming, I'll go to him.
The boss had mentioned City Z. So Huang Jin would go there. He'd spent months stockpiling supplies for the cross-country drive, determined to avoid risky detours. But now, on the verge of departure, his preparations had been stolen.