Chapter 20: The Big Freeze
Early the next morning, Zhao Man woke up freezing. He was curled into a tight ball inside his thick ten-pound cotton quilt, but because the batting hadn’t been fluffed and carded, the cotton shifting across his body left bare, thin patches, offering poor insulation.
Fortunately, the heating unit had already been installed. Wrapping the quilt tightly around himself, he switched on the heater. Half an hour later, a pleasant warmth finally permeated the bedroom.
Layering a light shirt underneath, his Cloud-Cocoon suit in the middle, and another shirt over the top, he gave himself a stern pep talk at the bedroom door and turned the handle.
Despite his mental preparation, Zhao Man realized he had severely underestimated the cold. The rest of the house was freezing—a sharp, minty chill that seemed to seep right out of his bones. His teeth chattered uncontrollably.
A notification pinged on his terminal: the base had entered its first major cold wave. The current outdoor temperature was -10°C, while indoor temperatures registered at -2°C. The forecast warned of sustained drops throughout the day, with a second, harsher cold wave arriving in three days. Residents were urged to take immediate winter precautions.
Dashing back into the bedroom, it took Zhao Man five minutes just to bring his chattering teeth under control. His original plan to head to the kitchen to boil water and potatoes had to be shelved for the moment.
Downing half a vial of nutrient solution, Zhao Man knew this was unsustainable. He only had twenty-eight vials left; at one vial a day, they wouldn’t last through the season.
Steeling his resolve once more, Zhao Man sprinted to the kitchen to put water on the stove. Whatever winterizing treatment the base had applied to the municipal plumbing had worked; the tap wasn’t frozen. He gave the potatoes a quick rinse in a basin and set them on the bamboo rack to steam.
While waiting for the potatoes to cook, and mindful of the second cold wave mentioned in the forecast, Zhao Man opened the faucet and filled his large collapsible water tub to the brim. He then went to the back wall, hauled over his sawed bamboo cylinders, and filled every single one with water.
The flowering water dropwort he had brought home days ago to harvest seeds from was already dead, frozen stiff.
Three large potatoes took up an entire tier of the steamer. Once they were cooked through, Zhao Man steamed a batch of sand yams. He moved his table and stool into the bedroom, carrying the steamed potatoes inside in a basin and setting them on the table.
With the skylight sealed tight and walls enclosing all four sides, the house was pitch-black, illuminated only by the faint glow spilling from the kitchen.
Zhao Man walked over to the front entrance and opened the viewing window.
A blast of stark white light poured in. Zhao Man squinted into the brightness: outside was an endless expanse of blinding white. The snow had kept everyone indoors, leaving the road deserted. He closed the front window and headed to the back wall. The rear viewing aperture was much larger, taking up nearly half the wall. It too framed a sea of white, though unlike the front, he could see distant trees and bamboo bowed under the weight of the snow, accompanied by the occasional sharp crack of snapping boughs.
Carrying the steamed sand yams into the bedroom, Zhao Man decided he couldn’t spend the entire winter huddled in bed. He pulled out the extension cords and flexible ducting coiled inside the heater, wheeling the unit into the courtyard. Watching the temperature reading on his terminal slowly climb, he saw it level off at 12°C.
Both side walls of the courtyard were fitted with floodlights. Flipping the rear switch, the yard was instantly bathed in bright light.
Flanking the bedroom were the recreation room and the kitchen, both completely open to the courtyard. Zhao Man decided to use the bundles of hemp vines he’d hauled back from the potato harvest to fashion a draft curtain for the kitchen.
First, he found two straight sticks, measuring and notching them to match the height and width of the kitchen opening before untying the hemp bundles.
The vines were long and about the thickness of chopsticks. He cut them to uniform lengths, leaving an extra arm’s length of clearance beyond the height of the opening.
He lashed the vines side by side along the stick. Once tied off, Zhao Man hoisted the rod with both hands to test the fit against the frame. The width was perfect, but there was nowhere to mount it securely.
Returning to the bedroom, he dug out the base-issued tool kit. Inside was an assortment of hooks—two each of five different sizes. The largest pair was as broad as a palm, and best of all, they were magnetic.
He snapped the heavy magnetic hooks firmly against the metal trim on both sides of the kitchen entrance. Lining up the rod again, he found it was a touch too short. Left with no choice, he found a more suitable pole, re-tied the vines, and hung it up, only to find that loose hanging vines did practically nothing to block the draft.
Taking it down again, he retreated to the bedroom and pulled the leftover fabric from his quilt-making out of the bamboo storage tube beneath his bed.
Setting a strip aside, he stitched the rest directly onto the vine backing, creating a sturdy four-panel draft curtain.
Next came the weather-stripping foam. Backed with heavy-duty adhesive, he sealed every gap along the sides, bottom, and between the panels, leaving only a seam down the middle and toward the back.
Testing it by walking through, Zhao Man realized having only one passage made moving in and out awkward. He picked up his scissors, sliced down the center seam, and quickly basted the cut edges with needle and thread to finish a functional draft curtain.
Wheeling the heater inside, he waited ten minutes. The kitchen temperature held steady at around 15°C.
Fashioning that single curtain had devoured his entire morning. Switching off the courtyard floodlights, he took a sip of the cooled boiled water. He fished three bracken stems from his pickle jar, shredded them into fine threads, and ate a boiled sand yam alongside a few pinches of the savory greens.
Worried that the bedroom’s warmth might spoil his jars of pickles, jam, salted bamboo shoots, and rendered fat, Zhao Man transferred all of them into the lower cupboards beneath the kitchen counter.
Once the preserves were stowed, he returned to the bedroom. The newly made quilt still hadn’t been properly reinforced with quilting stitches. For the rest of the afternoon, Zhao Man sat cross-legged on the mattress, running rows of stitches back and forth across the thick fabric.
Right in the middle of his sewing, a sharp crack followed by a heavy thud echoed from the rear courtyard. Throwing on his clothes, Zhao Man scurried out back, shivering as he went. A massive stalk of bamboo had snapped outside, part of it crashing down across the roof.
Zhao Man craned his neck to inspect the roof, terrified that the impact had breached the ceiling. But the dome stood two stories high, making it impossible to spot any hairline fractures from below.
Right as he was fretting over what to do, a message from Tang Heng pinged on his terminal: Tomorrow around noon, I’ll drop off the provisions you requested along with a few planting racks. Do you need anything else brought over?
Skipping the supply catalog for the moment, Zhao Man snapped a photo of the fallen bamboo through the window and messaged back: A bamboo stalk collapsed in the back out here, and part of it hit the roof. Will it damage the structure?
Your place is brand new; it won’t break the roof. But I’d advise clearing it away when you get the chance. Your property borders the mountain, and mutated beasts are very likely to show up in a couple of days. That bamboo will obstruct the defense system’s targeting line.
Zhao Man’s heart, which had barely settled, leaped back into his throat. He tried nudging the back door open. The moment it cracked a sliver, a gust of wind carrying bone-chilling frost blew through, and he slammed the door shut instantly.
It was freezing out there. He was only wearing light shirts and his Cloud-Cocoon base layer; it was tolerable indoors, but stepping outside dressed like this was out of the question.
When do the mutated beasts usually show up?
Hard to say, but typically after the second big cold wave. In previous years, our squad would string a high-voltage defense grid across that gap. But since you bought the land this year and installed your own defense system, we don’t have to string the wires. Still, during the freeze, someone can stay at your place if you need.
You’re coming? Seeing that someone might stay over, Zhao Man’s mind immediately went to Tang Heng. He hadn’t been in this world long; Tang Heng was the only person he was truly familiar with.
Yeah, me. What supplies do you need brought over tomorrow? If you’re planning on stepping outside, I suggest picking up a padded winter coat, thermal boots, another Cloud-Cocoon suit, and a windbreaker hat.
Alright, let me look.
Tapping into the supply catalog, Zhao Man found the padded winter coats. The jackets, thermal trousers, and winter boots went for five points apiece, or twelve points for a bundled set. The Cloud-Cocoon suits had jumped in price to thirty points each. In fact, everything across the board had gotten more expensive—everything except potatoes.
Zhao Man transferred fifteen points to Tang Heng, ordering a padded winter coat set, two bolts of fabric, and a ladder. He already had the rest.
Returning to the bedroom, he resumed securing the quilt. Once finished, he ate a quarter of a potato with a few bites of pickled bracken, then crawled beneath the covers to browse his terminal.
Opening the forums on Dome 87, the first things to pop up were still matchmaking solicitations. With only two days left before the tax deadline, the volume of incoming messages had surged. Some people were even playing the pity card, claiming they had only twenty points left to their name and needed to save them for the winter, otherwise they’d freeze or starve to death during the blizzard season.
Dismissing them all, he noticed an official bulletin from the West Sixth Ring: Application for West Sixth Ring Supply Delivery Slots. Tapping in, the details loaded: supplies were delivered once every three days, requiring an advance request filed during a strict three-hour window. The catalog attached was the exact same inventory list Tang Heng had forwarded at noon.
Checking the timestamp, Tang Heng had messaged him the moment the reservation window closed today. Thank goodness he had; otherwise, if he had stepped outside tomorrow to clear that fallen bamboo without proper winter gear, he would have frozen solid.
Zhao Man sighed in gratitude: May good people live long, peaceful lives.
