Chapter 5: Hailstorm Approaches

They entered the elevator together, chatting about the strange weather and the soaring prices of groceries.

Meng Ran squeezed into the farthest corner, overhearing someone ahead make a sarcastic remark.

“A little snowfall has you all so scared? There used to be hailstorms in the summer; how could this possibly be worse than that flu outbreak?”

The man speaking stood with his arms crossed, empty-handed, his face twisted with mockery as he glanced around.

But no one wanted to engage with him.

An elderly man with graying hair sneered coldly, “That’s the kind of talk only someone who’s never endured hardship would say. If this snow keeps falling, don’t come begging from house to house for a bite to eat. In this cursed weather, you won’t even be able to chew on tree bark.”

The man snapped back, “Old Zhang, don’t curse people with your outdated ideas. Your old bones aren’t even strong enough to withstand the wind outside. I think you’ve lost your mind!”

In the cramped elevator, their argument escalated, but others stepped in to stop them from continuing.

Meng Ran’s ears ached from the noise. She recognized the two: one was Fang Weiwen from the fifth floor, the other Grandpa Zhang from the seventh.

Though Fang Weiwen wasn’t from her floor, he had a notorious reputation for being sharp-tongued and prone to quarrels.

She usually kept her distance from such people and hadn’t expected to run into him this time.

With a ding, Fang Weiwen’s floor arrived. His face flushed with anger as he turned and left.

The elevator fell silent. Meng Ran rubbed her ears, relieved the commotion was over.

They each returned home; Meng Ran carried fresh fruit inside and locked the door.

Nian Nian came running over, wearing cotton slippers.

The room was warm from the air conditioning, so Meng Ran shed her coat as soon as she entered.

“I just bought strawberries and watermelon—try some,” she said.

Remembering the plot of land in her space, she had been growing vegetables as well as some fruit. She had fenced off a section of the yard to keep two chickens.

She hadn’t watered the garden yet today, so she went outside to sprinkle some water and fed the chickens a bit.

To store perishable items, she had moved a freezer inside. Standing at the gate, she reached out to touch the mist in front of her but couldn’t pass through—it was unclear what lay beyond.

After stepping out of the space, Nian Nian had already washed the strawberries, waiting for Meng Ran to cut the watermelon.

“I’ll get it,” Meng Ran said.

The watermelon was expensive; typically in season, but the snow had made it out-of-season, driving the price up by tens of yuan.

Yet the quality was undeniable—the knife sliced through so easily the fruit split open on its own.

Mother and daughter cuddled the watermelon in the living room, watching TV as Meng Ran contemplated how they would get through the coming days.

She bit into the watermelon when a series of thuds sounded outside, as if something was falling.

“What’s that?” Nian Nian asked, pointing at irregular objects mixed in the snowflakes.

Meng Ran moved to the window—hailstones.

One hailstone, driven by strong wind, struck the glass but left no mark.

Fortunately, she had replaced the window glass in advance. She drew the curtains.

“It’s hail,” she said.

The weather was bizarre, changing faster than even the meteorological updates.

The temperature kept falling with no sign of stopping; if nothing unexpected happened, the night might drop to minus twenty degrees Celsius.

“Let’s have dumplings tonight,” Meng Ran suggested.

Nian Nian immediately agreed, “I want the three-flavor filling.”

In such cold weather, warm food was essential.

By afternoon, Meng Ran saw messages in the property management group chat, with reminders to close doors and windows tightly and keep warm.

Everyone had been out shopping during the day, so the updates were just starting to come in.

Opening the chat, she saw a message reporting broken glass.

36—706: “I’m so unlucky. Came back from shopping to find my window shattered. No repair service available yet. What am I supposed to do? The hole keeps letting cold air in.”

A photo showed a large hole in a living room window, caused by hail. The resident had tried to patch it up, but it looked ineffective.

The property management quickly responded, promising to send someone to fix it before dark.

The hail had lessened since morning, but the snow intensified, and the temperature had dropped to minus seventeen degrees Celsius.

Nian Nian had fallen asleep and hadn’t woken yet. Meng Ran watched the messages, seeing complaints about hail-damaged cars and concerns over water and heating supplies.

The property management addressed each concern, urging residents not to worry for now.

After reading all the updates, Meng Ran thought this was far harsher than any nightmare.

She pushed aside her worries, stood up, and prepared dough to make extra dumplings to store in the fridge.

By the time she finished wrapping them, Nian Nian was awake. She had slept a long time; dusk was approaching.

After nightfall, the outside looked even more forbidding. No pedestrians were around, only the lights from the apartment windows glowed.

Meng Ran drew the double-layered curtains fully shut, deciding not to open them again.

Steam rose from the pot as the water boiled.

“Are these the three-flavor dumplings?” Nian Nian yawned, tugging at Meng Ran’s sleeve.

“Yes. Why do you look so tired these past few days?” Meng Ran asked, eyeing her strangely.

“Just had bad dreams. I’m okay, Mom,” Nian Nian said with a smile to ease her mother’s worry.

Meng Ran didn’t suspect anything for now. She cooked a pot of dumplings, saving the rest in the fridge.

She prepared two dipping sauces: one sour and spicy, the other fragrant vinegar. The spicy one was for herself.

The steaming dumplings were served. Nian Nian perked up and eagerly took a bite without waiting for them to cool.

“Don’t be so hasty,” Meng Ran warned, bringing a plate over when Nian Nian started coughing from the heat.

“Mom, I feel a bit dizzy,” Nian Nian said, eating while speaking.

Meng Ran reached out to check her forehead; it felt warm.

“Do you have a fever?” Meng Ran recalled the flu outbreak she had discussed with Ya Jing and took Nian Nian’s temperature.

Fortunately, she had prepared medicine in advance, so she wasn’t caught off guard.

Nian Nian still wanted to eat more dumplings, so Meng Ran let her have a few more.

“We can eat the rest tomorrow. No rush now—first, let’s see if you have a fever.”

The thermometer read thirty-eight degrees Celsius; she indeed had a fever.

Meng Ran gave Nian Nian fever-reducing medicine and told her to rest in her room.

After eating, Meng Ran cleaned up the dishes and sat down in her room.

“When did you start feeling unwell?”

“During the meal,” Nian Nian murmured with her eyes closed.

Meng Ran stayed by her side, watching her temperature closely. Going to the hospital now was probably impossible—the snow had already risen above her ankles, the paths were uncleared, and cars couldn’t get out.

Because of the fever, Nian Nian’s face was flushed. Meng Ran placed a cooling patch on her forehead and rested her chin on her hand while her phone buzzed repeatedly.