I'm still preparing to make myself a bowl of noodles to get through the day.

But the image of the fisherman's appearance before his death keeps appearing in front of my eyes.

I comfort myself.

"Why would he ask me for help? I'm like a clay Buddha crossing the river, struggling to protect myself!

"There must be someone else who saw him, maybe they'll bring some food for his wife and children!"

But I didn't hear any footsteps.

I walk to the window again and look down at the backpack dropped by the fisherman.

"There should be a lot of food inside..."

I lie indifferently back on the bed.

In the middle of the night, urgent footsteps appear in the hallway, and then...

"Food! I want to eat something! I have to eat before I die..."

The cries abruptly stop, and tomorrow there will be a few more wandering zombies here.

But it's none of my business.