How to Train Your Neighbors

Ethan spread his hands and said casually, "That's it for today. Dismissed."

As he turned and waved the group away, a voice suddenly rang out from the crowd.

"Ethan, going out there alone must be tough. Why don't you take some of us with you next time?" It was Luan Qiang again.

He pointed at the snowmobile. "Your ride can carry three, right? With more help, we could cover more ground and bring back more supplies."

The others turned to look at Ethan, eyes filled with barely hidden greed.

They had all seen what happened the last time someone went with Ethan. Uncle Ray brought back luxury-brand winter clothes for Xie Limei and her daughter. If they could tag along, maybe they'd get to grab some goodies too.

"I mean, we'd be happy to help," one of the women added, trying to sound helpful.

Ethan's eyes narrowed slightly, but he kept a calm smile on his face.

"Oh? So now you all have your eyes on my snowmobile too? That's how it is, huh?"

His voice dropped to a chilling softness. "Well, in that case... maybe we should call it quits. I'll stop bringing you food altogether."

Luan Qiang's face changed instantly. He stepped forward, stammering to explain, "No, no, that's not what I meant—"

But Ethan was done talking.

Without another word, he pulled out his pistol.

Click. The safety came off with an ominous snap.

A gasp rippled through the crowd. People stumbled backward, bumping into each other in the narrow hallway.

"Ethan, please! Don't misunderstand—we were just trying to help!"

"We're worried about you, that's all! It's dangerous out there—"

"Yeah, we're grateful for everything! Really!"

Ethan sneered. "Yeah, seems I've been too kind. Fed you too well, didn't I?"

Then he raised the gun and—Bang!

Luan Qiang dropped like a sack of meat, a neat bullet hole through his forehead.

Screams tore through the hallway.

Nobody had expected him to actually pull the trigger.

They thought he'd argue, maybe get flustered by their numbers. Maybe even back down.

They forgot one simple thing: Ethan wasn't their equal. He never was.

There was no debate here. Only command—and consequence.

"Apparently," Ethan said coldly, "some of you still haven't figured out your place."

He pulled the trigger again. Bang! Bang! Bang!

Four more people dropped before anyone could react.

That was enough.

The crowd scrambled like cockroaches. People screamed, tripped over each other, clawing for their lives.

Only two people didn't run.

Uncle Ray stood by Ethan's side, calm and composed.

And Xie Limei—as usual—hid behind him like an ostrich, trembling but silent.

Uncle Ray shook his head. "These idiots. A few days of warm meals and they forget who saved their lives."

Ethan didn't reply, but inwardly he scoffed: If I didn't still need them as cannon fodder, they'd all be corpses already.

Out loud, he merely shrugged. "It's fine. I'm a kind man, after all. I forgive them."

Of course, he was anything but kind.

Now that he had the firepower to back it up, Ethan didn't have to pretend anymore. He could afford to be ruthless.

Xie Limei clutched Uncle Ray's arm tightly, her gaze flicking to Ethan with thinly veiled fear.

"Come on," Ethan said coolly. "Let's head back."

He slung the pistol back into his holster and walked off with that signature swagger—cold, confident, untouchable.

The neighbors were left behind in stunned silence, afraid to even breathe.

But Ethan already knew how this would go.

He could kill half of them right in front of their own doorsteps, and the rest would still come crawling back, begging for food the next day.

Sure enough, the moment they got back inside their apartments, the tenants of Building 25 did what terrified sheep always do—they locked their doors, bolted their windows, and created a secret group chat.

This time, Ethan, Claire, Uncle Ray, and Xie Limei weren't invited.

The apocalypse had fractured society into countless factions, and within a single building, there were already dozens of private chat groups, each more paranoid than the last.

"What do we do now?" someone messaged in the group. "Ethan's gone mad! He's going to kill us all!"

One by one, the terrified residents began venting their fears.

"He just opened fire without warning!"

"He's killed so many people in the past few days. How many bullets does he even have? Why does he have a sniper rifle?!"

"I told you he was a former special forces soldier," one webnovel addict typed confidently. "He's obviously some kind of urban war god. You all laughed when I said it, but look at us now!"

"No matter what he is," another person added, "we can't count on him anymore. He's not a savior—he's a tyrant."

"Exactly. Everything he does is for his own gain. That whole 'saving us' routine? It's just a way to use us."

"He wants us to be his pawns! To fight and die so he can build his little kingdom!"

The chat exploded in curses.

They trashed Ethan. They dragged Claire's name through the mud. Uncle Ray and Xie Limei weren't spared either.

Online, they were fierce and indignant, reclaiming their lost dignity with each message.

But face-to-face? They were worms.

Once they'd blown off steam, a sobering realization settled in.

"Even if he's selfish… even if everything he does is calculated… what happens if he stops feeding us?"

The group went dead silent.

Their blood ran cold.

They remembered the days before Ethan showed up with food.

Eating everything in their houses.

Boiling leather belts and jacket scraps into soup.

The one guy who tried surviving by eating his own poop, convinced dogs did it and lived.

Compared to that, a bullet to the head almost seemed merciful.

It was one thing to suffer in darkness.

But to see light—and have it taken away?

That was true despair.

Finally, someone broke the silence.

"Well… maybe Ethan isn't that bad. I mean, the people he shot were kinda asking for it."

And just like that, the mental backpedaling began.