The snow kept piling higher.
Chen Mo had already forgotten how many trips he had made.
Exhausted and out of options, Chen Mo delivered another group to the shelter. Rather than compete for space with the elderly, women, and children below, he clung upside down to the ceiling.
He took out his phone and began scrolling through messages, checking which nearby shelters still had room.
All three shelters on his phone had turned red.
The Old Town office was full.
The East End project dormitory was full.
The Ninth Street Gymnasium, hastily opened for emergency use, had only eleven spaces left.
Chen Mo glanced at the hallway.
Eleven spaces would not even hold the people in front of him.
Elderly people lay on makeshift beds assembled from conference tables. Someone had covered a child with their coat and sat shivering beside a heating pipe. The staff member responsible for the student project hurried back and forth clutching a registration sheet. No sooner had she found a place for one person than someone else knocked outside.
The knocking never stopped.
Chen Mo tucked his phone back into his suit, dropped to the floor, and turned to leave.
The staff member followed him to the entrance.
"Spider-Man, you can't bring another group!"
Standing in the snow, Chen Mo looked back.
The staff member still clutched the registration sheet, her hair plastered to her face with sweat. The hallway behind her was so crowded that people could only squeeze through sideways.
"There are too many people," she said. "If we keep taking more, the people inside will be in trouble too."
She was right.
Chen Mo could not muster even a single complaint.
He could lift a car, smash through a wall, carry someone frozen stiff from six blocks away.
The problem was