Chapter 15: A Beginning Without End
Zhiyi continued calculating what was required to survive the first four years of extreme heat when the alarm on her phone went off.
The noise entered the room at 6:35 in the morning and repeated every three seconds until she understood that it required an action from her to stop it.
She stopped writing.
Her pen remained pressed to the paper, leaving a dark point at the end of an unfinished calculation.
The first heat had too many variables.
The temperature increase differed by region and elevation. Urban infrastructure failed earlier than expected because energy demand exceeded the electrical grid’s capacity before the heat reached its highest point. Water treatment plants lasted longer, but distribution systems didn’t. Roads became unusable in stages. Food spoilage began before most people understood the power wouldn’t return.
Zhiyi had calculated minimum water requirements for five people, then recalculated them after accounting for reduced physical activity, increased perspiration and the probability that stored containers would fail.
She had not included herself.
That may or may not need to be corrected for this calculation.
But she would have to find that information out sooner rather than later since the shelter capacity, food reserves and medical supplies would all require adjustment.
She wrote a six with a question mark beside the five she had used in the latest equation.
The alarm sounded again and Zhiyi looked at the screen.
GET READY FOR HANCHUAN’S OFFICE — 6:35
She had set the alarm before beginning because the meeting had a fixed time and the drive required forty-one minutes under normal traffic conditions. Morning congestion could increase that to fifty-eight minutes. Getting dressed, gathering her work and reaching the front entrance required another twenty-three.
The calculation was incomplete.
The alarm sounded for a third time.
Zhiyi lifted the pen from the page.
Stopping before reaching an answer created a physical pressure beneath her ribs. Several categories remained open, and each of them continued extending into new questions.
She placed a ruler beneath the unfinished line so she could find the exact point where she had stopped.
Then she closed the notebook.
The pressure remained.
Zhiyi changed her clothes, washed her face and tied back her hair. When she looked in the mirror, her skin appeared paler than usual and shadows had formed beneath her eyes.
She had not slept.
That was inefficient, but sleep would have required stopping which wasn’t physically possible for her to do.
Her phone vibrated while she placed the notebook in her bag.
The driver was outside.
Hanchuan’s message contained no question and required no response.
However, Zhiyi sent one anyway. I’m leaving now.
His answer arrived before she reached her bedroom door.
Bring your notes.
She already had them.
Downstairs, the house remained quiet. Her family usually ate breakfast at seven-thirty, which gave her twelve minutes to leave without producing another unfinished conversation.
She crossed the entrance hall and opened the door.
The same black sedan waited beneath the covered entrance. The driver stood beside the rear door, wearing the same expression and a different suit.
He opened the door when he saw her and Zhiyi got inside.
No one from the house came out before the car pulled away.
At 7:52, the sedan entered the underground level of Pei Holdings. Assistant Lin was waiting beside the private elevator.
"Good morning, Miss Qiao."
"Good morning."
He looked at her face for half a second longer than the greeting required, then pressed his palm to the elevator scanner.
"President Pei and his guests are already upstairs."
"All four?"
"Yes."
She nodded in response to let him know that she had heard him. Then the elevator opened.
Assistant Lin entered behind her and pressed the button for Hanchuan’s floor. He remained beside the control panel as the doors closed.
"Would you like coffee?" he asked.
The question opened into too many categories.
Temperature. Strength. Milk. Sugar. Size.
Zhiyi looked at him blankly.
Assistant Lin appeared to recognize the problem, although she didn’t know how.
"President Pei ordered breakfast," he said. "Coffee is included."
That was information rather than a choice.
"All right."
The elevator reached the executive floor and as soon as the door opened, she could hear voices coming from Hanchuan’s private office.
One was speaking too loudly for the distance. Another answered with a short remark that caused the first to laugh.
Zhiyi stopped just outside the open door.
For seven years, the four men inside that room had existed only through Hanchuan’s memories.
He had told their stories during nights when the heat made sleep impossible. He had repeated arguments they had begun as children and never resolved. He remembered which foods they disliked, which lies they told badly and which one would object first whenever he made a decision without consulting them.
Zhiyi knew Rong Jingwei had broken Hanchuan’s nose when they were thirteen and had apologized to Hanchuan’s mother instead of Hanchuan.
She knew Song Zeyu had once entered an illegal street race using Hanchuan’s name and then blamed the resulting scandal on a clerical error.
She knew Liang Shichen straightened objects when irritated and designed buildings around the habits of the people who would use them.
She knew Wen Qinghe became quieter when he was worried and had carried medical supplies in his car long before the world required him to.
Zhiyi knew them.
But they had never seen her before.
Hanchuan sat behind neither his desk nor the low table near the windows. He had taken one of the armchairs in the private seating area, leaving the larger sofa and the remaining chairs to the others.
She could guess who everyone was, based on the descriptions that Hanchuan had given her, but without confirmation, she wasn’t comfortable addressing anyone.
Hanchuan’s gaze found Zhiyi before anyone else noticed her.
The man nearest the door noticed next. He had to be Rong Jingwei.
He stood beside the windows rather than sitting with the others.
He was the broadest of the four, with short black hair, straight shoulders and a face composed of severe lines. His dark shirt had been buttoned to the throat despite the early hour.
Nothing about him appeared casual, including the way his attention moved once over Zhiyi and then past her to the corridor behind her.
He checked the door, the outer office and Assistant Lin before returning his attention to her.
’Cold,’ Zhiyi thought.
But not hostile.
There was a difference.
The man she guessed to be Liang Shichen sat at one end of the sofa. He was tall and lean, dressed in muted grey with the controlled precision of someone who had never accidentally purchased the wrong size. His features were refined rather than severe, and his hands rested loosely over one knee.
The cup in front of him was centered precisely on its coaster.
As Zhiyi watched, he moved it two millimeters to the left.
Wen Qinghe occupied the other end. His shirt sleeves had been rolled to his forearms, and the open collar suggested he had come directly from the hospital rather than dressing for a meeting.
He had an athletic build and the warmest face among the four, although his calm eyes were already studying Zhiyi with clinical attention.
His gaze paused beneath her eyes.
"You didn’t sleep," he said.
Song Zeyu leaned in the middle of the sofa as though conventional seating positions were optional. His black hair was tousled, his collar open and his expensive jacket hung over the back of the sofa behind him. He held a silver energy-drink can in one hand.
He was beautiful in the careless way her stepsister’s collection suggested, with lazy eyes and a mouth that seemed prepared to smile before anything amusing happened.
All four men were alive.
Zhiyi knew they would be.
She had written their names six hours ago. They had been alive when Hanchuan summoned them and alive when Zeyu replied.
But seeing them was different.
Hanchuan’s stories had always ended.
Jingwei died first.
Qinghe died last.
Zhiyi tightened her grip on the strap of her bag.
The room contained one armchair beside Hanchuan, three occupied places on the sofa and another chair near the low table. She could take the empty chair. She could sit beside Shichen if he moved. She could remain standing.
Each position implied a relationship she did not know how to define.
These were Hanchuan’s friends from before the world ended.
She had only known what remained after they were gone.
Hanchuan rose.
He crossed the room without asking why she had stopped, took the strap of her bag from her hand and placed it beside his chair.
Then he caught her wrist.
Zhiyi followed because resisting had no purpose.
Hanchuan sat back down in his chair and pulled her onto his lap.
The movement was familiar enough that Zhiyi finally felt like she could take in a deep breath.
His arm settled around her waist. He adjusted her until her weight rested securely against his chest, then placed one hand over hers.
The uncertainty she was feeling completely disappeared and Zhiyi relaxed even more into his body.
Silence spread across the office.
Zeyu lowered his energy drink.
Shichen’s fingers stopped beside his cup.
Qinghe looked from Zhiyi to Hanchuan and then to the arm around her waist.
Jingwei’s expression didn’t change, but his attention sharpened.
Hanchuan ignored all four of them.
"Did you sleep?" he asked, echoing Qinghe’s question that she never answered.
"No, " she replied, shaking her head.
"Why not?"
"I wasn’t finished."
"Are you finished now?"
"No. My alarm went off."
Hanchuan’s thumb became still against the back of her hand.
"What time did you start?"
Zhiyi calculated backward. "At approximately nine-forty-three."
"And you worked until the alarm in the morning?"
"Yes."
Hanchuan looked at the notebook protruding from her bag.
Something in his face altered. It wasn’t surprise so much as recalculation.
His instruction had removed every problem except the first heat. It had not told her when to stop working on it.
He had given her a beginning without an end and he now knew it.