Chapter 2: Because I Wanted To
Qiao Zhiyi’s mind went silent in a way that she had never experienced before.
There was no variables, no equations, no... noise. Just complete silence.
No.... that didn’t work for her at all.
For seven years, every equation had contained two essential constants: Qian Zhiyi and Pei Hanchuan.
Resources could be abandoned. Routes could be changed. Other survivors could be refused. Entire cities could be crossed off the map when the cost of entering them exceeded the possible return.
But the core unit remained intact no matter what.
It had to.
"We need another option," she said, her voice coming out flat as she tried to start at the beginning again.
"There isn’t one," Hanchuan replied.
"You don’t know that," she snarled, the lump that was choking her also choking back her words.
"I do."
"No." Her voice came out too sharply, and pain tore through her throat. They had been rationing water since yesterday morning. That had to be the reason for the lump. "You execute the solution. I find it."
"You’ve checked every possibility," he reminded her calmly.
"I can check again."
"You already have."
"I might have missed something."
"We both know that you didn’t." The certainty in his voice was absolute.
He had never questioned her conclusions. Not once in seven years. If Zhiyi told him a bridge would collapse, he accepted it and chose a different route. If she said they couldn’t afford to take in another survivor, he agreed. If she froze while the world became too loud and every variable demanded an answer at once, he gave her the first step and waited for her mind to follow.
Now he was using that same certainty against her.
Zhiyi looked back at the silent vent. "If I dismantle the battery bank, I may be able to redirect enough power to restart the compressor."
"You tried that two hours ago." She didn’t need the reminder.
"The secondary cells still hold a residual charge."
"They’re swollen."
"I could bypass them."
"They’ll explode."
"The probability is only—"
"No."
The single word crossed the shelter without force.
Final. Familiar.
Zhiyi’s lips parted, but no answer followed.
Pei Hanchuan shifted onto one elbow, the movement causing his legs to drag across the concrete and reopened the wound on his arm. His face tightened for half a second with pain before he soothed it back out.
Then he held one hand out to her. "Come here," he commanded.
Five steps.
Zhiyi took the first.
Her knees almost buckled. She corrected her balance and took another. The air seemed thicker than it had a minute ago. Each breath entered too hot and too dry, scraping down into lungs that couldn’t make use of it.
On the fourth step, dark spots crossed her vision.
Hanchuan caught her wrist when she reached him. He couldn’t have stopped her fall, not from the floor, not with his legs unresponsive and one arm already trembling beneath his weight. But he caught her anyway.
Zhiyi lowered herself beside him and he pulled her down with more strength than he should have had left, arranging her against his chest until her cheek rested over his heart.
It was beating too quickly.
One hundred and forty beats per minute. Possibly higher.
"Hanchuan—"
"Not important."
"It is important."
"Not anymore."
His arm settled around her waist. His other hand slid over the back of her head, holding her against the hollow beneath his chin.
Zhiyi listened to his heart.
The rhythm was wrong.
Too fast. Too shallow. An inefficient attempt to maintain circulation while his blood volume fell. She needed to elevate his feet.
Moving his legs risked damaging the joints. That was less important than circulation.
She tried to push herself up.
His hand tightened in her hair.
"Stay."
"I need to reposition you."
"No."
"Your blood pressure is dropping."
"I know."
"You could lose consciousness."
"So could you."
"I’m not the priority."
His fingers stopped.
For one second, the only movement between them was the frantic beat of his heart beneath her ear.
"You are always the priority," he said.
"That is an inefficient allocation of resources."
A breath left him. It almost sounded like a laugh, but there was no humor in it. "Seven years, and you still say things like that."
"That’s because it remains true," she replied.
"No, it doesn’t."
"If one of us could reach the western shelter, it should be me. You require assistance to travel. I don’t."
"You wouldn’t leave me."
Zhiyi didn’t respond... there was no need. They both knew she would never leave him alone. Not with what was coming.
"And I won’t send you outside to die alone," he continued. "So we’re staying here."
"You’re accepting an incorrect outcome."
"I’m accepting the only one left."
"I don’t accept it."
"You don’t have to."
His palm moved slowly over her hair.
The gesture was familiar. He had done it during thunderstorms, although she had explained repeatedly that the sound didn’t frighten her. He had done it when fever made her thoughts slip out of order. He had done it whenever she became trapped inside a problem without a visible end.
It had never helped her solve anything.
But she had never asked him to stop.
The temperature display on the wall changed from forty-eight to forty-nine.
Zhiyi closed her eyes. "We should have replaced the ventilation unit."
"Probably," Hanchuan agreed.
"I put it on the maintenance schedule."
"You did."
"You said the bearing would last until autumn."
"And clearly, I was wrong."
"You’re rarely wrong," Zhiyi replied, doing her best to sooth him... even if that wasn’t her strong suit.
"Don’t make me feel better about this," Hanchuan chuckled weakly.
"I wasn’t," she protested, even though they both knew that she was.
"I know."
His lips touched the top of her head, and Zhiyi went still.
They had shared food, water, shelter and body heat. They had slept pressed together through four winters because separation wasted warmth. Pei Hanchuan pulled her into his lap whenever a shelter floor was wet or contaminated. He bathed her when her hands shook too badly to hold a cloth and let her cut his hair even after she had removed a section above his left ear by mistake.
There was no part of his body that was unfamiliar to her.
Still, the kiss felt different.
It suggested a conclusion they had never discussed.
Zhiyi opened her eyes. "Why did you do that?"
"Because I wanted to."