Chapter 442: Eternity 3.

Yan had been listening from the kitchen, and she turned away to hide the

look that crossed her face. Bai never seemed to realize how much she

gave away when she talked to Lili. She could be blunt and severe with

adults, impatient with foolish decisions, and ruthlessly practical in a

fight, yet she treated the child like a person whose thoughts mattered.

Yan admired that side of her more than she knew how to say. She also

knew she had to be careful, because admiration was becoming harder to

distinguish from something much more personal.

"Breakfast is ready," Yan called. "And Bai Li, your tea has gone cold

again."

Bai looked toward the kitchen as though the accusation had come from an

enemy camp. "I was doing something important."

"I can see that. The screws are probably thrilled."

Lili giggled. Bai gave Yan a look that was supposed to be stern but

failed because Yan was smiling too brightly. Then she took Lili’s hand

and led her toward the table.

Two Weeks of Making a Home

The apartment was comfortable because Bai Li refused to let comfort

become an excuse for carelessness. Each morning began with a small

inspection, even when nothing appeared wrong. She checked the water

filter, the backup batteries, the doors, the balcony seals, and the

emergency lights. Yan Cijin sometimes suggested that Bai should skip one

inspection and have breakfast while it was still hot. Bai responded that

skipping an inspection was how small problems became large ones. Yan

responded that letting breakfast turn cold was also a problem, though a

very different kind. They rarely agreed on the seriousness of their

respective complaints, but most mornings ended with Bai eating the food

Yan placed in front of her and Yan helping her finish whatever repair

had caught her attention.

The routines became a quiet rhythm through the following days. On one

morning, Bai found that the water pressure in the kitchen tap had

dropped. She dismantled the filter housing, checked the lines, cleaned a

small blockage, and replaced a seal that was still technically usable

but looked too worn for her liking. Yan held the flashlight, read out

the pressure gauge, and passed her tools without being asked. When Bai

needed the wrench, Yan had already placed it beside her hand. When Yan

shifted the light, Bai moved her wrist just enough to keep the work

visible. They had become so used to working together that most of the

time they moved as though they had planned the whole thing in advance.

On another morning, Bai decided the shelves in the kitchen were not

secure enough. They had held everything perfectly well, and Yan pointed

out that they had been installed before the apocalypse and had survived

several days of shaking doors, emergency repairs, and the occasional

impact from the building settling. Bai tested the brackets again. One of

them gave a slight creak when she pressed on the edge.

"See?" Bai said.

Yan folded her arms. "I heard a sound. I don’t think that counts as a

confession."

"It counts as a warning."

"A warning that the shelf is alive?"

"A warning that it might fall."

"It has survived the end of the world. I think it deserves some credit."

Bai pulled the shelf away from the wall and inspected the bracket. Yan

watched her for several seconds, then sighed and took the other end so

they could work together. She could have continued arguing, and

sometimes she did, but she had learned that Bai’s stubbornness was not

always a refusal to listen. Bai simply needed to check the problem

herself before she would accept that it was or was not serious. Yan

found that giving her a few minutes to confirm her own conclusion saved

them both time in the end.

They discovered that one screw had worked loose and the wall plug around

it was beginning to crumble. The shelf had not been about to fall that

morning, but it would eventually have become unstable if left alone. Bai

replaced the damaged plug, reinforced both sides, and tested the shelf

with more weight than it would ever normally hold. It did not move.

Yan leaned against the counter. "Congratulations. You have saved us from

a shelf-related disaster."

Bai put the screwdriver away. "You’re welcome."

"I was being sarcastic."

"And I was accepting your gratitude."

Yan laughed and reached past her for the jar of tea. Their shoulders

brushed, and Bai shifted to make room without thinking. Yan paused,

close enough to notice a faint line of dust near Bai’s jaw. She raised

her hand, brushed it away with her thumb, and then continued reaching

for the jar as though nothing had happened.

Bai remained still for half a second too long.

"There was dust," Yan explained, her voice perfectly normal.

"I noticed."

"Did you?"

"Yes."

"Then why didn’t you clean it?"

Bai looked at her, then at the place where Yan’s hand had been. "I was

busy."

Yan’s mouth curved. "Of course you were."

She took the jar and walked away before Bai could think of a reply. Bai

spent the next few minutes arranging the tools with more care than

necessary, which Yan noticed from the kitchen and privately found

delightful.

The apartment’s self-sustaining setup required constant attention. The

water system depended on a combination of stored clean water,

filtration, and a careful plan for reuse. The backup batteries were

charged when sunlight and available power made it possible, and every

appliance that was not essential was switched off. Food was rotated so

that nothing spoiled unnoticed. The vegetables growing in their small

indoor planters were not enough to feed everyone, but they added

freshness to meals and gave Lili something to look after. Bai kept a

record of the supplies, while Mother Yan reviewed the numbers and made

suggestions about how to stretch some items further without making the

household’s meals miserable.

Mother Yan was good at that sort of planning. She had a practical mind,

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TO BE CONTINUED.