Chapter 445: Eternity 6.

She was in her forties, with the kind of

mature beauty that made people look twice even when the world had turned

ugly. Her hair was usually tied back while she worked, and there was a

calm elegance in the way she moved that had not disappeared despite the

lack of proper salons, the shortage of fresh clothing, and the fact that

she had to carry a weapon whenever she left the apartment. The

apocalypse had changed her circumstances, but it had not made her

helpless. She had spent years managing work, people, and practical

problems, and much of that experience still mattered.

At first, though, Mother Yan had been frustrated by how little of her

old life seemed useful. She could organize supplies and plan meals, but

she could not repair a damaged door as quickly as Bai Li, and she could

not fight a zombie with the same ease as Yan Cijin. She had worried that

she would become another person everyone had to protect. Her daughter

had tried to reassure her, but the reassurance had not fully settled the

matter. Mother Yan needed to know that she could contribute in a way

that mattered, not simply be told that her presence was enough.

Yan understood that feeling better than she could explain. During

training, she did not let her mother get away with pretending she was

weaker than she was, and she did not push her into situations beyond her

current ability. They began with the basics: how to keep a weapon

pointed safely, how to move without stumbling over debris, how to use a

doorframe as cover, and how to retreat without turning her back on

something that might follow. Yan corrected her mother’s stance

patiently, sometimes adjusting an elbow or showing her where to place

her feet. When Mother Yan grew frustrated with herself, Yan reminded her

that no one learned defensive movement in a single morning.

Bai Li occasionally watched their sessions from the side. Her advice was

direct and often useful, though not always gentle. When Mother Yan tried

to step backward with her feet too close together, Bai told her she

would fall over if a zombie merely sneezed in her direction. Mother Yan

stared at her for a moment, then laughed despite herself. Yan told Bai

that there were kinder ways to make the same point. Bai answered that

the important thing was whether the point had been understood, and

Mother Yan, still laughing, admitted that she had understood it very

clearly.

The training continued. Mother Yan learned to recognize the moment when

an approaching zombie committed its weight to a direction. She learned

not to swing wildly, not to waste energy on a target that was already

retreating, and not to confuse fear with the need to act immediately.

Her movements remained less polished than Yan’s, but they became

steadier. Bai helped her strengthen the protective vest she wore,

replacing a weak strap and making sure the fastenings could be opened

quickly if she had to get out of it.

"This one is too loose," Bai told her during one inspection, pulling

lightly at the shoulder strap.

Mother Yan looked down at it. "It was comfortable yesterday."

"Comfortable is fine until it slips off when you need it."

"You really do have an answer for everything, don’t you?"

Bai considered the question. "No. But I can usually find one if you give

me a little time."

Mother Yan laughed and let Bai adjust the strap. She was not offended by

the correction. If anything, she appreciated that Bai never treated her

as though she were too old to learn. Bai was exacting with everyone, but

she was not dismissive. If she thought a person could improve, she

explained what needed to change and expected them to try again.

Mother Yan also proved useful in ways that had nothing to do with

fighting. She organized the supplies into categories, created a clear

record of what the household used each day, and helped a few residents

on their floor establish a shared plan for sanitation and waste

disposal. She checked which neighbors had medical training, which ones

knew how to repair electrical equipment, and which ones could keep watch

without becoming careless. She did not try to command anyone. Instead,

she asked what each person could realistically do and built a practical

routine around those answers.

Bai read the first version of Mother Yan’s duty schedule and frowned at

the number of columns.

"How many lists do we need?" she asked.

Mother Yan looked up from the table. "Enough to know what we have and

who is doing what."

"I already know what we have."

"You know what you have in your head. The rest of us need to be able to

see it."

Bai paused, looked at the sheet again, and finally nodded. "That’s

fair."

Yan, who had been sorting medical supplies nearby, looked up so quickly

that she nearly dropped a packet of gauze. Bai had accepted a correction

without arguing. Mother Yan looked at her daughter and shared a tiny

smile, the kind of look people exchanged when they had just seen

something rare.

Bai noticed them. "What?"

"Nothing," Yan said.

"You both look suspicious."

Mother Yan folded the schedule carefully. "We’re relieved to learn that

even you can be reasonable."

"I have always been reasonable."

"Of course," Yan said. "That’s why you wanted to replace the kitchen

shelf."

"It needed replacing."

"It needed one screw tightened."

"It needed the whole bracket replaced."

Mother Yan watched their argument with growing amusement. Bai and Yan

could disagree for ten minutes over a shelf and somehow look more

comfortable together afterward. It was becoming increasingly difficult

to imagine either woman choosing another person to stand beside when

something truly mattered. Mother Yan did not say this aloud. Yan would

have denied it, Bai would have pretended not to understand, and then

both of them would have become so awkward that the entire apartment

would have noticed.

.

.

.

TO BE CONTINUED.