Chapter 451: Eternity 12.

She found people

willing to keep watch, people capable of basic repairs, and people who

could help maintain common areas. She made sure the schedule did not

place too much work on any one person, especially residents who were

caring for children or injured relatives. A few people complained, but

most accepted that their chances of survival improved when the building

worked together.

The small indoor garden also became part of the household routine. Lili

took responsibility for checking the soil and reporting which leaves

looked dry. Yan explained how to water the plants without flooding the

trays. Bai improved the shelf lights so the seedlings would receive

enough light without wasting power. Mother Yan reorganized the growing

containers so that the herbs could be harvested without disturbing the

younger plants. The result was modest, but seeing a fresh green leaf

appear each morning gave Lili something to look forward to.

At night, the family usually gathered around the table or in the living

room. Sometimes they talked about the residents in the building,

sometimes about the supplies they needed to conserve, and sometimes

about things that had nothing to do with survival. Lili asked questions

about animals, old school stories, and whether the moon was still

visible from other places. Mother Yan told her about the time Yan had

insisted on learning to cook and had nearly burned a pot of rice because

she was trying to do three things at once. Yan protested that the story

was exaggerated. Mother Yan replied that she had personally scraped the

pot clean, so she was qualified to report the facts.

Bai listened more than she spoke. She enjoyed seeing Yan outside the

usual pattern of vigilance, when the younger woman’s face relaxed and

she became animated while telling a story. Sometimes Yan caught Bai

looking at her and asked what she was staring at. Bai would answer that

she was listening. Yan would point out that listening did not require

looking at someone’s face for that long. Bai would calmly reply that

Yan’s face happened to be in the direction of the sound.

The answer never satisfied Yan, but she never pushed very hard either.

There was a part of her that was afraid to discover that her feelings

were not returned, and another part that was becoming increasingly

convinced that Bai’s attention was not as ordinary as she pretended. She

had lived enough difficult days to understand that not every important

thing needed to be named immediately. For now, she was content with the

quiet certainty of Bai sitting close beside her, passing her the better

portion of a meal without being asked, or automatically reaching for her

hand when a distant crash made everyone look toward the window.

Bai noticed these moments too. She noticed that Yan always checked

Lili’s blanket before going to bed, that she remembered what Mother Yan

needed before her mother asked, and that she never made her own worry

the center of a room. She noticed the way Yan’s voice changed when she

spoke gently to Lili, the confidence in her movements during training,

and the sharpness of her gaze when she was evaluating a risk. Bai found

herself wanting more time with her. She wanted to hear her talk, see her

smile, and know what she thought about things that mattered. She kept

those wishes to herself, because she did not know what Yan felt and

because the world was already difficult enough without risking a

relationship that had not yet become what Bai hoped it might be.

The two women were careful with each other in ways that outsiders might

have misunderstood. Neither forced the other to explain a private

thought. Neither used a moment of vulnerability as an excuse to demand

more. When Yan became quiet after a difficult training session, Bai

offered her tea and waited. When Bai grew absorbed in a repair, Yan

brought her something to eat and made sure she took a break. It was not

a romance anyone had declared, but there was a steady trust between them

that deepened every time one of them chose patience instead of pressure.

Mother Yan saw enough to suspect that her daughter was falling for Bai.

She did not bring it up. Yan was an adult, and Mother Yan had no desire

to embarrass her by naming a feeling she might still be sorting out.

Besides, Bai herself seemed just as unaware of the effect she had on Yan

as Yan was of the effect she had on Bai. They could fight beside each

other without hesitation, but a small compliment could leave them both

searching for something to do with their hands.

One evening, Mother Yan found Yan alone at the kitchen counter, slicing

vegetables while Bai worked on a battery housing at the other end of the

room. Yan was watching Bai every time the knife paused. Mother Yan

waited until Yan looked down at the board and then said quietly, "You

should be careful."

Yan nearly cut the vegetable too thick. "About what?"

"The knife. You’re looking somewhere else."

Yan stared at her mother, then at the cutting board. "I was thinking."

"I know."

Mother Yan’s tone was gentle enough that Yan could not tell whether she

was teasing her or offering advice. Yan returned to slicing. After a

moment, Mother Yan added that it was good to have someone around who

made the hard days easier, and that she hoped Yan would allow herself to

enjoy that without worrying about what might happen later.

Yan’s hands slowed. She did not answer, but her mother did not force her

The conversation ended with Mother Yan asking whether the vegetables

were ready and Yan telling her she could check for herself. It was a

small exchange, but it stayed with Yan for the rest of the evening.

The Last Ordinary Evening

The phone call came on an evening that had begun like any other. The

apartment windows were closed against

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TO BE CONTINUED.