That night, the two of them slept side by side, sharing warmth. As entirely inappropriate as it was, survival still had to take precedence over everything else.

The wind was fierce that night.

Fortunately, Du Lai had had the foresight to build a simple clay stove — the fire inside wouldn’t be easily blown out.

The two of them weren’t so lucky. Curled up in a pile of scattered leaves, with only the rock face behind them to break the wind, gusts kept sweeping through, leaving them both chilled.

Fu Miaoxue had started out lying shoulder to shoulder with Du Lai, but eventually could bear it no longer and wriggled into his arms.

As she burrowed in, she complained, “You smell terrible!”

Du Lai: “……”

Anyone spending their days catching shrimp, building shelters, and kneading clay wasn’t going to smell pleasant.

He replied, “You don’t smell any better than I do.”

Fu Miaoxue froze in his arms, then immediately ducked her head to sniff herself — but they were pressed too close together to distinguish anyone’s smell from anyone else’s. Either way, both of them stank.

Fu Miaoxue deflated, muttering, “I absolutely must bathe tomorrow. And wash my hair.”

Du Lai said, “Tomorrow there’s still the shelter to build on, fresh water to collect, clams to dig, the fish traps to check, birds to catch… There’s no end to things to do. No time for a bath. Just bear with it and don’t wear yourself out and fall ill.”

“Not bathing is what makes you fall ill,” Fu Miaoxue grumbled, very unhappy.

Under normal circumstances she would have erupted long ago, but right now she was so cold that the only warmth she had came from Du Lai’s chest, which rather deflated her confidence. Her voice came out small.

Du Lai worried about tomorrow’s weather, sighed, and said, “Go to sleep.”

Fu Miaoxue made a small, put-upon sound of compliance.

Then Du Lai closed his eyes too.

He desperately wanted to fall asleep — he needed the rest — but for some reason, sleep would not come.

Maybe it was the wind and rain outside unsettling him. Maybe it was the woman in his arms shifting and fidgeting. He lay listening to the storm all night, completely wakeful. Only when the wind finally died and the sky began to pale did he realize a new day had arrived.

His first movement was to press a hand to Fu Miaoxue’s forehead.

Good — no fever.

Of all the symptoms of a cold, a cough or a runny nose could be endured for a few days. A high fever could not. If left untreated, it could escalate to fainting, convulsions, even shock.

Fu Miaoxue had no fever — for Du Lai, that was good news. Before, his concern for her safety had been rooted in fear of Fu Lisheng’s displeasure. Now, his concern was real.

He couldn’t quite explain why his feelings had shifted. When he thought about it more carefully, it was probably loneliness — on a deserted island, the sense of depending entirely on each other was especially acute. He couldn’t imagine what it would be like if he were the only one left on this island, and whether he would still have the will to carry on.

Du Lai was still lost in these scattered thoughts when Fu Miaoxue woke.

She opened drowsy eyes and asked him in a haze, “Why are you holding me so tight…”

Du Lai blinked, loosening his arms slightly. “I thought you were cold.”

“I’m alright…” She was barely conscious, and let her eyes fall shut again. “Let me sleep a little more — waking up too early makes you hungry… Just a little longer, just a moment…”

Du Lai carefully shifted away and slowly got up, saying quietly, “Keep sleeping. I’ll go find something to eat.”

Fu Miaoxue buried her head and didn’t respond.

Du Lai stepped out of the makeshift shelter, gathered the bamboo tubes that had collected rainwater overnight, and then stirred the embers in the clay stove. The fire was nearly out — there wasn’t enough dry wood stocked inside. It seemed that beyond finding food, he also needed to collect some dry branches and dead leaves.

So many things to do, and every one of them urgently needed.

Before leaving the shelter, Du Lai turned and looked back at Fu Miaoxue once more. He was suddenly struck by the thought that she reminded him of the children — Little Bean, Little Sprout, and the rest of that little group. All of them just as fragile and small, adrift and dependent, waiting for him to bring them something to eat.

—