“The snow outside is way too heavy.” A man’s voice drifted over.
Song Yu sat at the bar, staring blankly at the glass before her, completely oblivious to what Xiao Chi had said.
“Director Song, the ice in your glass has all melted. Let me get you a fresh one,” Xiao Chi said, reaching out to take it.
Only when a hand appeared in front of her did Song Yu snap out of her daze, as if finally registering the voice. She blinked in confusion and looked up. “Huh? What did you just say?”
Xiao Chi poured the watered-down whiskey down the sink, gave the glass a quick rinse, and wiped it dry with a white cloth.
He could tell she was distracted, so he shook his head. “Nothing important.”
“No idea how their evacuation prep is going,” Xiao Chi remarked.
“…” Song Yu didn’t respond. Her eyelashes lowered as her index finger tapped lightly along the edge of the bar, the rhythm betraying her restless anxiety.
Most of the Expedition Team had already gone down onto the ice for work, and the faint whir of helicopters taking off and landing could still be heard now and then, muffled under the howling blizzard.
The round wall clock in the bar ticked away relentlessly, making the wait feel unbearable.
It had been two hours since the news came from the Ice Station that the Meteorological Station had collapsed.
The few people who returned to the ship did so in a rush, dropping off gear before heading right back out.
The Captain and Chief Scientist Professor Xu, the only ones left aboard who hadn’t gone down, were holed up in the conference room discussing the return route.
As an outsider, Song Yu couldn’t help with anything. She even hesitated to poke her head in and ask for updates, worried she’d just get in their way.
Back in her room, the cramped space felt suffocating, especially with Wu Yue still asleep—she couldn’t turn on the light—and time dragged on even more agonizingly.
Unable to sit still, Song Yu had come to the ship’s bar instead.
What she hadn’t expected was that even at three in the morning, someone else was there.
Xiao Chi had twisted his ankle a few days earlier while working on deck, tripping over a rope. With his mobility shot, he couldn’t go down onto the ice.
When the Captain woke his roommate that morning, Xiao Chi had woken up too and found he couldn’t settle back to sleep, so he’d ended up at the bar as well.
Xiao Chi poured Song Yu a fresh drink, the amber liquid clear and inviting.
She picked up the glass the moment he slid it over and downed it in one go. The liquor burned fiercely down her throat, setting her stomach ablaze.
Sensing the tension in her, Xiao Chi tried to reassure her. “Don’t worry, it’ll be fine. With the Captain and Captain Pei leading the way, we’ll pull out smoothly tomorrow.”
“This is nothing—just a little wind and snow. You’ve got nothing on the wilder stuff we’ve seen before.”
Song Yu looked up at him, but her mood didn’t lighten.
She pressed her lips together and asked, “What kind of wilder stuff?”
“Oh, plenty,” Xiao Chi said, perking up at the chance to show off in front of her. “Like this one time on a scientific expedition—my first one with the team, actually,” he added.
“I was assisting Captain Pei, going down to measure sea ice thickness in different zones. Guess what happened?”
Song Yu lifted her gaze, focusing a bit more.
Xiao Chi’s eyes widened as he launched into the tale, gesturing wildly. “We ran into a polar bear!”
“Holy hell, that thing stood two or three meters tall on its hind legs. You don’t get it watching on TV, but up close and personal? That’s why they call it the lord of the Arctic.”
“It looked like it hadn’t eaten in days. Spotted us and charged like we were dinner—the ice shook with every step.”
“I whipped out the rifle from my back and took aim,” Xiao Chi said, mimicking the motion, his voice rising with excitement.
Song Yu stood, leaned across the bar, and grabbed the whiskey bottle to pour herself another.
“Then what?”
“Then—” Xiao Chi dropped the pose, scratched his head, and sighed. “Captain Pei yanked me onto the snowmobile and floored it out of there.”
“That polar bear chased us for miles until it gave up from exhaustion.”
“It clawed the snowmobile’s rear end to shreds. Those paws are no joke—I got a real taste of staring death in the face.”
“If we’d been even a little slower, it would’ve caught us. Super dangerous. We totally met the criteria to shoot.”
Xiao Chi shook his head. “If Captain Pei hadn’t held me back, I’d have fired.”
He patted his shirt pocket like it held something precious. “This firearms license didn’t come cheap.”
Song Yu propped her chin on her hand. “Does he have one too?”
“Huh?” Xiao Chi blinked, then caught on. “Captain Pei? Of course. And his aim’s dead-on. When I was getting certified, the instructor kept using him as an example—said a university professor like him handled a gun steadier than a pen.”
Song Yu recalled how Pei Zhi had never joined the hunting back in the rainforest, even after they got firearms.
She toyed with her glass, the light fracturing into crosses off the crystal. For some reason, her mind flashed back to scenes from the jungle.
Amid the thick green, the man emerged from the forest, leaning in to peer through banana leaves.
The local tribesfolk around him cheered wildly over their catch.
Whether facing nature or any other creature in this world, he always maintained a calm detachment and humble respect.
Time had slipped late without her noticing, and the work outside the Snowfield Ship pressed on.
Song Yu had drunk plenty, but sleep was nowhere in sight—her nerves stayed wound tight.
Xiao Chi, on the other hand, was fading, yawning repeatedly. He glanced at the wall clock: three a.m. With the Snowfield Ship’s turnaround tomorrow and plenty of work ahead, he didn’t dare linger. He gave the counter a final wipe, said goodnight to Song Yu, and headed back to his room.
Without Xiao Chi’s chatter, the bar fell utterly silent.
White spotlights swept slowly from above, and when one hit her hand, its warmth felt almost scorching.
That night, she’d heard all about the Scientific Expedition Team’s past escapades from Xiao Chi—each one a heart-stopper, but after so many, they started to seem routine.
Song Yu couldn’t help thinking her own life had been too cushy. Here she was, hung up on ancient history.
Her gaze drifted to the window behind the bar, half-obscured by piled junk.
Even through that sliver, she could see the endless night outside, the blizzard ravaging the land and the struggling souls within it unchecked.
The Snowfield Ship stood firm unmoved, like a safe, warm greenhouse shielding her from the world.
Perched on her high stool, feet dangling from the footrest, Song Yu suddenly felt bored. An impulse welled up inside her—she wanted to feel the ground under her bare feet like Kasi did.
Dirt or snow, it didn’t matter.
Her thoughts wandered far, pulling the rainforest memories from the depths and savoring them again.
She stared into the pitch-black window, lost in it, not even noticing the footsteps entering the bar—steady and unhurried—until they stopped right in front of her.
“Still up this late.” The man’s voice was low and gravelly, rougher than usual with a husky edge.
Song Yu startled, her eyelashes fluttering. A shadow fell over her, blocking the spotlight.
She looked up into Pei Zhi’s pitch-black eyes.
He must have just come back from the ice. Snow still clung to his red Expedition Team jacket, unmelted. Exhaustion etched his face; he wasn’t standing as straight as usual, leaning heavily on the bar, his body radiating bone-deep chill.
Song Yu tilted her chin up, meeting his gaze in silence for a long moment.
The spotlight circled back to the bar, illuminating the man’s sharp, sculpted features.
In the light, Song Yu spotted a two-centimeter gash on his brow bone, the blood crusted over from the cold.
She reached out, brushing her fingertip lightly along the edge of the wound.
Her soft, warm touch sent a tingling itch deep inside.
Pei Zhi’s breath hitched. His eyes narrowed, the pupils darkening.
He grabbed her wrist—slender and fragile, buckling easily under his grip.
The icy cold of his hand made Song Yu gasp softly on instinct.
“Cold?” Pei Zhi asked, but he didn’t let go.
Song Yu blinked, her wrist still in his hold.
She shook her head. “Not cold.”
Her free hand picked up her glass from the bar.
She rose on tiptoe and offered it to him. “Want a sip? To warm up.”
The ornate glass held the half she’d left—amber liquid shimmering with each sway.
The air grew thick with ambiguity, laced with the faint, intoxicating scent of gin.
Pei Zhi’s grip on her wrist tightened.
He leaned down, lips to the rim, and drank the rest straight from her hand.
The liquor scorched from tongue to throat to stomach.
“Better?” Song Yu asked.
Pei Zhi’s gaze dropped to her, lashes low.
He licked the liquor from his lips, Adam’s apple bobbing, throat parched.
“No.”
Whiskey neither quenched her thirst nor warded off the chill.
At that moment, a sharp click echoed around them. The spotlights flickered and dimmed abruptly, and every electrical device in the room ground to a halt.
The bar plunged into darkness.
Song Yu froze, a flicker of instinctive panic rising within her.
Pei Zhi had kept a firm hold on her wrist the entire time. Now, in a calm and measured voice, he reassured her. “The Snowfield Ship is setting sail overnight. To maximize the ice-breaking engines, they’ll cut power to everything else.”
Song Yu let out a breath of relief. “Oh, got it.”
The chill from his fingertips seeped steadily into her wrist.
Then, as if struck by a sudden thought, she added, “If the AC’s off too, how come you’re still so cold?”
She twisted her wrist free of his grasp and took his hand in hers instead. Rubbing it gently back and forth, she tried to share her warmth with him.
Pei Zhi gazed into the darkness before them.
He could feel the heat from her fingers—slender and comforting. Her small palm barely managed to wrap around four of his fingers.
His breath caught, his heart seeming to clench in her grip as well.
Little by little, his eyes adjusted to the gloom.
Pei Zhi leaned down, bringing his face close to hers. In a soft murmur, he said, “Then keep warming me up.”
Song Yu went still. She felt his breath drawing nearer, carrying the crisp, distinctive scent of cedar.
And then, before she could even react—though it felt almost expected—something brushed against her lips.
Dry and cool.