After an overnight evacuation, the Snowfield Ship finally sailed clear of the thick ice field, heading toward Ny-Ålesund.
Ny-Ålesund was a hub for Arctic research stations from countries around the world, and it was also home to China’s sole outpost in the region: Yellow River Station.
The Snowfield Ship would dock there for three days to resupply for the journey home.
As they moved away from the blizzard’s core, the wind and snow began to ease.
From the day they left the long-term Ice Station, the Arctic Circle had officially entered polar night. Daylight wouldn’t return for two or three months.
In the dim room, the air hung thick and humid.
The roughly eighty-square-foot space held two one-meter-wide beds, positioned one horizontal and one vertical against the walls.
A floor lamp glowed faintly by the outer bed. Nothing was laid out on the bare mattress, and at the headboard, books were neatly stacked in two rows—weighty tomes with elegant covers in languages from around the world.
In stark contrast to the tidy stack by the headboard, the rest of the bed was buried under a jumble of carelessly tossed clothes.
A red expedition team jacket had even trailed onto the floor, and atop it lay a delicate lavender women’s knit camisole, dwarfed and out of place beneath the oversized jacket.
The inner bed lay in deeper shadow, where two figures reclined, their outlines indistinct.
The single bed was too cramped for two. Song Yu lay atop the man, her cheek pressed to his chest, her frame seeming especially petite and delicate.
Her eyes were tightly shut, long, thick lashes still damp with moisture.
To the left of the single bed stood a simple desk for work, now holding two watches—one men’s, one women’s.
The soft ticking of their hands overlapped in the quiet.
It was nearly noon.
Outside the window, darkness blanketed everything, erasing any sense of day or night.
Suddenly, a knock shattered the room’s silence.
“Knock knock knock—”
“Captain Pei, you awake? The Captain wants you in the bridge.”
Song Yu stirred at the sound, her brow furrowing slightly as she nuzzled against the man’s chest.
Pei Zhi was still lost in a hazy daze. He didn’t open his eyes but instinctively lifted his arms, pinning the restless figure atop him more securely.
His core tightened, rolling them both onto their sides. On the bed barely half a meter wide, they pressed tightly together to keep from falling.
Even so, Pei Zhi’s entire back hung exposed, his pale skin revealing the straight ridges of his spine, marred by a web of fresh scratches both long and short.
That morning, the heating had kicked back on, turning the room stiflingly warm.
Trapped in his embrace, bodies entwined, Song Yu grew even hotter. Unable to stay covered, she wriggled free in her half-asleep state and kicked her legs out, baring a length of her pale, lotus-root-fair calf.
Pei Zhi’s brow furrowed unconsciously. He hooked his leg over hers, dragging her back.
“Knock knock knock—” The knocker persisted, disturbing their dreams.
Irritated by the noise, Song Yu shoved at the man’s chest.
Pei Zhi clapped a large hand over her ear, pressing her deeper into his chest, and murmured, “Ignore it.” His voice was hoarse and thick, as if his throat were coated in grit.
Another voice came from outside.
“Stop knocking,” Xiao Chi said in a low tone. “Captain Pei was working late last night. Let him sleep.”
His room was next door to Pei Zhi’s. In the dead of night after the bar, he’d been deep in sleep when a loud creak from next door jolted him awake—the unmistakable groan of a bedframe under strain. But exhaustion pulled him right back under.
Captain Pei must have been wiped out to crash that hard, Xiao Chi figured.
The knocker lowered his voice too. “Yeah, he had a rough night.”
“When the Meteorological Station went down, I was terrified. Good thing Captain Pei got everyone out in time.”
“I’ll go tell the Captain. If you see Pei heading out, remind him to swing by the bridge.”
Xiao Chi waved him off. “No problem.”
The corridor fell quiet after their brief exchange.
Song Yu was a light sleeper. The disturbance cleared the fog from her mind, leaving a dull ache at her temples.
The wine from the night before had left her with a pounding head. She couldn’t quite recall how warming up had led her into Pei Zhi’s room.
She cracked her eyes open. The dim light made everything blurry; she could only feel the scorching heat where their bodies touched.
Song Yu’s ears flushed pink again.
The man’s jaw rested against her head. In her line of sight, she saw only his long neck and the prominent bob of his Adam’s apple.
In the quiet space, Pei Zhi’s breathing rose and fell steadily, like a sated lion at rest.
Song Yu shifted, trying to slip free. The covers slid down, baring her rounded, snow-white shoulder and the vivid bite mark above her collarbone.
“I’m thirsty,” she whispered, her voice unexpectedly raspy even to herself.
At the sound, Pei Zhi’s thin eyelids fluttered. He finally opened his eyes.
He threw back the covers and rose, padding barefoot to the desk. His legs were straight and lean, muscles taut and defined, every line sculpted to perfection.
Song Yu stole a glance, her face burning, and quickly looked away, burrowing fully under the quilt.
The rustle of the down comforter in the silence carried an undeniable intimacy.
The thermos on the desk held just half a cup of water.
Pei Zhi grabbed pants from the neighboring bedframe, tugged them on low around his hips, then brought the cup back.
“That’s all there is. Leave me a sip,” he said, his voice equally rough.
Song Yu pressed one hand to her chest, extending the other from the covers to take the cup.
Pei Zhi watched her with amusement. Shy with him now, was she?
The water had gone cold—perfect for quenching her thirst.
She cradled the cup in both hands, the cool liquid soothing her parched throat.
Truth be told, she was satisfied after half, but lifting her gaze, she caught Pei Zhi standing there, waiting.
His posture was ramrod straight, no trace of weariness in his eyes. Meanwhile, she ached all over, her body feeling like it might fall apart.
Song Yu recalled the previous night—how she’d begged and cried to no avail—and resentment flared at his endless stamina.
Tilting her head back, she gulped down the rest, leaving not a drop for him.
Clutching the empty cup, Song Yu mimed turning it upside down, her tone innocently plaintive. “All gone.”
Pei Zhi arched a brow, gazing down at the woman on the bed. She was bundled in the covers like a dumpling, her long black hair tousled and spilling over, half-veiling the alluring curves of her chest.
Her pink lips glistened with water droplets, her eyes bright with mischief—as if daring him not to notice her ploy.
His dark pupils deepened, darker even than the night beyond the window.
Before Song Yu could gloat further, a shadow loomed over her.
Pei Zhi leaned in, claiming her lips, drawing out the moisture she’d hoarded.
The metal cup clattered to the floor with a sharp ping, spinning several times before coming to rest.
The room’s heat reignited. Beneath the endless shroud of polar night, one could indulge in all manner of untimely pursuits, even in broad daylight.
Song Yu’s hands slid downward, fingers tangling in his thick black hair as she let out a feeble murmur.
That extra sip of hers was duly repaid in other ways.
The Snowfield Ship pressed on through the ice, its progress slow.
By the time Song Yu returned to her own room that afternoon, Wu Yue was due back any minute. She rushed through a shower and half-reclined on the bed, sorting videos from their final day at the Ice Station.
The room’s lone small desk was cluttered with their girly bottles, jars, and sundries; work had to make do.
Only today did Song Yu learn that Pei Zhi and the Chief Scientist each had single rooms. The layout matched hers, but solo occupancy made them feel far roomier.
The door flew open, and Wu Yue burst in, laptop in arms, panting hard—as if someone were chasing her.
Song Yu glanced up, long accustomed to the young woman’s impulsive energy.
“What’s the rush?” she asked casually.
Wu Yue flung her laptop onto her own bed and plopped down beside Song Yu.
She held up an index finger to her lips, her face alight with excitement. “Listen, I’ve got the juiciest gossip!”
With just over a hundred souls aboard the Snowfield Ship, Wu Yue had whiled away her time poking into every department under the guise of studying the ship’s social dynamics.
She had the scoop on everyone’s age, marital status, and background, all neatly tabulated in an Excel sheet she updated religiously.
Dead serious about it, Wu Yue often muttered about blowing her mentor away— the one who’d idly assigned her the task—during the ship’s final weekly report.
Song Yu had to listen to her chatting with her every few days about recent research results, although to her, they were actually just all sorts of little gossip.
However, this was still the first time she had seen Wu Yue react so strongly like today.
When it comes to gossip, Song Yu has heard plenty in her circle—no matter how outrageous, she’s grown numb to it all.
However, out of respect for her chat partner, she still closed her laptop and asked, “What gossip?”
Wu Yue’s expression was complicated as she leaned even closer to her, looking mysteriously secretive. Though she lowered her voice, her emotions were exceptionally exhilarated.
She enunciated each word, “I’ve discovered Captain Pei is dating!”