Chapter 294: Enough for Now

Hanchuan watched the fuel needle while Zeyu eased them away from the wreck.

The engine sounded steadier at the lower speed, but Zeyu kept looking down whenever a wave lifted the bow. His shoulders had drawn tight beneath his wet shirt.

"I don’t want to run it until it stops," Zeyu said, keeping his voice low enough that Hanchuan had to lean closer. "There may still be some in the tank that it can’t pick up when we roll, but I can’t tell you how much. That gauge isn’t giving me anything I trust."

Hanchuan looked back.

The other boat had fallen behind, its occupants bent over their pot while smoke rose between them.

The wreck’s cabin roof was almost level with the water now, and nothing followed in their wake.

"Shut it down once we’re clear of this wood," Hanchuan told him. "We’ll keep whatever’s left for when we need to move. You can check it after you’ve eaten."

Zeyu glanced toward the bow, where Shichen and Jingwei were working over the salvaged drawer.

He had promised Zhiyi a meal, and Hanchuan could see him trying to judge how much longer their little fire would last.

"I haven’t forgotten," Hanchuan added, resting a hand on his shoulder. "Go and help them cook. I’ll watch where we’re drifting."

By the time Zeyu turned off the engine, Qinghe had taken another bucket of water from beneath the deck.

Hanchuan relieved him and crouched beside the hatch while the others settled around the fire.

Without the engine, he could hear the scrape of the saucepan and Zhiyi’s quiet voice as she showed Zeyu where the fish still needed cleaning.

The drawer was awkwardly balanced across the bucket they had been using to protect the deck from the saucepan.

Shichen held it steady while Jingwei moved the burning wood into it with the pliers.

There wasn’t much left, but the thicker splinters had begun to catch, and Zeyu set the emptied saucepan beside his knee before reaching for their water bottle.

His hand stopped at the cap.

Hanchuan watched him tip the bottle slightly, measuring what remained against the side. They had all drunk from it, and the amount left looked smaller every time someone picked it up.

"We need some to clean the pan," Zeyu said. He looked toward Hanchuan, frustration showing in his face. "I’ve wiped it out, but it’s been sitting in that box with everything else."

Hanchuan nodded toward the bottle. "Use what you need. We went looking for that fire so we could eat."

Zhiyi moved closer to Zeyu, holding the pan while he poured.

They worked carefully, passing it between them without spilling more than a few drops. Hanchuan turned back to the hatch before he could begin counting those too.

Water continued seeping beneath the patch, but the board hadn’t shifted.

He checked the rope where it passed around the crosspiece, then resumed bailing. His hands had become sore enough that he changed his grip on the bucket handle each time he lifted it.

Behind him, Zhiyi coughed when the smoke blew toward her.

Jingwei drew her back against his knees and shifted so his body sheltered her from the worst of it. She stayed there, watching Zeyu arrange the fish in the saucepan.

Hanchuan could remember a kitchen full of food and her sitting at the counter, taking pieces from whatever Zeyu was preparing.

Yesterday, there had still been leftovers from a wedding cake. Now all six of them were waiting for two small fish, and he couldn’t look at the pan without wanting a larger share for her.

Zhiyi glanced over before he said anything.

"Come and sit down when you’ve finished that bucket," she told him, lifting her hand from Jingwei’s knee. "There’s room beside me."

Hanchuan checked the water once more before closing the hatch.

He sat where she pointed to, and she immediately tucked herself beneath his arm, bringing the warmth she had borrowed from Jingwei with her.

Her hair smelled of smoke. He kissed the top of her head and rubbed her shoulder while Zeyu worked.

Cooking took longer than any of them wanted.

The fire weakened whenever the wind changed, and Shichen had to keep turning the drawer while Jingwei fed it the last small pieces of pale wood.

Zeyu broke the fish apart with the knife, moving the thicker pieces toward the middle of the pan.

When the smell finally reached Hanchuan, his stomach cramped.

Zhiyi shifted against him, and he looked down to find her watching the pan with her lips pressed together.

He rested his hand over hers rather than asking whether she was hungry. They had spent too many hours unable to do anything about it.

Zeyu checked the largest piece again before moving the saucepan away from the heat.

"Give it a moment," he said, settling it where everyone could reach. "I’m not having any of you burn your mouths after all that."

His attempt at his usual kitchen voice made Zhiyi smile. Hanchuan felt it against his shoulder before she leaned forward, studying the pieces while steam rose past her face.

They had no plates or forks. Qinghe found clean sections of the cloth they had set aside, and Zeyu divided the fish as evenly as he could. When he began moving a piece from his portion toward Zhiyi’s, she caught his wrist.

"You can help me catch another one afterward," Zhiyi said, looking up at him. "I don’t want to eat yours."

Zeyu held her gaze, then returned the piece to his own share. Hanchuan waited until he had taken a bite before picking up his.

The fish tasted plain and faintly scorched along one edge.

There were bones he had to feel for with his tongue, and each mouthful seemed to make him hungrier.

Beside him, Zhiyi ate slowly, examining the flesh before putting it in her mouth. He removed a thin bone she had missed and handed the piece back without interrupting her.

Nobody spoke much until the pan was empty.

Shichen scraped the remaining flakes together while Qinghe checked the cushion cover for the bait they had saved.

Zeyu sat back with his hands resting on his knees, watching Zhiyi finish. When she thanked him, he reached across Hanchuan to brush a little moisture from her chin.

"Next time, I’d like enough for you to complain about the bones," Zeyu said. His smile lingered when she caught his fingers briefly before letting him go.

Hanchuan stayed beside her while Jingwei lifted the saucepan, hoping to save a little heat beneath it. "It’s enough for now."

Only a small glow remained in the drawer.

The piece of furniture leg had been reduced to charred scraps and ash, and the floating wood they had collected was still wet.

A gust scattered ash across the metal. Hanchuan turned his face away, pulling Zhiyi closer as the boat rolled beneath them.

Beyond Jingwei’s shoulder, the water had begun to darken. A broad stretch of rain hid the horizon, its edge moving toward them while the wind lifted the blanket they had tied over the seats.

Zhiyi followed Hanchuan’s gaze, then reached for the nearly empty bottle.

"We need to get everything ready to catch it," she said, starting to rise.

Hanchuan steadied her while Zeyu looked toward the helm.

The boat was turning slowly across the waves, and the next one struck hard enough to send water over the side.