On the ninth day of the seventh week, Yoran—the night shift supervisor—stopped in front of Li Yuan and Hakeem.
He didn't say anything. He just stood there. Observing.
Li Yuan felt his presence enter the two-meter radius. Wenjing captured his intent—
Curiosity. A mild suspicion. Something that didn't fit but couldn't be identified.
"You two," Yoran finally spoke. His voice was flat, not friendly but not hostile either. "How long have you been working together?"
Hakeem answered—calmly, with no defensive tone: "Six weeks. Maybe seven."
"Hmm." Yoran walked around them—slowly, like a man assessing animals in a market. "Your productivity is... stable. It hasn't dropped like the others."
It wasn't a compliment. Just an observation.
"We do our work," Hakeem said.
"Yes. You do." Yoran stopped in front of Hakeem. "You've been here for eight months, Hakeem. Longer than most. And you..." He turned to Li Yuan. "You're blind. You should have died in the first week. But you're still here. Strange."
Li Yuan didn't answer. He didn't move.
Yoran waited—as if trying to provoke a response.
None came.
"Good. Get back to work."
He left. But Li Yuan felt—through Wenjing's fading range—that Yoran's intent hadn't completely vanished.
The suspicion was still there. Small. But it was there.
When Yoran was far enough away, Hakeem whispered—very softly: "He's starting to notice."
"I know."
"That's not good."
"No."
A moment of silence. Then Hakeem asked—in a more serious tone: "What do we do if he separates us?"
Li Yuan didn't answer directly. Because the true answer—I will continue to heal you even if we don't work together, even if I have to sneak in at night, even if it's more dangerous—couldn't be said.
So he said: "We'll face that if it happens."
Hakeem nodded. "Yes. We'll face it."
But Li Yuan felt the worry behind those words—through Wenjing, through the slightly more tense tone of his voice.
Hakeem is afraid of being separated. Not for himself. For me.
He thinks I'm the one who needs his protection.
He doesn't know that I'm the one protecting him.
And Li Yuan would never tell him.
That night, Li Yuan was more cautious than usual.
He waited longer—twenty minutes, not fifteen—until he was completely sure that every breath in the room was deep and steady.
He listened with Wenjing to see if anyone was still awake, if there was a consciousness lurking behind closed eyes.
There was none.
Everyone was asleep.
But Li Yuan still hesitated longer than he had yesterday.
Because Yoran's words echoed: "Strange."
If a supervisor is starting to notice, it means something is already out of the ordinary. What are they seeing? What's different?
Is Hakeem too strong for someone who has been here for eight months?
Am I too healthy for someone who is blind and should have died?
Li Yuan didn't know.
But he knew one thing: he had to be more careful.
So tonight, he didn't touch Hakeem's shoulder like he did yesterday.
It was too obvious. Too risky if someone woke up suddenly.
Instead, he just sat closer—within touching distance but not touching—and released the Wrapping a little more subtly, a little more diffused.
The Understanding of the Body flowed out—not through direct touch, but through presence. Through proximity.
A resonance that was even more subtle than yesterday.
Body, listen. I am here. Not touching. Not forcing. Just... being here. And if you need it, you can take what you need from my presence. Just a little. No one will know.
There was no visible response.
Hakeem remained asleep. His breathing didn't change.
But Li Yuan felt it—very subtly—as if something was being drawn from him. Very small. Like a single drop of water from the ocean.
The Understanding of the Body shared without being asked. Hakeem's body received unconsciously.
Five seconds. Ten seconds. Fifteen.
Li Yuan wrapped it back up again—tightly, as if it had never been released.
He pulled back a little—a safe distance, a distance that wouldn't arouse suspicion if someone suddenly woke up.
And he sat. Waiting for morning.
I have to be smarter about this, he thought. If the supervisors are starting to notice, I can't continue as I did yesterday. It's too obvious. Too close.
But I also can't stop.
So I have to find a more subtle way.
A way that leaves no trace.
Morning came with the loud alarm.
Hakeem woke up—moving his neck, rotating his shoulder.
He didn't say anything about feeling better this time.
He just stood up. Preparing for the shift.
But Li Yuan saw—or rather, felt—the way Hakeem moved a little more easily. Like a body that had slept more deeply than usual.
They walked together to the furnace.
The shift started as usual.
"Lift. Walk. Stop."
But something was different today.
Yara—the old woman with the limp leg—walked past them. Closer than usual.
And Li Yuan felt something strange:
Through Wenjing, he captured Yara's intent—
Curiosity. Not about the work. About... them.
About why Hakeem and Li Yuan were still strong when the others were starting to fall apart.
Not jealousy. Just... confusion.
Yara didn't say anything. She just passed by.
But Li Yuan knew: it wasn't just the supervisors who were starting to notice.
The other slaves were too.
We're too different, he realized. We're enduring too well. And in a place where everyone is supposed to slowly die, enduring too well is an anomaly.
Anomalies attract attention.
Attention is dangerous.
During the midday rest, Hakeem sat closer than usual.
"Li Yuan," he whispered. "I need to ask you something."
"What?"
"Do you... do you feel anything strange lately?"
Li Yuan was silent. "Strange how?"
"I don't know. Just... like something is different. I'm sleeping better. My body isn't as bad as it was in previous weeks. And it's not just me—Feng said his fever went down faster than usual. Yara said her leg isn't as bad as usual."
Li Yuan's heart—if this consciousness body had a heart that truly beat—would have stopped right now.
They feel it.
Not much. Not enough to know what's happening.
But they feel something.
"Maybe..." Li Yuan searched for words very carefully. "Maybe your bodies are starting to adapt. Or maybe you've all gotten past the worst part and now your bodies are starting to find a balance."
"Maybe." Hakeem didn't sound convinced. "But it's happening around the same time. Roughly in the last two weeks. Since you... since you started working with us more closely."
No.
Don't.
Don't go there.
"I haven't done anything," Li Yuan said—his voice calm, with no defensive tone. "I'm just here. The same as all of you."
Hakeem was silent for a long time.
Then: "Yes. You're just here."
But Li Yuan felt—through Wenjing—that Hakeem didn't completely believe him.
Not because he suspected Li Yuan was lying.
But because he felt there was something that couldn't be explained.
Something good. Something that was helping.
But he didn't know what.
I have to be more careful, Li Yuan thought again. If even Hakeem is starting to question, I'm being too obvious.
I have to... I have to reduce it. Or change the way.
Or...
But what were the other options?
Stop? Let Hakeem slowly fall apart again?
No. That was not an option.
So he had to find an even more subtle way.
A way that left no trace.
That night, Li Yuan changed his approach again.
He didn't sit close. He didn't touch. He didn't even release the Understanding of the Body directly toward Hakeem.
Instead, he released a very small amount—almost nothing—into the air around him.
Like a very subtle scent. Like a warmth that was almost imperceptible.
A resonance that was even more passive than before.
It wasn't aimed at Hakeem specifically. It was just... there. In the room. For anyone who happened to be sleeping close enough to feel it.
Fifteen people. All sleeping in overlapping radii.
If all of them felt a little better—just a little—then Hakeem wouldn't stand out.
A scattered anomaly was an anomaly that was harder to notice.
Li Yuan loosened the Wrapping—very subtly, very diffused—like opening a window just a quarter of a centimeter.
The Understanding of the Body flowed out—not like a river, but like a morning mist. Almost nothing. Almost imperceptible.
To anyone sleeping here: your body deserves rest. Tonight, let your sleep be a little deeper. Let your pain be a little quieter. Not by much. Just... enough for tomorrow not to be as bad as yesterday.
No one woke up. No one felt it consciously.
But Li Yuan felt it—very subtly—as if the fifteen breaths in the room became a little deeper. A little calmer.
He wrapped it back up after thirty seconds.
Longer than usual—but because it was more diffused, it was safer.
And he sat. The exhaustion was a little heavier tonight.
The consciousness body was paying a price—not much, but enough to be felt.
I can't keep this up forever, he knew.
But I can keep it up until... until when?
Until they get out of here?
Until Hakeem no longer needs me?
Until this consciousness body breaks down?
He didn't know.
He only knew: tonight, fifteen people would sleep a little better.
And tomorrow, they would endure a little more easily.
And if that meant he had to pay the price—
—then he would pay it.
Silently.
Without complaint.
Without recognition.
As usual.
Morning came with small changes that were almost invisible.
Feng didn't cough as much as usual.
Yara walked with a little more lightness—her leg still limped, but it wasn't dragging as heavily as yesterday.
Amira—the young woman Hakeem had once protected from the supervisor—woke up without the usual trembling.
Small changes. Very small.
But they were there.
And Li Yuan knew: he had made the right decision.
If all of them were a little better, no one would stand out.
No one would be an anomaly.
No one would attract attention.
Hakeem moved his shoulder—he didn't say anything this time about feeling better.
He just stood up. Prepared for the shift.
But before they left, he turned slightly toward Li Yuan.
"Li Yuan."
"Yes?"
"Whatever it is... thank you for being here."
Li Yuan was silent. "I haven't done anything."
"I know." Hakeem gave a small smile—a smile that Li Yuan couldn't see but could hear in his voice. "But sometimes, doing nothing while being here is something very big."
And he left.
Leaving Li Yuan standing alone.
With a truth that couldn't be said.
With a love that couldn't be acknowledged.
With a gift that would never be opened.
But Hakeem was grateful for his presence.
And maybe—just maybe—that was enough.
Even though he didn't know half of the truth.
Even though he would never know.
Li Yuan followed Hakeem to the furnace.
The shift started again.
"Lift. Walk. Stop."
The same rhythm. The same work.
But now with a greater risk.
Because people were starting to notice.
And attention—in a place like this—was dangerous.
But Li Yuan wouldn't stop.
He would just be smarter.
More subtle.
More diffused.
Until no one could point and say "this is strange."
Only a vague feeling that somehow, this week was a little easier than last week.
And no one knew why.
Especially not those who felt it.
Li Yuan would make sure of that.