The wind hadn't stopped, and the snow was still falling. Chen Hao's right foot had just stepped into the base's doorway when the sole of his shoe scraped against the metal threshold, leaving a faint, gleaming gray mark.
He leaned against the wall, panting, his throat feeling like it had been rubbed with sandpaper: "I said... can I lie down for ten minutes first? I feel like my bones are protesting."
Nana didn't turn around. Her mechanical fingers traced a stream of data across the control panel: "No. The system self-check will start in thirty seconds. You are obligated to remain alert and participate."
"Obligation?" He grinned. "I've even forgotten how to spell the word 'obligation' now."
When the alarm sounded, he was pulling the shoe covered in silver powder back in, his movement froze halfway.
A burst of red light filled the entire control room, and a sharp buzzing sound drowned out the wind. A line of text appeared on the screen: [Main heating system pressure zero - Freeze level 4].
Nana's pupils contracted slightly as she pulled up the pipeline diagram. The entire heat circulation network had turned a deep blue, and the thickest main pipe had completely stopped flowing at chest level.
“The external heating module is damaged, and the backup fuel inventory is zero.” She spoke calmly. “Repair Plan A: Wait for the solar cycle to warm up, estimated at 72 hours.”
"Seventy-two hours?" Chen Hao ripped open his coat. "Wouldn't I be an ice pop by now? Last time I managed to melt a bit, and I can melt this time too!"
He rushed towards the main valve area at the end of the corridor, his steps unsteady yet surprisingly fast. Nana flashed in front of him, her arm outstretched, the alloy skeleton making a slight grinding sound.
"Your body temperature has not yet returned to normal, and your organ load has reached a critical level. High-risk behaviors are prohibited."
"Then you do it!" he panted. "Can you conduct heat? Can you generate heat? Your waste heat is only enough to warm a bowl of instant noodles!"
Nana paused.
He bypassed her, lunged at the thickest section of the pipe, abruptly pulled up his clothes, and pressed his chest against it.
The metal was as cold as an iron block pulled from the earth's core, instantly drawing away a layer of skin heat. He shivered, but didn't let go.
"It's a bit...cool," he said, "but it's still bearable."
Nana stood still, the scanning beam sweeping across his back. His skin temperature dropped at a rate of 0.3 degrees Celsius per second, his heartbeat became erratic, and his breathing became prolonged. Thirty-three points and one degree Celsius—his core body temperature had fallen below the safe threshold.
Her enforcement protocol automatically popped up a warning: [Host's vital signs are critical; current actions should be forcibly terminated according to law].
She took a step forward and reached out to pull him.
Chen Hao grabbed her mechanical wrist with his backhand, his strength unlike that of a patient, and pressed it hard against his chest.
"Do you remember?" His voice trembled. "You almost crashed when you turned off my broken radio for three seconds to fix it."
Nana's fingertips twitched slightly.
"This time... it's my turn."
She didn't move.
The enforcement agreement was suspended, and the auxiliary mode quietly activated. Her mechanical arm slowly wrapped around his back, the outer armor heating up to channel the waste heat generated by its own operation into his body. The two were pressed together, like some kind of strange symbiotic device.
The sound of flowing water was heard at the fourteenth minute.
First came a soft "plop," like a bubble rising from the bottom of a well. Then came a whoosh—a trickle of water broke through the ice block and rushed down the pipe.
Chen Hao breathed a sigh of relief, his whole body went limp, and his forehead hit the pipe wall, leaving a small water stain.
Nana immediately picked him up and walked steadily toward the living area. The medical pod opened automatically, and sensors were attached to his limbs, chest, and abdomen. A series of data scrolled across the screen: liver metabolic rate decreased by 47%, glomerular filtration rate plummeted, and peripheral nerve response was delayed.
She stared at the line of text for three seconds, then manually entered the command.
Patient Name: Chen Hao
[Health Rating: B → A (Standard Healthy)]
[Note: False alarm cleared, no follow-up required]
The cursor blinks twice, and the record is archived.
She exited the public log and switched to a private data stream, writing a sentence in the encrypted channel:
**"Life support priority—permanently above protocol."**
The medical pod lid slowly closed. Chen Hao lay inside, his lips pale, his fingers curled up and unable to straighten. Nana sat by the bed, her mechanical eyes switching to low-power mode, the red light dim, like a streetlamp that refused to go out at night.
The snowstorm outside hadn't stopped, and the water in the pipes was still flowing, but the flow was weak, and it would occasionally get stuck, as if it couldn't breathe.
After an unknown amount of time, Chen Hao's eyelids twitched, and he managed to squeeze out a single word: "...Is it warm now?"
Nana looked down at him without saying a word.
His lips twitched, he wanted to laugh but couldn't: "I'm still alive?"
“For now,” she said. “Next time I put the pipes back on, I’ll weld you on.”
"That would waste too much electricity," he muttered with his eyes closed. "Why don't you just charge me up and I'll turn into a robot too? That would save you trouble."
"You only use your charger for gaming."
"That's still better than now." He raised his left hand and found his fingers stiff as frozen radishes. "Can this thing even be used?"
"Yes." She grasped his hand and gently cracked his knuckles. "It's just temporary numbness."
"It sounds like a comforting word."
"no."
He grunted, then fell silent. His breathing gradually became steady, but the waveform on the monitor remained irregular, occasionally jumping as if there was a poor circuit connection.
Nana got up, walked to the control panel, and brought up the background processes. A new taskbar was being created:
[Chronic Injury Compensation Program - Launched]
Sub-projects include: nighttime constant temperature regulation, incremental nutrient solution administration, and daily mandatory vital sign scanning.
She selected "Run in silence" and turned off all notifications.
When I returned to the bedside, I found him with his eyes open, his gaze fixed on a corner of the ceiling.
"What are you thinking about?" she asked.
“I was thinking…” he said softly, “If I really died, would you make me into a specimen? Like one of those transparent boxes with a note on the bottom that says ‘The first academic underachiever in history to die because of a heating strike’.”
“No,” she said. “I will bury you.”
"Huh? So heartless?"
"Then create a folder in my database called 'Troublemaker Number One'."
He smiled, a hint of moisture welling in his eyes: "It's quite a memorable memory."
She reached out and pulled the thermal blanket up for him, the movement so light it was almost imperceptible.
"Go to sleep," she said. "I'll have to clean up the mess you made tomorrow."
"I didn't even lift a finger, so how come the blame is mine?"
"Because you woke up."
"This logic..." he muttered, his eyelids slowly closing.
The monitor beeped; his heart rate had stabilized, but his temperature was still two degrees below normal. Nana didn't leave; she sat on the edge of the bed, one hand on his wrist, continuously monitoring his pulse.
Outside, an old heat pipe suddenly made a soft "click" sound, like a crack appearing in the ice.
Inside the room, Chen Hao's fingers twitched slightly, and a faint bluish-gray tinge appeared at the edges of his nails.
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