The World Ends In 27 Days

"Eighty-three percent for the central overstatement. Seventy-nine percent for underreporting in the eastern districts."

"Explain the discrepancy," he demanded, and Zhiyi did.

While she spoke, Hanchuan picked up the earlier pages and read them. His eyes moved from the original figures to each condition added in a different color of ink.

The second man returned the phone to Gao.

"He doesn’t like your allocation."

"That doesn’t alter the network, nor does that make me wrong."

"I told him that."

By then, everyone in the conference room had stopped pretending not to listen.

Zhiyi divided the reserve among four centers. Water moved closer to districts without independent sources. Medicine was separated by use rather than treated as a single category. Food remained farther away because most of it could survive a longer delay. The heaviest vehicles were removed from the bridge route before the centers failed instead of after traffic had already been redirected.

Fifty-six minutes after the call began, she gave Gao the completed allocation.

He read every figure back to her.

"Yes," Zhiyi said when he finished. "That distribution maintains the minimum supply level for forty-five districts. The remaining two require air or rail access if the eastern center fails before the advance stock reaches them."

"We didn’t include air or rail."

"They remain necessary."

"All right. I’ll pass it upstairs."

The network closed and Zhiyi finally put down her pen.

"I’ll call when I have another question," Gao said before he, too, hung up the phone.

For several seconds, Zhiyi continued looking at the pages. Nothing remained unresolved. Every district had either a supply route or a defined condition under which one must be created.

It was only when Zhiyi was satisfied that the question had been completed did the rest of the office return and she looked up.

Hanchuan was watching her.

"You never told me you worked for the government," he said. "Or is that a private company?"

Zhiyi shook her head.

"Not private. Recruiter Gao works for the Department of National Development and Strategic Planning."

Zeyu turned his chair around completely.

"That was a recruiter?" he asked, cocking his head to the side.

"Yes," she replied with a nod. "He’s trying to recruit me."

Hanchuan’s hand covered hers before she could close the notebook. "For which position?"

"They haven’t determined that. The department has several agencies requiring different forms of analysis."

"How long has he been calling?"

"Eight months."

"And every call begins like that?"

"Yes."

Hanchuan looked at the three completed pages. "How many questions have they given you?"

"I haven’t counted," Zhiyi replied, taking another sip of water from the bottle Hanchuan had handed over to her.

"Estimate."

"Between seventy and eighty."

Shichen slowly set down the plans he had been holding.

"Were they all government problems?" he asked.

"They remove identifying information."

"That wasn’t what he asked," Hanchuan said.

Zhiyi corrected her answer. "They were probably active problems. Some included information obtained while I was working."

"Like the papers they kept carrying to his desk," Jingwei said.

"Yes."

"How long was the longest call?" Hanchuan asked.

"Nineteen hours."

Qinghe straightened. "Without stopping?" he demanded, his eyes going wide.

"The question wasn’t complete," she replied with yet another shrug. It wasn’t that big of a deal.

Hanchuan’s thumb stopped against the back of her hand. "Do they pay you?"

"No."

"Nothing?"

"I’m not technically an employee." Zhiyi looked at him. "Why would they pay me?"

No one answered immediately, but Zeyu’s disbelief was the easiest reaction to identify.

Shichen’s expression had closed. Jingwei was already reaching for his tablet, although no one had given him an instruction.

Hanchuan became completely still. "What did they tell you these questions were for?"

"They said that once I find one I can’t answer, they’ll better understand where to place me after I graduate."

"They needed seventy questions to do that?"

"They haven’t identified my upper limit."

Zeyu let out a scoff as he leaned back where he was sitting. "Trust me, Professor, they stopped looking for it months ago."

Zhiyi looked at the other man. "I’m not a professor," she replied, completely seriously.

Zeyu looked at her for a moment, his eyes wide with surprise before he shook his head and went back to going over the schematics in front of him.

She turned her attention back to Hanchuan and continued their conversation. "They remove the names," Zhiyi said. "The restricted information isn’t disclosed."

"That protects them. It doesn’t compensate you."

"The problems still require answers."

"Yes. Answers they would normally pay trained analysts to produce."

The recruiter never asked whether she had time before giving her a question. He never told her how many additional conditions might arrive. The question came first. By the time its size became apparent, it already existed.

Hanchuan had listened to the entire process.

"They aren’t evaluating you," he said. "They found a way to keep you working without hiring you."

Zhiyi examined the statement.

The original purpose of the calls had been to locate the boundary of her ability. Seventy completed questions without a failed answer should have been enough to change the assessment method.

It hadn’t changed.

"They may still withdraw the recruitment offer if I require payment."

"In twenty-six days, there won’t be a department left to recruit you."

Zhiyi froze.

She had continued accounting for university, graduation and future employment despite knowing none of them extended beyond the first heat.

The error was obvious once Hanchuan identified it.

She nodded.

"The next question comes with a consulting contract," he said.

"They haven’t offered one."

"I’m not waiting for them to offer."

He looked across the table.

"Jingwei, I need Gao’s full name, position and office. Shichen, identify who approves external consulting agreements for that department."

Both men moved immediately, but still, Qinghe didn’t move. "You’re deciding this for her too?" he asked. His voice was quiet, but it stopped the room completely.

Hanchuan met his gaze. "I’m handling the contract."

"You decided she needs one. You decided what happens with the previous work. Now you’re deciding who can contact her."

"Hanchuan handles contracts," Zhiyi said, blinking in confusion.

Qinghe looked at her. "Did you ask him to?"

The question opened beneath her and sent her into a tailspin.

Had she asked in this life? Had their arrangement survived death without requiring renewal? Did accepting his decisions constitute a request? Was Qinghe asking about this contract or every contract that would follow?

The possibilities continued to multiply.

Hanchuan closed his hand around hers. "Don’t answer," he said, his voice firm and commanding.

Qinghe’s expression hardened.

To him, the interruption just provided its own answer.

Hanchuan took out his phone and called his legal department. "Prepare a consulting agreement for Qiao Zhiyi. Government client. Mathematical analysis, risk modelling and strategic planning. Each question is billed separately. Every additional condition introduced after work begins creates a new charge."

He listened, then added, "Defined working periods. Mandatory breaks. A stopping point established before she begins."

Qinghe stared at him.

Every condition sounded like another restriction. Another part of Zhiyi’s life Hanchuan intended to control.

His mouth tightened, but he didn’t challenge him again.

Not yet.

"They may classify several required outputs as one question," Zhiyi pointed out.

Hanchuan placed the call on hold. "Define one."

"A question is any request requiring a distinct calculation, model, conclusion or revision."

He repeated her definition into the phone.

When the call ended, Hanchuan closed her notebook and placed his hand over it.

"The draft will be ready tonight."

"The department hasn’t agreed to use it."

"They will."

Zhiyi waited for the defined conclusion.

"They will probably call again before they finished using your last answer," he said. "They aren’t going to stop asking."

There would be another question.

There was always another question.

The moment her Recruiter understood how Zhiyi’s mind worked, he would continued to make sure that she kept answering questions.

But this time, Hanchuan would make them pay for it.

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