The euphoria of the acceptance was a high-bandwidth, transient state. Within 48 hours, it had been efficiently processed and converted into raw fuel for the next, more daunting phase: The Logistics Subroutine.
Shen Qinghe, true to form, had a project plan drafted before the second cup of celebratory tea had gone cold. The document, shared in their collaborative workspace, was titled "Operation: Vienna Synchronization" and broken down into color-coded categories: Legal/Admin (Red), Housing/Location (Blue), Professional Coordination (Green), Personal Logistics (Yellow).
"The primary constraint is the temporal bottleneck," she announced, pointer hovering over a complex Gantt chart on her tablet. "We have 103 days until the fellowship commencement. The Austrian residence permit processing for non-EU research fellows averages 8-12 weeks. This is our critical path. All other tasks are dependencies."
Lin Xiaoyang stared at the chart, a familiar mix of admiration and anxiety settling in. This was no longer a theoretical exercise. This was about passports, visas, lease agreements, and telling his boss he'd be working from another country for three months.
"Step one," Qinghe continued, zooming in on the "Red" section. "We must secure formal invitation letters from the institute for visa purposes. I have already drafted the request email." She sent it. "Step two. You must formally request your unpaid sabbatical/remote work arrangement from Nexus. The probability of success is high, but the negotiation must be framed correctly."
She pulled up another document: "Proposal: Strategic Remote Research Period – Lin Xiaoyang." It outlined how his exposure to cutting-edge interdisciplinary models in Vienna would directly benefit the "Transparent Affective Dashboard" project, complete with hypothetical knowledge transfer milestones and a suggested blog post series for the company website.
"You wrote my proposal for me," Xiaoyang said, a smile tugging at his lips.
"I assembled a persuasive argument based on shared goals and David's observed motivational drivers. You will personalize the delivery."
And so it began. Their evenings and weekends were no longer about speculative code or leisurely walks. They were dedicated "Logistics Sprints." They filled out labyrinthine PDF forms from the Austrian embassy website, hunting for notaries on a Saturday morning. They scanned passports, diplomas, bank statements. They wrote formal letters explaining the nature of their research and their "adequate means of subsistence."
The distributed network, sensing a new kind of chaos, mobilized.
Dramaturge Queen (Yuexi): THE MONTAGE BEGINS! The frantic packing! The bureaucratic nightmares! The triumphant securing of the obscure document! I need visuals! Photos of you two looking stressed in a passport photo booth! This is prime content!
Ning.Y: I have analyzed the Vienna rental market within a 15-minute walk radius of the institute. The price-per-square-meter variance is high. I have filtered listings that meet your stated requirements (natural light, separate workspaces, reliable internet) and compiled a shortlist. Beware of listings using the term "cosy"; it correlates with substandard square footage.
Stargazer Youyou: Relocating energy is tricky. You must consciously 'pack' the energy of your Oxford home to take with you, so you don't arrive in Vienna feeling spiritually empty. I'm sending instructions for a simple closing ritual for your flat.
Xiaoyang's meeting with David went almost exactly as Qinghe's model predicted. David skimmed the proposal, nodded at the mention of "competitive advantage" and "thought leadership," and agreed to the unpaid leave with continued remote contract status. "Just don't come back speaking German and wanting to overhaul everything with Hegelian dialectics," he joked, signing the approval form.
The housing search was a special kind of torture. They spent hours on video calls with a relentlessly cheerful rental agent named Gerhardt, who showed them virtual tours of apartments that were either stunning but astronomically priced, or affordable but with a "charming" view of a ventilation shaft. They learned to decode listing euphemisms: "historic character" meant drafty windows; "vibrant neighborhood" meant nightclubs nearby.
Finally, they found a place. It was a top-floor apartment in a quiet Altbau in the 8th district, with two small bedrooms that could serve as offices, a decent kitchen, and a clawfoot bathtub that Qinghe's efficiency analysis somehow approved of ("Hydrotherapy has proven stress-reduction benefits"). The rent was at the very top of their budget. They sent a deposit via an international wire transfer that felt like throwing money into a void.
As the paperwork piled up and the to-do list seemed to regenerate like a hydra, the first real friction appeared. It was over something absurd: electrical adapters.
"We need at least four universal adapters with surge protection," Qinghe stated, adding them to a shared shopping list. "And two grounded power strips. Austrian sockets are Type F."
"I was just going to buy a couple at the airport," Xiaoyang muttered, exhausted from a day of wrestling with Austrian insurance forms.
"Airport adapters are overpriced and of unreliable quality. A power surge could damage our equipment. This is a non-negotiable item requiring planned procurement."
Something in him snapped. "Qinghe, for god's sake, it's a plug. Can we not optimize every single atom of this process? Maybe some things can just be… figured out on the ground? Inefficiently?"
The silence on the call was immediate and cold. He saw her face tighten, the shutters coming down.
"The 'figured out on the ground' approach," she said, her voice dangerously calm, "is what leads to wasted capital, lost work time due to equipment failure, and unnecessary stress. We are executing a complex migration. Precision reduces failure points. You are advocating for entropy."
"I'm advocating for not burning out before we even get on the plane!" he shot back. "This isn't a military operation! It's a move! People do it all the time without… without Gantt charts for their power strips!"
"And people experience significant preventable friction 'all the time'," she retorted. "We have the capability to minimize it. Why would we choose not to?" She took a sharp breath, a rare display of frustration. "You are introducing unnecessary risk into the system because you are fatigued. That is illogical."
The word illogical hung between them, an echo of their previous crash. He felt the old defensive anger rise, but beneath it, he knew she was right. He was fatigued. The relentless planning was grating on him. But lashing out at her meticulousness was unfair. It was her meticulousness that had gotten them this far.
He closed his eyes, running a hand over his face. "Fault State Handshake," he said, forcing his voice to level. "I am… at capacity. Logistics fatigue. Bandwidth low. My objection about the adapters is emotional, not strategic. Override it. Proceed with planned procurement."
He heard her let out a slow breath on the other end of the line. The tension seeped out of the digital space.
"Acknowledged," she said, her voice softer. "Your fatigue is logged. My insistence was… tactically correct but delivered without buffer for your state. Adaptation: I will handle the adapter procurement. You are allocated a 'logistics-free' evening. Recommendation: Consume entertainment media of low cognitive demand."
He almost laughed. A prescribed night of dumb television. It was perfect.
"Acknowledged," he said, a real smile returning. "And… thank you."
The crisis passed, leaving behind a valuable lesson: even a joint dream could be ground down by the grit of mundane details. Their protocol had held.
Weeks blurred into a frenetic final month. Suitcases appeared in the corner of the Oxford flat, slowly filling with a mix of clothes, books, and cables. They submitted their visa applications in person at the consulate, standing in a sterile queue for hours. They arranged for mail forwarding, suspended their Oxford gym memberships, and paid bills in advance.
The night before their flight, the flat was echoey and bare, their lives packed into four suitcases and two carry-ons. They performed Tang Youyou's "closing ritual," which basically involved walking through each room together, quietly thanking the space for its shelter. It felt less mystical and more surprisingly poignant.
Standing in the empty living room, Qinghe looked around, her usual analytical gaze now tinged with something else. Sentimentality, perhaps.
"This node provided high stability during a period of significant system adaptation," she said quietly.
"It was a good home," Xiaoyang agreed, slipping his hand into hers.
They took a taxi to the airport in the pre-dawn gloom, silent, wrapped in their own thoughts. Check-in was a smooth, automated blur. As they waited at the gate, the reality finally hit him. The planning was over. The doing was about to begin.
He looked at Qinghe, sitting upright beside him, reviewing their digital boarding passes for the third time. She was his co-conspirator, his debugger, his project manager, and the quiet, brilliant center of his shifting world. They had just navigated one of life's most stressful processes—an international relocation—not just as a couple, but as a team. A team that fought about power strips and then immediately apologized via protocol.
A wave of pure, un-optimized affection washed over him.
"Qinghe."
She looked up.
"Whatever happens in Vienna…the logistics subroutine was a success. We did this. Together."
For a moment, she just looked at him, and he saw the weariness of the last few months in her eyes, but also a fierce, bright pride. She didn't smile. She simply gave a single, firm nod, her hand finding his and squeezing tightly.
"The system," she said, her voice clear and sure over the airport din, "is ready for the next environment."
The call for their flight echoed through the terminal. They stood up, gathered their meticulously packed carry-ons, and walked towards the gate, side by side, leaving one distributed system behind and stepping into the heart of a new one, ready to be built.