My childhood friend is in her mature, sophisticated form again today. - Chapter 25

Lin Jiqiu leaned closer to look. In the photo, there was indeed a string of characters engraved on the inside of the door frame—not numbers, but a combination of letters and symbols. She squinted at it for a few seconds. “XK-07.” “XK might be a code name. 07 is a number.” “So there are at least six more rooms like this.”

Lin Jiqiu leaned back on the sofa, staring at the ceiling. The sea breeze blew in through the cracks in the window, carrying a salty, fishy smell. She closed her eyes, her mind filled with the image of that room—twenty square meters, a table, chairs, shelves, an observation window. And a woman curled up in the corner, her long hair floating in the water.

“I need to go into that room tomorrow when we go underwater,” she said. Cheng Ran’s finger paused on the tablet. “There might be other clues inside.” “For example?” “For example, the space behind the observation window. The room has an observation window, which means there’s another room on the other side. Or a passageway.”

Lin Jiqiu opened his eyes and looked at Cheng Ran. “You mean, someone is watching Fang Lin from behind that observation window?” “There might be a camera. There might be someone.” His voice was calm, but Lin Jiqiu noticed his hand—his fingers, resting on the edge of the tablet, tightened slightly.

“Are you worried I’ll run into that person?” “I’m making preparations.”

Lin Jiqiu didn’t expose him. She stood up and walked to the window. Outside was the sea, deep blue, the evening light turning its surface a dark gold. The distant lighthouse began to flash, once, then again, at regular intervals.

“Chengran.” “Hmm.” “If there’s someone behind the observation window, that person might still be there.”

“So you need to confirm. Not just the room, but also the space behind the observation window.”

Lin Jiqiu turned and looked at him. “Wait for me on the boat.” “Okay.” He didn’t hesitate, nor did he say, “I’ll go down with you.” He knew he couldn’t. Forty meters underwater, his senses could cover it, but his body couldn’t. He wasn’t Lin Jiqiu; he couldn’t shapeshift, he couldn’t breathe underwater. Going would only be a burden.

“That new communicator of yours,” Lin Jiqiu sat down next to him, “can it work at a depth of forty meters underwater?” “Theoretically, yes.” “In practice?” “I haven’t tried it.” “Try it tomorrow.”

Cheng Ran looked at her, a barely perceptible smile playing on his lips. “Okay.”

The next morning, Lin Jiqiu woke up before sunrise. She drew back the curtains; the sea was still a grayish-blue, the lighthouse’s flash had stopped, and a sliver of orange-red light was spreading across the horizon. She put on her waterproof suit, fastened the “Yin” strap, and secured it. Inside her backpack were a flashlight, a folding knife, the USB drive Cheng Ran had given her, and a matching device Sun Yuanxin had made. She checked everything, zipped up the bag, and went downstairs.

Cheng Ran was already in the lobby. A Zuo stood at the door, holding two cups of coffee. “The proprietress just brewed them, while they’re hot.” Lin Jiqiu took the coffee and took a sip. It was a dark roast, low in acidity and strong in bitterness. She was starting to get used to Cheng Ran’s coffee.

The three of them left the hotel. The sea breeze was stronger than yesterday, making the roadside signs rattle. A-Zuo drove to the pier, where Sun Yuan was already on the boat. He hadn’t brought any gear today, only an old sports jacket, and his face was a little pale. “Fang Lin was transferred to a hospital in the city last night.” “Does her family know?” “They’ve been notified. Her parents are coming from out of town today.”

Lin Jiqiu nodded and boarded the boat. Sun Yuan started the engine and sailed away from the dock. The waves were bigger than yesterday, and the boat rocked violently. Lin Jiqiu held onto the gunwale, looking at the white buoy in the distance. It bobbed up and down in the waves, its rope taut and slack in the water.

“We’re here.” Sun Yuan turned off the engine. Lin Jiqiu stood up and took off her coat. “Communication test.” “Clear.” Cheng Ran’s voice came through the earpiece. “Can your ‘Yang’ receive my signal?” She looked down at the ball on her wrist. “Yes. Vibration normal.” “Then I’ll get off.”

She jumped.

The water was cooler than yesterday. She submerged herself, the light shining down from above dimmer than yesterday—the clouds were thicker. She paused in the water for a few seconds, letting her eyes adjust to the dim light, then allowed her powers to flow. Her skin became slippery, her gills opened, and webbed feet grew. She descended along the rope.

Ten meters. Fifteen meters. Cave entrance. She shone her flashlight on the cave wall—the smooth area was still there, no new seaweed. She swam in. Twenty meters. Twenty-five meters. Tunnel. The beam of her flashlight swept ahead; the rock on the cave wall was as smooth as a mirror. Thirty meters. The door.

Lin Jiqiu stopped in front of the door. It was closed—she’d taken it with her when she left last time. She took the matching device out of her backpack, pushed it into the slot, and twisted it a few times. Click. The door opened. Bubbles welled up from the crack, gurgling upwards. She waited for the bubbles to dissipate, then pulled open the door and swam inside.

The passageway. Just like yesterday. Twenty meters long, arched, with smooth walls. She swam to the end and stopped in front of the transparent door. The room was empty. Fang Lin was gone, but the furnishings remained the same—tables, chairs, shelves. There was a mark on the wall, left by Fang Lin when she curled up.

She turned the doorknob and swam in.

The water inside was a bit murky than outside. She shone her flashlight around—the table was metal, fixed to a base, and covered with a thin layer of sediment. The chairs were the same, fixed in place. The shelves were empty, completely bare.

Lin Jiqiu walked to the observation window. From the inside, the window was just a pane of dark glass, like a black mirror. She knocked on it; the glass was thick, and the sound was muffled. She pressed her face against the glass and shone her flashlight inside. She couldn’t see inside. Just as Fang Lin had described—you could see in from the outside, but you couldn’t see out from the inside.

She stepped back and took a picture with her phone. The frame of the observation window was also metal, secured firmly with screws at the four corners. She tried to tighten the screws—they wouldn’t budge; they were rusted shut.

“Cheng Ran.” “Yes. Received. The image is a bit blurry, but I can see it.” “There should be space behind the observation window. I need to find the entrance.”

She swam to the wall next to the observation window and examined it carefully with her flashlight. The wall was made of rough concrete and had no seaweed clinging to it. She felt her way along the wall inch by inch. About a meter to the right of the observation window, she felt a crack. It was very thin, almost invisible. She shone her flashlight on it—it was a door crack.

A door. Embedded in the wall, made of the same material as the wall. You can’t tell it’s there unless you touch it.

Lin Jiqiu felt around along the edge of the door crack and found the doorknob—a recessed handle filled with sediment. She pried the sediment away and pulled hard. The door didn’t budge. She pulled again, still no movement. Locked.

“Chengran, there’s a door next to the observation window. It’s locked.” “Can we open it from our side?” “I don’t know. The keyhole is on the inside.” “Then we can only open it from the other side.” Lin Jiqiu was silent for a few seconds. “The observation room is probably behind that door.”

“You can’t get in. Come back first.”

Lin Jiqiu stared at the door. Locked. What was behind it? No one could answer. She swam back to the center of the room, scanning the room one last time. The shelves—empty. The table—empty. The corner—empty. She turned and swam towards the exit. As she passed the observation window, she stopped, pressing her face against the glass. She couldn’t see anything. But she felt an inexplicable sense of unease—the feeling of being watched. Not Cheng Ran’s “I’m sensing you” gaze, but something else entirely. Strange, cold. She shook her head and swam away.

They returned along the passage, passed through the metal door, and entered the tunnel. They surfaced. The light grew brighter. When she broke the surface, Cheng Ran was already at the ship’s side. He reached out and pulled her aboard.

“What’s wrong? Your heart rate just spiked.” “Observation window. I feel like someone’s watching me.”

Cheng Ran’s expression didn’t change, but his fingers tightened slightly. “Is someone inside?” “Not sure. It’s just… a feeling.”

Sun Yuan, listening nearby, turned pale again. “There might be someone behind that door?” Lin Jiqiu took out his phone from his backpack and showed a photo he’d taken. “There’s a door next to the observation window, locked. We can’t open it from this direction,” Cheng Ran said, looking at the photo. “We need to open it from the other side.” He zoomed in on the photo, examining the details of the observation window frame. “This room isn’t isolated. It’s connected to another space.”

“So Fang Lin wasn’t locked up there alone.” “Maybe.”

Lin Jiqiu took off his soaking wet waterproof suit and put on Cheng Ran’s coat. “I need to know what’s behind that door.”

“You can’t get in.”

“Someone can get in.”

The two exchanged a glance. Cheng Ran spoke first: “Rust Bone.”

“If that room was Rustbone’s stronghold, there should be traces of their activity behind the door.” Lin Jiqiu looked at the sea. “They knew about the door under the buoy. Fang Lin was imprisoned there, which means they knew that place had been discovered. But they didn’t move it or destroy the evidence. Why?”

“Because they don’t think anyone can find it.”

“But we found it.”

“So they will come.”

Lin Jiqiu’s fingers tightened slightly on the gunwale. “When?” “Not sure. If news of Fang Lin’s rescue gets out, they probably already know.”

Sun Yuan interjected, “I only told the director about Fang Lin’s situation. He said it was an accidental drowning, and she was rescued by a passing fishing boat.” “He doesn’t know you called us?” “No.”

Lin Jiqiu and Cheng Ran exchanged a glance. Wang Jianguo, the director of the research institute. The one who approved the solo deep-sea dive.

“A-Zuo,” Lin Jiqiu said into the earpiece. “Yes.” “Check Wang Jianguo’s background. Is he connected to the Mirror Society or the Rusty Bone Society?” “Roger.”

The ship turned around and headed towards the dock. The wind and waves on the sea grew stronger, and the ship rocked violently. Lin Jiqiu leaned against the gunwale, her eyes closed. Her mind was filled with that observation window. It was black; she couldn’t see anything. But she knew what was behind it.

Back at the hotel, Lin Jiqiu took a hot shower. The water was scalding, causing a slight stinging sensation on her skin. She closed her eyes, letting the hot water pour over her head and flow down her body. The ball on her wrist, warmed by the hot water, vibrated gently.

“Cheng Ran.” “Yes.” “Do you think there’s someone behind the observation window?”

Cheng Ran was silent for a few seconds. “I’m not sure. Your intuition might not be accurate. Underwater conditions—pressure, temperature, and light—can all affect perception.” “My intuition is always accurate.” “This time might not be.” “Why?” “Because you just saved Fang Lin. You’re nervous.”

Lin Jiqiu opened her eyes. Water streamed down her face, getting into her eyes and stinging slightly. “I’m not nervous.” “Your heart rate—” “Don’t monitor my heart rate.”

Cheng Ran fell silent.

Lin Jiqiu turned off the tap, dried herself, and changed into clean clothes. She lay down on the bed and stared at the ceiling. Outside the window, the sound of the waves was still there, and the wind was stronger than last night, causing the windowpane to tremble slightly.

“Chengran.” “Hmm.” “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled at you.” “You didn’t yell. You just raised your voice a little.”

Lin Jiqiu’s lips curved slightly. “What was my heart rate just now?” “You told me not to monitor it.” “You can monitor it now.” “Seventy-two. Normal.”

She closed her eyes and pulled the blanket over herself. “I’m going to bed early tonight.” “Okay.” “You too.” “Okay.”

The headphones went silent. The ball on my wrist vibrated slightly, then slowly subsided.