My childhood friend is in her mature, sophisticated form again today. - Chapter 29

She rolled out of bed and took a hot shower. The water was scalding, stinging her skin slightly. She closed her eyes, letting the hot water pour over her head and down her neck. Beneath the skin on either side of her neck, her gills tingled slightly, as if her body was telling her—she would need them today. She turned off the water, dried herself, and changed into her waterproof suit. Dark, form-fitting, and easy to move in. She fastened the “Yin” strap to her wrist, then took the folding knife from her backpack, weighed it in her hand, and clipped it to her belt. She didn’t use the knife often, but she might need it today.

Go downstairs. Cheng Ran was already in the lobby. He was wearing a black diving suit—not the kind of form-fitting waterproof suit Lin Jiqiu wore, but a real diving suit, made of neoprene, thick and insulated, with a small oxygen tank hanging from his waist. Beside him was a mask, a pair of fins, and a weight belt. He didn’t look like someone going into battle, more like a tourist going on an underwater sightseeing tour. But Lin Jiqiu knew he wouldn’t just be sightseeing.

“A-Zuo went to prepare the boat.” Cheng Ran handed her a cup of coffee. “Sun Yuan isn’t going.”

“Why?”

“He said he was scared. He’s been shaking ever since those two men in black diving suits appeared on the surveillance footage yesterday. I let him stay on shore.”

Lin Jiqiu took a sip of coffee; it was a dark roast, low in acidity and strong in bitterness. She was used to it. “That’s fine. One less person means one less risk.”

The two drank coffee and left the hotel. Dawn was breaking, and the sea shimmered with a pale golden light. A-Zuo’s car was parked at the entrance; they got in and drove towards the pier. Neither spoke a word the entire way.

Upon arriving at the dock, A-Zuo parked the car. Lin Jiqiu and Cheng Ran got out. Sun Yuan wasn’t there; the boat was moored at the dock, gently rocking with the waves. A-Zuo checked the outboard motor, then gestured for them to board. “I’ll wait for you on the boat. Call me anytime if you need anything.”

Lin Jiqiu nodded and boarded the boat. Cheng Ran followed behind her, his movements somewhat clumsy—the wetsuit was too thick, making it difficult to bend over or kneel. He sat on the gunwale and began putting on his flippers, struggling quite a bit to get them on. Lin Jiqiu watched him, a slight smile curving her lips.

“What are you laughing at?” Cheng Ran asked without looking up.

“I’m laughing at the way you wear flippers.”

“You weren’t much better when you first wore it.”

“I won’t wear it.”

“……Too.”

Ah Zuo started the engine, and the boat slowly moved away from the dock. The sea was really calm; it was the third day after the storm, the sky had cleared, and the visibility was the best it had been in days. A white buoy was not far ahead, bobbing up and down with the waves. Ah Zuo turned off the engine, and the boat drifted to the buoy.

Lin Jiqiu stood up, put on her waterproof backpack, and checked it over. It contained a flashlight, a folding knife, a USB drive, lock picking tools, LVL-2 and LVL-3 key cards, and an underwater walkie-talkie. Then she looked at Cheng Ran. “Are you ready?”

Cheng Ran put on the mask, bit down on the respirator, and tested the airflow. The oxygen cylinder hissed, and the mask filled with gas. He nodded.

“After you go down, follow me and don’t stray too far. How long will your oxygen tank last?”

“Forty minutes.”

“That’s enough.”

Lin Jiqiu jumped in. Cheng Ran followed behind, splashing a large amount of water as he entered.

It was quiet underwater. Light shone down from above, creating countless tiny beams of light in the seawater. Lin Jiqiu floated in the water, waiting for Cheng Ran. He adjusted his buoyancy, kicked his fins, and swam over, his movements neither skillful nor clumsy—he had learned to scuba dive, probably a long time ago. Lin Jiqiu pointed towards the rope, then swam over, grabbed it, and began to descend. Cheng Ran followed behind, one hand holding the rope, the other gripping the oxygen tank.

Ten meters. The water pressure increased, and Cheng Ran’s eardrums needed to equalize the pressure. He paused, pinched his nose, and exhaled, then continued descending. Fifteen meters. Cave entrance. Lin Jiqiu stopped at the cave entrance, shining her flashlight on the cave wall. The smooth area was still there. She turned to look at Cheng Ran, who nodded, indicating he was fine. She swam in.

Twenty meters. Twenty-five meters. Thirty meters. The tunnel. Cheng Ran’s flashlight shone in the water, the beam sweeping across the smooth tunnel walls and reflecting a pale light. He followed closely behind Lin Jiqiu, so close that Lin Jiqiu could hear the gurgling of bubbles in his breathing apparatus.

The metal door. Lin Jiqiu stopped in front of the door, took out a matching device from her backpack, pushed it into the slot, and turned it three times. Click, click, click. The door opened. Bubbles rushed out, obscuring Cheng Ran’s view, and she pushed them aside with her hand. She opened the door and swam inside.

The passageway was twenty meters long. Cheng Ran was behind, kicking his flippers, moving slowly but steadily. Lin Jiqiu slowed down to wait for him.

A transparent door. The room Fang Lin had been in. Lin Jiqiu turned the doorknob and swam in, Cheng Ran following behind. She paused in front of the observation window, shining her flashlight on the black glass. She couldn’t see the monitoring room today—the lights were off. She swam to the door to the right of the observation window; it was open—she hadn’t closed it after opening it last time. She swam in, and Cheng Ran followed.

The monitoring room. Pillars, buttons, dashboards, screens. Cheng Ran swept the area around with his flashlight, examining every detail. He stopped in front of the label on the side of the pillar—”Mirror.” He touched the label, then took out his waterproof camera and snapped a picture.

Lin Jiqiu pointed to the ventilation opening in the ceiling. Cheng Ran looked up and nodded. She swam up, pushed aside the mesh, and stuck her head into the shaft. Then she pulled back in, gestured for Cheng Ran to “follow,” and swam up first.

The shaft was narrow. Lin Jiqiu climbed ahead, Cheng Ran followed behind, the oxygen tank occasionally hitting the shaft wall with a dull thud. At a bend, she waited for him ahead. When Cheng Ran swam over, his eyes behind his mask glanced at her, his expression focused.

A vertical shaft. An iron cover. Lin Jiqiu pushed it open. Light streamed in. She climbed out, then reached out and pulled Cheng Ran along. He braced himself against the edge of the shaft, clumsily climbed out, and sat on the concrete floor, panting. His mask and respirator were off. He gasped for breath in the dry air.

“Are you alright?” Lin Jiqiu squatted down next to him.

“It’s alright.” Cheng Ran’s voice was a little breathless. “It’s too quiet in the water.”

“Isn’t quiet good?”

“My senses are severely impaired underwater. I can only sense you. Everything else is a blur.”

Lin Jiqiu looked at him. “That’s enough. It’s enough that you can sense me.”

Cheng Ran didn’t answer. He stood up, took the oxygen cylinder from his waist, placed it in the corner, and then looked around the small room. A table, chairs, filing cabinets, an iron door, and the iron cover of the well shaft. Just like yesterday. “What about that floor?” he asked, pointing towards the door.

“Corridor. Numbered rooms. And door C.” Lin Jiqiu walked to the iron door and opened it. The emergency lights in the corridor were still on, casting a dim yellow light on the gray cement walls. Both doors were closed, the numbers on them faintly visible in the shadows—XK-01, XK-02, all the way to XK-10. She walked to the door of XK-07 and looked through the window. Fang Lin’s room was empty. Continuing forward, XK-08, XK-09, XK-10. Door C.

She pushed open the door and went inside. A bed, a table, a chair, a bookshelf. The blueprints on the wall were still there. The chair was empty—Song Yang had been rescued yesterday. Lin Jiqiu walked around the room, checking every corner. There were several books on the bookshelf; she took them down and flipped through them—all professional books—marine geology, geophysical exploration. The pages were curled at the edges, and there were pencil markings in some places. Song Yang was reading when he was locked up here. She put the books back.

“Are there any other doors here?” Cheng Ran asked from the other side of the room. His fingers groped along the wall, finding a crack. It was very thin, almost invisible. He pressed down hard, and the crack transformed into a door—a door, made entirely of the same material as the wall, embedded in it. There was no handle, only a small recess. Lin Jiqiu walked over, took out his key card LVL-3 from his backpack, and swiped it in the recess. The green light came on. The door popped open a crack.

Behind the door was another corridor. Narrower and darker, with only a few emergency lights, some of which were out, leaving large stretches of darkness. The corridor wasn’t numbered, only numbered—1, 2, 3, 4, 5. Each number corresponded to a door, made of sheet metal, closed, with no windows.

Lin Jiqiu walked to door number 1 and knocked. “Is anyone home?” There was no response. She pushed the door; it was locked. Peeking through the crack—it was empty. The bed was neatly made; no one was there. Door number 2, empty. Door number 3, empty. Door number 4—she knocked, and a slight sound came from inside. Someone was there.

“I’m here to rescue you. Can you open the door?” There was no answer from inside. She knocked three more times. “I’m here to rescue you.” After a few seconds, the door opened from the inside. A woman stood in the doorway, terribly thin, with sunken eyes, wearing a gray prison uniform. She looked at Lin Jiqiu, her eyes filled with fear and a certain kind of probing.

“Who are you?”

“Lin Jiqiu. I’ve come to take you out.”

The woman’s lips trembled, and tears fell. “There are others.”

Lin Jiqiu followed her inside. The room wasn’t large, about the same size as Fang Lin’s previous room. Another person was curled up in the corner—a man with long hair and stubble, his age impossible to discern. He looked up, his gaze sweeping over Lin Jiqiu and Cheng Ran, then settling on Lin Jiqiu’s face, his eyes holding an indescribable expression.

“How many people are left?” Lin Jiqiu asked the woman.

“Five. We are number three and four. Number one and two are in another room, number five…”

What happened to number five?

The woman lowered her head. “Number Five… was taken away yesterday.”

“Where to take it?”

“I don’t know. The person in black… they took him out and never came back.”

Lin Jiqiu’s fingers clenched slightly. Yesterday—when they came to inspect the equipment, they took one person with them.

“Are you able to leave?”

The woman nodded. The man also stood up, his legs trembling slightly, but he managed to stand. Lin Jiqiu went over to support him. “Follow me. Don’t make a sound.”

She led the two people out of the room into the hallway. Cheng Ran was already opening the other doors. Door number 1 was pried open, but no one was inside. Door number 2 was also pried open, but no one was inside. Door number 5—Cheng Ran swiped her key card, and the light came on. The door opened. It was empty. The bed was disheveled, the blankets were pulled back, as if someone had just left. There was a pair of slippers on the floor, one here and one there.

“They took away number five,” Lin Jiqiu said in a low voice.

Cheng Ran squatted down, looking at the slippers on the floor. “The person just left. The slippers are still on the floor, which means he was taken away without warning. They might still be in the facility, or they might already be gone.” He stood up and glanced at the end of the corridor. There was a bend there, where the emergency lights couldn’t reach; it was pitch black. “Should we go check it out?”

Lin Jiqiu hesitated for a moment. The two rescued people were waiting behind him and needed to be taken out. There might still be enemies inside the facility. Cheng Ran’s oxygen tank had less than twenty minutes left. But Number Five—if still alive—could not be left here.

“Take them out first,” Cheng Ran said. “What about you?” “I’ll go check. I’ll be right back.” “Are you alone?” “My senses are better here than underwater. I’ve memorized the route.” Lin Jiqiu looked at him, one second, two seconds, three seconds. “Five minutes. Be back within five minutes.” “Okay.” Cheng Ran turned and walked into the darkness at the end of the corridor, his footsteps fading into the distance.

Lin Jiqiu led the two people back. They passed Gate C, the numbered room, the iron gate, and entered a small room. The well shaft. She went down first to catch them. The woman hesitated for a long time before closing her eyes and jumping. Lin Jiqiu caught her and steadied her. The man followed behind, even more afraid of water than the woman. He choked on the water, and Lin Jiqiu covered his mouth and dragged him to the monitoring room. The gill slits opened; there was enough oxygen in the water for three people.

In the monitoring room, she settled the two people next to a pillar, then glanced at her watch. Three minutes. Cheng Ran still hadn’t returned. She swam to the door of the monitoring room and looked towards the corridor. No one was there. She returned to the pillar and waited, her fingers pressing on the ball on her wristband. It was vibrating, at a normal frequency.

Four minutes. Five minutes. Just as she was about to swim back to find him, a flashlight beam appeared in the tunnel. Cheng Ran swam over, holding a person in his hand—wearing a gray prison uniform, skin and bones, eyes closed, the respirator in his mouth belonging to Cheng Ran. He gave his respirator to the person. Lin Jiqiu swam over, supported the person’s head, and pressed her gill slits against his mouth. Oxygen from the water filtered through the gill slits and was fed into his mouth. His eyelids twitched, and his breathing became more even.

Cheng Ran pointed upwards. Lin Jiqiu nodded.

The five of them—Lin Jiqiu, Cheng Ran, the two rescued men, and the unconscious Number Five—floated upwards along the rope. Number Five was supported by Lin Jiqiu, with Cheng Ran holding him from behind. Ten meters, fifteen meters, twenty meters, the light grew brighter and brighter. When they broke the surface, A Zuo was already at the gunwale. He pulled Number Five up, then the other two. Cheng Ran climbed up by himself, and Lin Jiqiu was the last to go.

She lay on the deck, gasping for air. Her gills slowly closed, and her skin regained its original texture. Cheng Ran lay beside her, his mask off, breathing rapidly, but his eyes were open. He looked at the sky and said, “I’m back.” Lin Jiqiu’s lips curved slightly, but she didn’t have the strength to reply.

The ship headed towards the dock. Number Five lay on the deck, eyes closed, but his breathing was returning. The two men, wrapped in blankets, huddled in the cabin, shivering. Cheng Ran sat up, removed his oxygen tank, and glanced at the pressure gauge—zero. He had given the breathing apparatus to Number Five underwater and then swam back, relying on the oxygen filtered through Lin Jiqiu’s gill slits for the last minute. Lin Jiqiu glanced at him, said nothing, took off his soaked waterproof suit, and put on the jacket A Zuo handed him.

“Are there still people down there?” A-Zuo asked.

“Maybe. But we can’t go down any further today. Cheng Ran’s oxygen is gone. And those two discovered Song Yang was missing, and they took one away yesterday, so they might be on alert. Going down any further is too risky.” Lin Jiqiu leaned against the gunwale, looking at the white buoy. It was still there, bobbing up and down in the waves, like a quiet sentinel.

“What about tomorrow?” A-Zuo asked.

“We’ll see how things go tomorrow.”

The ship docked. People were there to meet them—Sun Yuan, and a young man I didn’t recognize, wearing a white coat, who was the town’s doctor. They carried Number Five and two others into the ambulance. Sun Yuan looked at Lin Jiqiu, his lips moving slightly. “How many people…are still down there?”

“I don’t know. There are at least number one and number two. There might be more.”

Sun Yuan’s hands were trembling. He didn’t ask any more questions.

Lin Jiqiu and Cheng Ran got into the car, and A Zuo started it. On the way back to the hotel, neither of them spoke. Cheng Ran’s hair was still wet, water streaming down his neck and soaking a large area of ​​the collar of his wetsuit. Lin Jiqiu took a dry towel from his backpack and handed it to him. He took it, dried his hair, and said nothing.

Upon arriving at the hotel, Lin Jiqiu went to her room first. She took a hot shower, changed into clean clothes, and lay down on the bed. Outside the window, the sound of the waves was louder than in the morning. The wind had picked up again.

She raised her wrist to look at the “yin”. The sphere was quietly seated in the groove of the wristband, without vibration.

“Cheng Ran”.

There was no response from the headphones.

“Cheng Ran?”

“…Yes.” The voice was a little hoarse, as if the speaker didn’t really want to talk.

“How are you?”

“fine.”

“Your oxygen tank is empty.”

“I know.”

“Don’t give your respirator to others next time.”

Cheng Ran was silent for a few seconds. “That person is dying.”

“You will die too.”

No. You’re right here.

Lin Jiqiu didn’t speak. She closed her eyes and pulled the blanket over herself. The ball on her wrist vibrated once, twice, and once more—not a regular vibration, but a kind of indescribable, talking vibration. She didn’t know what it was saying, but she didn’t let go.