My childhood friend is in her mature, sophisticated form again today. - Chapter 32

“Boss! You’re back!”

“I came back to get some things.”

Ayou picked up the rag and looked her up and down. “You’ve lost weight. Didn’t you eat well by the sea?”

“good.”

“A-Zuo said you only eat one meal a day.”

Lin Jiqiu glanced at A Zuo. A Zuo was organizing files behind the counter, not looking up, but a guilty smile played on his lips. A You sighed and turned to go into the kitchen. “I’ll make you a bowl of noodles. Don’t say you don’t want it.”

Lin Jiqiu didn’t say she wouldn’t eat. She changed her shoes and sat down on the sofa. Ahua jumped down from the windowsill, rubbed against her leg, and then jumped onto the sofa and curled up next to her. Amo crawled out from the corner and squatted at her feet, while Aju peeked out from the kitchen and then shrank back inside.

Ah You came out carrying a bowl of noodles and placed it on the coffee table. The noodles were of uniform thickness, the broth was clear, the scallions were neatly sprinkled, and a poached egg rested on top. Lin Jiqiu picked up her chopsticks and took a bite. “Delicious.” Ah You’s eyes lit up, but without asking any further questions, she turned back to continue wiping the counter.

Cheng Ran came downstairs with a tablet in his hand and sat down opposite Lin Jiqiu. “I checked Lin Xiao’s background. He worked at the National Institute of Oceanology for twenty years and disappeared three years ago. But there is a gap in his resume—from 1998 to 2000, there are no records of these two years, no work unit, no address, nothing can be found.”

“It might be a classified project.”

“Maybe.” Cheng Ran turned the tablet around for her to see. “I asked Sun Yuan, and he said that the marine system does have some classified projects, but the files wouldn’t be completely blank. There would at least be a code name, or a vague name like ‘a certain unit.’ Lin Xiao’s resume skips those two years, as if it was deliberately deleted.”

Lin Jiqiu put down her chopsticks and looked at Lin Xiao’s resume on the screen. Date of birth, place of origin, education, work experience. The period from 1998 to 2000 was blank. “What’s your guess?”

“He may have been involved in a sensitive project during those two years, which was later terminated or shelved. The participants signed confidentiality agreements and were not allowed to disclose any information.”

“Is it related to the Mirror Society?”

“Not sure. But the timing is very close—stargazers started expanding around that time.” Cheng Ran paused. “It might also be related to his arrest. He saw something he shouldn’t have seen and was imprisoned for three years. Maybe it’s not a coincidence. He’d been under surveillance for a while, but that time he finally found an excuse.”

Lin Jiqiu was silent for a few seconds. “Are you saying that he did something during those two years that made the Mirror Society target him?”

“Perhaps. Perhaps he himself doesn’t even know.”

The noodles had gone cold. Lin Jiqiu pushed the bowl aside and leaned back on the sofa. “Chengran, you told me all this not just because of Lin Xiao.”

Cheng Ran’s finger paused on the tablet. “I’m talking about myself.”

Lin Jiqiu looked at him.

“During my time at Stargazer, I participated in some projects. It wasn’t something I wanted to do; I was required to. At the time, I thought it was just technical research, developing algorithms and optimizing systems. Later, I found out what those systems were actually being used for.” His voice was low. A-You’s movements as he wiped the counter slowed, and A-Zuo’s hands paused as he flipped through the files. “You regret it?” “Yes, I regret it. But regret is useless. All I can do is—”

“Make amends,” Lin Jiqiu continued.

Cheng Ran looked at her. “Make amends.”

The room was quiet for a few seconds. Ah You came over with two cups of tea, gently placed them on the coffee table, and turned to go back to the kitchen.

Lin Jiqiu picked up her teacup and took a sip. “I’ll ask Lin Xiao about it. But not now. He’s still recovering, and I don’t want to pressure him.” She put down her teacup and stood up. “Is your new communicator finished?” “Just one last step. The signal environment of the underwater facility is too complex, and the walkie-talkie’s anti-interference capability isn’t strong enough. I changed the plan, using the ‘yin-yang’ resonant frequency band as the carrier.” “Will it work?” “Theoretically, yes.”

Lin Jiqiu’s lips curved slightly. “Theoretically, it’s your forte.” “In practice, it is too.”

She didn’t reply, but turned and walked upstairs. She stopped at the top of the stairs. “Cheng Ran. Tomorrow, come with me back to the seaside.” “To see Lin Xiao?” “Not just him. I want to go through that cave in the quarry, the passage that leads in by land, again.” “You suspect there’s another exit?” “Not suspect. I’m sure.” Cheng Ran nodded.

Lin Jiqiu went upstairs. Ayou poked his head out of the kitchen and looked at Cheng Ran. “Brother Cheng, what you just said—the Stargazer, the project, the system—you’re not that kind of person. No matter what you did before, you’re not now.” Cheng Ran lowered his head and swiped his finger across the tablet. “I hope so.” Ayou opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but ultimately didn’t speak and retreated back into the kitchen.

The next day, Lin Jiqiu and Cheng Ran went to the quarry. A Zuo drove; Sun Yuan didn’t come. He had already returned to work at the research institute, saying he didn’t want to be involved in this matter anymore. The car stopped outside the quarry, and Lin Jiqiu and Cheng Ran got out, following the same route they had taken before into the cave. Red brick walls, wooden doors, corridors, numbered rooms. Everything was the same as before, except the air smelled damper. The tide had come in last night, and seawater had flooded in, leaving a thin layer of water stains on the ground.

Lin Jiqiu walked to the passageway that required her to bend over to pass through. The passageway wasn’t long, and the iron gate at the end was closed. She crouched down and shone her flashlight through the crack in the gate; the sounds outside were clearer than before—waves crashing against the rocks, rhythmic, one after another. She stood up and turned to look at Cheng Ran. “The sea should be on the other side of the gate. If the tide is high enough, we can dive out from here.”

“Diving equipment is required.”

“Or there may be gill slits.”

Cheng Ran looked at her. “You want to go out that way?”

“I want to know where it is outside.” Lin Jiqiu handed the flashlight to Cheng Ran and walked to the door. The door didn’t have a dial, only a sensor area, requiring a high-level key card. She tried her LVL-3 card—red light. LVL-2—red light. She took a step back. “It won’t open. A higher level of access is required.”

Cheng Ran took a small scanner out of his backpack and placed it on the sensor area. The scanner’s screen lit up, displaying a string of code. “I’ve seen this type of access control system before. The one the Stargazers use. Theoretically, it can be brute-forced, but it would take time.”

“how long?”

“A few hours.”

Lin Jiqiu thought for a moment. “Let’s go back first. We won’t go in today.”

The two retraced their steps. As they emerged from the cave, the sunlight was so bright it made her squint. A-Zuo was waiting in the car, and started it when he saw them come out. A few minutes into the drive, Lin Jiqiu’s phone vibrated.

It was a call from Sun Yuan.

“Mr. Lin, Lin Xiao wants to see you. He says he has something to say to you.”

Lin Jiqiu’s fingers tightened slightly. “I’ll go this afternoon.”

“Okay. I’ll wait for you at the health center.”

She hung up the phone and looked out the window. Cheng Ran didn’t ask who had called. His senses might have picked up the call, or they might not.

In the afternoon, Lin Jiqiu went to the clinic alone. A Zuo drove, while Cheng Ran stayed at the hotel. When she arrived, Sun Yuan was waiting at the door. He led her through the corridor to Lin Xiao’s ward. Lin Xiao was half-lying on the bed, his complexion much better than a few days ago. The wounds on his legs and wrists had scabbed over, and new skin had grown, pink and tender like a baby’s.

“Sit down.” Lin Xiao pointed to the chair next to the bed.

Lin Jiqiu sat down. Sun Yuan left and closed the door.

Lin Xiao looked at her and remained silent for a long time. Then he spoke. “From 1998 to 2000, I worked at a research institution. I can’t tell you the name of the institution; I signed a confidentiality agreement. But during those two years, I participated in a project—deep-sea exploration. Not ordinary exploration. We were looking for something.”

Lin Jiqiu’s fingers tightened slightly on his knee. “What is that?”

“An underwater facility. Not something we built; it’s been there for a long time. It’s on the seabed, over a thousand meters deep. Our mission is to find it, enter it, and investigate its origins.” Lin Xiao’s voice was low, as if he were speaking of a secret no one should hear. “We found it. We went in. There are things inside—things that shouldn’t exist in this world.”

“What is that?”

“Technology. Energy technology far beyond our understanding. The project team brought those technologies back to study, and then the project was shelved. Everyone signed confidentiality agreements, prohibiting them from mentioning it in any context. Later, people involved in the project started having problems. Some disappeared, some died in accidents, and some went insane.” Lin Xiao looked at her. “Your father was also involved in that project.”

Lin Jiqiu’s breath caught in his throat for a moment.

Lin Xiao pulled a photograph from under his pillow and handed it to her. The photograph was yellowed and worn at the edges. It showed a group of people standing on the deck of a ship, wearing work clothes and helmets. Lin Xiao was standing on the left side of the back row, looking much younger with black hair. In the middle of the front row, a man was smiling at the camera—Lin Jiqiu’s father.

“Your father and I were in the same group. We had a good relationship.” Lin Xiao’s voice was a little hoarse. “After the project was shut down, we went back to our original units and kept in touch occasionally. Then he got into trouble, and I was very sad. Later, when I went out to sea to collect samples, I saw something I shouldn’t have seen and got arrested. I was locked up in that underwater room for three years.”

Lin Jiqiu held the photograph, her fingers trembling slightly. Her father had passed away when she was very young, and her memories of him were only vague outlines—he liked to drink tea, liked to sit by the window reading, and liked to tell her stories before bedtime. His voice was low and gentle. She had never heard of him being involved in any deep-sea exploration projects.

Why are you telling me this?

“Because you need to know.” Lin Xiao looked at her. “Your ability—it’s not something you were born with. It’s a consequence of that project.”

Lin Jiqiu looked up. “What?”

“After the project was sealed off, the head of the research institute contacted several core members privately, including your father. They said they wanted to continue researching those technologies, but it needed to be kept secret. Your father agreed. Later, they used those technologies to conduct human experiments. You were one of the test subjects. No, not one of them—you were the only one.”

The room was eerily quiet.

“Your father regrets it deeply.” Lin Xiao’s voice lowered. “He agreed to the experiment before you were born, unaware of its impact on you. By the time he discovered your abilities had awakened, it was too late. He wanted to stop the experiment, but was refused. Later, his accident may not have been an accident.”

Lin Jiqiu looked at her father’s smiling face in the photo. When she was a child, she thought that smile was very warm, but now it seemed to carry an indescribable bitterness.

“Lin Xiao.”

“Um.”

Why are you telling me all this? Aren’t you afraid of violating the confidentiality agreement?

Lin Xiao looked at her. “I was imprisoned for three years. Those people—whoever they are—wanted me dead. What’s the point of the confidentiality agreement? Besides, you should know the truth.”

Lin Jiqiu stood up and put the photo in her pocket. “Thank you.”

She walked to the door and stopped. “Lin Xiao.”

“Um.”

“You and my father are friends?”

Yes. My best friend.

Lin Jiqiu didn’t turn around, opened the door and walked out. In the corridor, Cheng Ran had arrived at some point and was leaning against the wall. She looked into his eyes and saw the answer.

“You heard everything?”

Cheng Ran didn’t answer. He reached out and grasped her wrist gently, as if afraid of crushing it. His fingers lingered on her pulse for a few seconds before releasing her. “Let’s go.”

The two walked out of the clinic and got into the car. A-Zuo started the car and drove towards the hotel. Lin Jiqiu leaned back in her seat with her eyes closed. Cheng Ran didn’t speak, keeping her eyes fixed on the scenery outside the window.

“Cheng Ran”.

“Um.”

“Do you know about those things? The human experiments conducted by stargazers.”

Cheng Ran’s fingers tightened slightly on the car door armrest. “I know some things. But I didn’t know it was you.”

Lin Jiqiu was silent for a few seconds. “You just grabbed my wrist, were you checking my heart rate?”

“no.”

“What are they doing?”

“I’m sure you’re still here.”

The scenery outside the car window receded, the sea shimmering golden in the sunlight. Lin Jiqiu’s lips curved into a slight smile. “I’m still here.”