My childhood friend is in her mature, sophisticated form again today. - Chapter 72

Around 2 a.m., Cheng Ran took off his headphones and rubbed his eyes. “It’s been decoded. It’s not Morse code, it’s another binary knocking code, simpler than Morse, but similar in principle. It’s probably a communication method used internally by the Heavenly Palace Division.” He turned the tablet around, and a line of text appeared on it—”Someone. Help me. Water full. Lack of oxygen.”

Lin Jiqiu stared at the words, his fingers slowly tightening on his knee. “Someone is at the deep-sea station.”

“At least one. He’s calling for help.”

“The station is full of water. It’s running out of oxygen.” Lin Jiqiu repeated these two sentences. “The deep-sea station may have already been flooded. The people inside are trapped in a sealed chamber, and the oxygen is running out.”

“I wonder how much time he has left.”

Lin Jiqiu was silent for a few seconds. “Can the probe go down again?”

“Yes, it’s possible. But it can’t carry people or rescue equipment. We can only assess the situation.”

“Then I’ll go down.”

Cheng Ran turned to look at him. “One thousand one hundred meters. Do you know how much pressure that is?”

“I know.”

“Your gill slits allow you to breathe, but your body structure has limited capacity to adapt to pressure changes. At that depth, you have to withstand over a hundred kilograms of pressure per square centimeter. If you don’t deform sufficiently, your internal organs will—”

“I know,” Lin Jiqiu interrupted him. “I can gradually adjust my body structure and adapt to the pressure in batches during the descent. It’s not about descending to a thousand meters all at once, but taking it slowly.”

Cheng Ran looked at him, as if judging how much of what he said was true and how much was meant to persuade the other party. “How confident are you?”

“Seventy percent.”

What about the 30%?

Lin Jiqiu didn’t answer. Cheng Ran took off his headphones and placed them on the table, his voice dull and weary. “I can design a counterweight system to allow you to descend at a constant speed, controlling the acceleration you experience within a tolerable range.”

How long will it take to prepare?

“A few hours. It will be ready when it gets light.”

Lin Jiqiu didn’t answer, but he knew Cheng Ran would be ready. He leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes, and listened to the sound of the boat bobbing with the waves. His mind was filled with that cry for help—a series of long and short syllables overlapping into a single line. Someone was alive, waiting for him in the darkness beneath his feet.

Lin Jiqiu awoke just as dawn was breaking. The ship was still in the same spot, a thin mist obscuring the distant horizon into a grayish-white band. Cheng Ran was on deck, inspecting a counterweight system—a system of metal chains and quick-release buckles that could be strapped to the outside of a diving suit to precisely control the speed of ascent and descent. He adjusted the tension of each chain, then tugged on them a few times to confirm they were all engaged in their corresponding buckles.

“This weighted system can stabilize your descent speed at about 15 meters per minute.” Cheng Ran patted the chain. “At this speed, it will take you about 70 minutes to reach a depth of 1,000 meters. Go down slowly and get used to it.”

Lin Jiqiu walked to the ship’s side. The sea was a greyish-blue, with a few gentle waves. The buoy was still floating quietly not far away. He had already reviewed the data brought back by the probe from the depth station last night. The structure hadn’t collapsed, but some compartments were flooded. The distress signal came from inside the structure, from a sealed compartment about twenty meters from the main passage.

“Did the detector capture images of the door to that sealed chamber?”

“We got the footage. The door is made of the same material as the ones we’ve seen before—metal—and has a round observation window. There’s a very faint light coming from inside the window. The signal is coming from that compartment.”

Can he see outside?

“I don’t know. The observation window may be blocked by fog or moisture.”

Lin Jiqiu stretched his shoulders and wrists on the deck, then walked to the stern and zipped up his wetsuit. Cheng Ran came over and strapped the weight chains onto him one by one, pulling on each chain to check for security. The cold, hard chains clung to his body through the wetsuit, digging into the contours of his shoulders and waist, swaying slightly as he turned.

“The communicator operates at a depth of 800 meters. Beyond that depth, the signal weakens, but the repeater can cover up to 1,100 meters. If you need, I can pick up your signal here.”

“Cheng Ran”.

“Um.”

“If I can’t get up—”

“You can come up.”

Lin Jiqiu looked at him. “Chengran, I said ‘if’.”

Cheng Ran remained silent for a long time. The morning light outlined a line of light and shadow on his profile, and his eyelashes trembled slightly in the light. “If you can’t get up, I’ll pull you up.”

Lin Jiqiu didn’t press the matter. He turned and walked towards the ship’s railing. The chain rattled, slapped against the outer layer of his wetsuit, and then sank down. He took a deep breath, stepped over the railing, and jumped.

Water splashed in the morning light, then quickly closed up again. He sank into the water, looking down. It was a slow descent; the seawater changed color from light blue to grayish-blue, then from grayish-blue to an almost opaque dark green. The counterweight chain pulled him steadily downwards, at a slow but constant speed. He didn’t rush to transform. He observed his surroundings for a while—there were few living creatures in the sea, only the occasional small fish swimming by. At a depth of about 150 meters, the light had dimmed considerably. He closed his eyes and began his first structural transformation. Bone density, muscle fiber arrangement, internal organ position—he adjusted them one by one in his mind, making his body more adaptable to the water pressure. The process wasn’t painful, but there was a slight soreness.

Two hundred meters. The seawater turned a deep blue, making it almost impossible to see more than a few meters ahead. He continued to descend. Every so often, he stopped to make minor structural adjustments, allowing his body to gradually adapt to the increasing pressure. Cheng Ran’s set speed was precise, fifteen meters per minute, neither too fast nor too slow. Three hundred meters. Four hundred meters. Five hundred meters. The temperature was dropping, the seawater was icy cold, but the insulation layer of his diving suit was still holding up.

At 600 meters, Cheng Ran’s voice came through the communicator, tinged with a slight electrical noise. “Can you still hold on?”

“We can hold on.”

“Stress data is normal. Continue.”

He continued his descent. Seven hundred meters. Eight hundred meters. The light almost completely disappeared, and he was surrounded by utter darkness, with only the sounds of his own breathing and heartbeat echoing in his ears. At eight hundred meters, the pressure on his eardrums gradually increased. He stopped, closed his eyes for a moment, and allowed his inner ear structure to adjust further. Once the discomfort subsided, he continued his descent.

Nine hundred meters. One thousand meters. In the darkness, he saw light—a faint light, rising from below like a thin layer of mist. He continued to descend, getting closer and closer to the light. The light grew stronger, illuminating a small area around him. A square structure, just as he had seen on the probe screen the night before, lay quietly on the seabed. The walls were covered with a thin layer of sediment, like a gray velvet blanket, and a few round portholes emitted a warm yellow light.

Deep measurement station.

He continued approaching, stopping about five meters from the structure. There was a door in the side wall, round, just like the ones he’d seen before. A round observation window shone through the glass, letting in a faint light. He stopped in front of the door and knocked on its metal surface. Once, twice, three times. Then he stopped and waited. After a few seconds, there was a knocking sound from the other side—three knocks. He heard it, and he felt it. Someone was responding. He knocked three more times; the response was slower, but still there. He then knocked in an alternating sequence of long and short knocks, like, “I’m here, don’t leave.” He could feel a faint vibration on the other side of the metal door, as if something was transmitting a signal through the door panel.

He gripped the doorknob and pushed it to the side. The door didn’t budge; it was locked. But he noticed that the weatherstripping around the observation window was cracked and worn in several places—the door wasn’t completely sealed; there might be gaps. He fumbled around the door frame and found a rusty manual release valve on the side. He braced his shoulder against the frame and twisted the valve several times until it finally moved. The aged metal made a creaking, grinding sound, but it was turning.

Water seeped from under the door, carrying a metallic smell. He gripped the doorknob and pushed it open to the side. The door opened. Behind it was a small compartment, the water just reaching his waist. The air—vaporous, but still wispy. He stepped into the compartment and closed the door behind him. Inside was a bed, a table, a chair, and a shadow huddled in the corner—the man was curled up, wearing a work uniform so dirty its original color was unrecognizable. In the light filtering in from above the water, he could see an old, not fully healed wound on his face, and a section of his right eyebrow was missing. Hearing the sound of water, he looked up at the doorway, his gaze lingering for a moment on Lin Jiqiu’s diving suit. Lin Jiqiu looked at him through his mask, without moving.

“Who are you?”

The man’s voice was hoarse, as if he hadn’t spoken in a long time. “And who are you?”

“The people who came to save you.”

The man stared at him for a few seconds, then released his grip on his knees and slowly stood up, leaning against the wall for support. “I thought no one would come,” Lin Jiqiu said, not replying, but simply gesturing for him to follow. The man hesitated, took a deep breath, and walked towards Lin Jiqiu. He grasped the doorknob and pushed it to the side, letting in the darkness outside, carrying the silence and chill of the deep sea. The other man stood behind him, a few inches away, also looking at the door.

“Let’s go.”

“Walk.”