My childhood friend is in her mature, sophisticated form again today. - Chapter 87

Lin Jiqiu didn’t answer. He looked at the red light; it was more stable than he had imagined, not shifting its position with the swaying of the ship, as if anchored to a single point. The ship glided forward at a minimal speed, the engine’s sound suppressed, almost inaudible. Fog flowed slowly along the side of the ship, forming a thin, constantly moving curtain, like seawater moving in the air, or like a sea breeze carrying damp mist particles past the ship.

“The analog signal is ready.” Cheng Ran pressed a button on the side of the tablet, paused for a moment, and said, “If the platform’s automatic detection system is still running, it will receive a matching signal first, and then decide whether to sound an alarm.”

Nothing changed on the platform. The red light continued to flash at the same intervals, as if unaware of their presence. The ship continued to glide forward, and when it was less than a hundred meters from the platform, Cheng Ran spoke up: “The signal has been sent.”

Lin Jiqiu didn’t urge him or ask any questions. He was simply waiting, waiting for a possible response. The platform remained silent, the red light continuing to flash at fixed intervals, as if the whole affair was unrelated to it. The ship continued moving forward, and the platform’s position gradually shifted with the ship’s progress until it moved from the side of the ship to the stern, and then disappeared from sight.

The ship passed.

Lin Jiqiu leaned against the ship’s railing. The fog ahead was thinner than before, visibility was slowly recovering, and the distant sea was beginning to reveal its blurry outline. The fog continued to thin, as if sunlight was beginning to filter through from somewhere, piercing through the white water vapor in beams, leaving widening gaps. “The next floating platform should be further south,” Cheng Ran said, looking down at the coordinates on the tablet. “The spacing is the same as the previous ones, and the direction is a straight line. If the platform’s detection system hasn’t been upgraded, we still have a chance to continue.”

“Then let’s continue.”

The engine resumed cruising speed. The ship lifted slightly, cutting through the water, and continued southward. The fog had mostly dissipated, and the sea became clear again. A second floating platform came into view, almost identical to the first—a gray, metallic platform with a red light at its top flashing slowly against the gray-blue sky. Lin Jiqiu watched the platform. Cheng Ran sent another simulated signal, this time passing through even faster than the first one. The platform didn’t respond, like a conversation that had ended and didn’t need repeating itself.

The third floating platform was also passed, followed by the fourth. The shipping route continues to extend southward.

The color of the sea was changing, from the grayish-green near the shore to a deeper blue. The air temperature had also dropped slightly, carrying a scent that could only be found in more distant seas. There was little conversation on the ship. The young man occasionally adjusted the course, Cheng Ran checked the data on his tablet, and Lin Jiqiu stood by the ship’s railing, holding the rim of a cup in his hand, his fingers tracing the arc of the water back and forth, pausing occasionally before continuing.

The fifth floating platform—no, the sixth. By the time he counted to the seventh, he’d lost count of how many there were today. Each one looked almost identical: a gray platform, red lights on top flashing at the same frequency in the distance. They seemed manufactured to the same standard, even the placement of the rust spots appearing deliberately symmetrical. Sailing among them felt like navigating an invisible passage, the pillars on either side merely directional markers along its edges. The direction of travel remained unchanged; the route was like a taut line passing through a row of evenly spaced markers. Lin Jiqiu began to realize that the purpose of these floating platforms wasn’t to guard any particular entrance, but rather to confirm a path—to let those traveling along it know they were still on the correct course.

The ship continued its journey.

The sky changed from light blue to deep blue, then from deep blue to an even darker hue, tinged with an orange-red glow, covering the sea. The sun was setting, casting a broad band of warm light behind them and projecting long shadows of the boats ahead.

Ahead appeared a much larger structure than before, its shape unlike a typical floating platform; it resembled a small platform. The structure was made of steel, with several raised, square metal shells on its surface, arranged neatly and evenly spaced, like a row of sealed shipping containers. There were no lights or antennas, only a few circular hatches embedded in the edge of the deck, like entrances to some kind of equipment bay.

Lin Jiqiu stood at the bow, his gaze fixed. The set of raised, square metal hulls were neatly arranged, with no messy pipes along the edges and no rust on the surface, as if they had been installed recently. The ship stopped, the engine shut off, and the surroundings became quiet, with only the sound of waves lapping against the hull and the slight murmur of water flowing around the underwater structures remaining. He listened to those sounds, trying to pinpoint their source.

Cheng Ran walked to his side and looked ahead. “This isn’t a communication platform, nor is it a monitoring point. It’s more like a platform for storing underwater equipment.”

“Underwater equipment?”

“It could be a backup deep-sea submersible, or it could be a remotely operated robot. If the new base needs to conduct frequent underwater operations, there should be a platform nearby for storing and maintaining the equipment. Otherwise, it would be very troublesome to have to transport equipment from within the base every time.” He put down his tablet and paused. “Would you like to go down and take a look?”

Lin Jiqiu thought for a moment. “Don’t rush to download it. Let’s record it first, confirm its location and structure. We’ll decide on the next step when we get back.”

Cheng Ran nodded, raised his camera, and took over a dozen photos of the platform. He then walked around the deck, adding several more images from different angles. His movements as he operated the equipment were focused, as if he were handling something requiring precision. Lin Jiqiu didn’t urge him. Leaning against the ship’s railing, she watched the sky gradually darken. The sky was changing from light gray to deep blue, the light condensing from a uniform source into a distant afterglow, leaving only a broad band of light across the water, like a channel slowly losing its warmth. The platform’s outline grew increasingly dark under the setting sun, its gray metallic surfaces losing their daytime texture and beginning to blend into the surrounding night. The ship’s shadow on the band of light resembled a black stamp, neither shifting nor sinking.