My childhood friend is in her mature, sophisticated form again today. - Chapter 89

He poured himself a glass of water, didn’t turn on the light, and drank it standing by the window. The street was deserted; a few streetlights were still on, their light a pale orange, as if they were about to go out.

When Cheng Ran came down, the sky had brightened considerably, but it wasn’t completely clear. The clouds were thin, like a semi-transparent veil blocking the sunlight, and the sea was probably still a grayish-blue. He sat down opposite Lin Jiqiu, holding a tablet with a map of the volcano’s crater on the screen. He placed the tablet on the coffee table, not in a hurry to speak, as if waiting for Lin Jiqiu to speak first, or waiting for himself to go over what he wanted to say in his mind again.

“We’re going into the water today. You’ll stay on the boat,” Lin Jiqiu said.

Cheng Ran was silent for a moment. “The communicator can go down to a depth of over a thousand meters. There will be a delay near the seabed, but the signal can still penetrate. I’ve already lowered the frequency. The underwater noise environment will affect reception, but it will still be identifiable. I’ll stay up here for as long as you stay down here.”

Lin Jiqiu nodded without saying anything more.

A-Zuo passed by the kitchen door, glanced at them, and continued walking towards the door without saying a word. A-You poked her head out of the kitchen; her apron was already tied, and steam was rising from the pot on the stove. “Eat your meal.”

When the bowl of porridge was placed on the table, Lin Jiqiu noticed it was very hot—it was freshly cooked, with fine ripples still visible on the surface. He ate slowly, the heat of the porridge spreading from the bowl to his fingertips, and then deeper into his arm. Ayou didn’t ask any questions, refilled his bowl, and then returned to the kitchen. After finishing, he took the bowl back to the kitchen, filled his thermos with hot water, tightened the lid, and placed it in a bag next to the shoe cabinet.

The car drove slowly, steadily along the coastline, the trees on either side receding evenly outside the window. The sea appeared near and far in the view, occasionally obscured by the forest belt, only to reappear quickly. The light outside the window shifted through gaps in the clouds, sometimes bright white, sometimes a somber gray.

The ship was already waiting at the dock. The young man was checking the equipment on deck. Seeing them arrive, he untied the last cable from the bollard. “The tank is full of fuel. The counterweights and counterweight belts you needed are also in the hold. They’ve been checked and there are no problems.”

Lin Jiqiu responded, put his backpack into the cabin, then checked the oxygen cylinder’s seal, confirmed the pressure gauge was within the normal range, and flipped the communicator switch again. Only after hearing the confirmation signal did he put the equipment down. The young man didn’t urge him, standing by the bridge waiting, his eyes scanning the equipment on the deck, as if using his peripheral vision to confirm everything was in place.

The ship left the dock and headed south. The morning breeze was cool, carrying the scent of seawater that hadn’t yet been fully warmed by the sun. The sea was a greyish-blue, with tiny, fine waves nearby, as if gently wrung out by the wind. Lin Jiqiu stood on the ship’s railing, watching the coastline slowly recede from view until only a greyish-green line stretched across the edge of the water, neither too close nor too far, as if painted on. The equipment storage platform from yesterday had been passed; beyond that, there was nothing on the sea. Only water. Dark water, sinking from the light greyish-blue all the way to the bottomless abyss.

Cheng Ran reported the latest depth reading: “It’s over a thousand meters. You need to pay close attention to the communicator signal down here.”

The boat stopped at the designated location, and after the engine was turned off, the hull swayed slightly with the waves. Lin Jiqiu took off his coat and began to put on his diving suit, his movements unhurried, like someone who had done this preparation many times before. He fastened the weight belts, adjusted the tightness twice, and then put on his communicator.

Cheng Ran lowered the rope ladder, the bottom of which submerged in the water. Lin Jiqiu walked to the ship’s side, stood for a moment, then climbed over the railing and stepped down the ladder using the rungs. When the water reached his ankles, he let go and slid into the water.

The seawater was colder than he had imagined. It wasn’t a surface chill, but a pressure-driven cold that surged up from the depths, enveloping the outer layer of his wetsuit and slowly seeping in. He didn’t dive immediately, but floated near the surface for a while to adjust, feeling the direction and strength of the current. Cheng Ran’s voice came through the communicator, compressed by the water pressure, sounding with a thin tremor in his ears. “Can you hear me?”

“I heard you. Begin descending.”

He flipped over and swam downwards. The light overhead gradually dimmed, and the seawater changed from grayish-blue to deep blue, then from deep blue to an almost opaque inky black. He adjusted his breathing, allowing his body to sink at a steady pace. He maintained a uniform rhythm, like a calibrated instrument.

The depth gauge numbers were slowly climbing. Three hundred meters. The seawater had completely darkened, and visibility had dropped to less than a few meters. He turned on his diving flashlight, the beam cutting a narrow path through the water. Occasionally, tiny planktonic particles would appear within the beam, like dust suspended in the air, lifeless, drifting silently with the current. The light ended in complete darkness, with no outlines reflecting back, nor interrupted by any solid edge. Five hundred meters. The temperature was dropping more noticeably. He could feel the seawater slowly drawing away his body heat through his diving suit. He slowed his descent. Seven hundred meters. The communicator signal began to show a slight delay, the static louder than before, as if the sound was being stretched during transmission, or perhaps the density of the seawater itself was affecting the signal’s penetration.

“Still listening.” Cheng Ran’s voice came through the communicator, tinged with noticeable noise. “The signal is weakening, but it’s still there. You shouldn’t be far from the seabed.”

He did not answer and continued to descend.

When the depth gauge reached 900 meters, the beam of his flashlight illuminated an outline. At first, it was just a blurry shadow, like the raised edge of the seabed. He adjusted his direction, aiming the beam at the center of the shadow. The beam extended forward and encountered a vertical structure. It wasn’t rock. It was metal. The surface was covered with a thin layer of sediment, like it had been lightly covered with a layer of grayish-white sand, with clean edges and sharp corners. He slowly approached, moving the flashlight beam along the metal surface. It had a regular geometric shape, and the surface showed signs of welding, still visible beneath the sediment. It was man-made.

He moved along the edge of the metal wall, the beam of his flashlight sweeping across its surface. The light pierced the sediment, leaving a slightly darker mark on the metal. The wall was long, stretching along the seabed. He swam along it for a while; the wall never stopped, like the edge of some large structure. The other side of the wall was deeper, the flashlight beam not reaching the bottom, as if cut off by some even larger structure.

The static in the communicator became very loud, but he still heard Cheng Ran’s voice. “Is there something?”

Lin Jiqiu didn’t answer. The light continued to extend into the darkness, the surface of the metal wall ahead still unbroken, its outline clear and complete. He pressed the switch on the communicator, then released it. “Yes. Very large. Man-made. Much larger than an underwater facility.”

He continued his descent, slowly advancing along the wall’s contours. At one point, the wall curved smoothly in another direction, without joints or welds, as if it had been molded as a single unit and then placed there. The flashlight beam illuminated a raised structure on the wall, like some kind of interface or fastener. He approached; it wasn’t a depression or a protrusion, but a set of engravings—like some kind of marking or code, arranged regularly with evenly spaced characters. He took a few photos and continued along the wall for a while longer.

Ahead, a wider structure appeared, like a platform extending outward from part of the main wall. The platform was edged with railings, low but evenly spaced. The flashlight beam swept along the railings, section by section, stopping at one section—where a lamp hung.

The lampshade was glass, its surface covered with a thin layer of deposits. The glass wasn’t broken, and the lamp wasn’t lit. But the lamp’s very existence spoke volumes—the builder of this structure had walked here, installed this lamp, and done something in its light. He stood before the lamp, paused for a moment, as if waiting for it to light up, or as if confirming that it would never light up again.

He swam along the wall for a while longer, but no new structures appeared ahead, and nothing changed. The wall maintained the same direction, continuing to extend into the darkness in an unchanging manner, as if it hadn’t reached its end. The depth was approaching 1,100 meters, and he still had half of his oxygen remaining. He took one last look at the wall; in the darkness, he still couldn’t see its other side, only that it stretched along the seabed, its length unknown, its end unseen.

He flipped over and began to rise. The ascent was faster than the descent. Light began to seep in from above, and the seawater slowly brightened, as if he were emerging from a building made of black iron. When he surfaced, Cheng Ran was already standing on the ship’s railing. He climbed onto the deck, removed his mask, and sat down, not immediately standing up.

“It’s larger than any structure we’ve ever seen before,” he said.

Cheng Ran handed him the towel without asking any further questions.

He took the towel, wiped his face, and leaned against the ship’s railing. Seawater dripped from his wetsuit, forming a small, dark wet patch on the deck, which was quickly dried by the sea breeze.

“It’s waiting down there,” he said. Cheng Ran didn’t answer. The ship began its return journey, turning to leave the crater behind.