Chapter 21: “Sinking Beneath the Surface” Part 2

Hot water splashed onto Fu Tingli’s toes. She recoiled, but before she could, a drenched hand clamped around her ankle.

Her pulse throbbed against the warm, soft palm, dragging up memories from four years ago that still hadn’t faded.

Fu Tingli’s heart skipped a beat. She looked down to find Kong Liyuan gazing calmly up at her, water streaming steadily from her face.

“Want me to give you her contact info?”

“Who?” she blurted out, the sensation of that hand on her ankle having completely erased their recent conversation from her mind.

Kong Liyuan’s gaze drifted downward. She didn’t release Fu Tingli’s ankle or answer her question. Instead, she asked lazily,

“Really not coming in?”

She only asked because she knew Fu Tingli loved the water. Years ago, as they’d passed an open-air pool with hardly anyone around—they’d been nearing Los Angeles then—she’d caught that eager glint in Fu Tingli’s eyes and pawned the lighter she carried for a swimsuit.

It had been a collector’s item; Li Qiao had grabbed it for her on the sly when she’d snuck out, grumbling all the while.

She’d traded it to a vendor for a swimsuit. Later, amid Li Qiao’s frustrated sighs, she learned its value exceeded a thousand dollars.

It was the only gift she’d ever given Fu Tingli. After that trip, she never smoked again. And eventually, she learned to swim.

“…Nah.” Fu Tingli hesitated. She knew the water lapping at her calves was warm, knew a carefree splash around would feel amazing.

But she didn’t want that kind of bliss—especially not when it only came from being near Kong Liyuan.

Her toes tapped the ground as she murmured, “I don’t have a change of clothes—”

The rest of her words vanished into the water.

It was Kong Liyuan—the same Kong Liyuan gripping her ankle—who suddenly let go, seized her hand, and yanked her in without another word.

What flooded her mind amid the churning waves wasn’t the irritation or annoyance she’d expected from the sudden plunge.

Instead, she finally glimpsed a trace of that California woman in Kong Liyuan.

Right on its heels came the effortless freedom of floating, and the realization of something she’d completely forgotten.

Oh no.

The thought flashed through her mind. Ignoring Kong Liyuan beside her, she frantically shrugged off her jacket and tossed it onto the edge.

Then she stood dripping from the pool, leaned over the side, wiped her still-dry hands on the jacket’s half-dry fabric, and carefully rummaged through the pocket.

When she opened it, it was empty.

She froze.

From nearby came Kong Liyuan’s faintly distant voice. “What’s this?”

It echoed sharply in the empty pool.

Fu Tingli looked over and saw her phone and keys neatly placed on a towel by the edge.

Kong Liyuan held two narrow, elongated slips of paper between her fingertips. Without pause, she read the text aloud.

“Whale’s Whale?”

They seemed dry. Fu Tingli exhaled in relief, unsure how Kong Liyuan had managed to empty her pockets so quickly.

“Who are you going with?” Kong Liyuan asked, pinching the two tickets.

Buoyed by the water, Fu Tingli was soaked through. She decided not to care anymore and swam a few relaxed strokes. Hearing the question, she replied breezily,

“A friend of mine.”

“What kind of friend?”

“A new friend.” Fu Tingli felt light—lighter than she had in ages.

“A really cute new friend.”

She leaned back against the pool wall, letting herself float, surrendering her limbs to the water.

Water was a truly wondrous medium, washing away all that was heavy, stubbornly resistant, or knotted into something clear and transparent.

She’d loved water since birth. Sometimes she imagined that if she were still in California, right now she’d be soaking in it too, floating on her back, watching birds drift across the sky.

In a way, the name Qiao Lipan had given her fit perfectly:

Pear by the water.

That name brought birds at dawn to mind. For no reason, she felt Kong Liyuan’s name suited her too—crossing the boundary between night and day, contradictory and hazy.

If she were truly a pear tree by the water, she’d have no defense against the pull of a dawn bird alighting upon her.

Fu Tingli thought she’d wandered far, maybe too naively, so she fell silent, leaning against the warm pool wall and staring blankly up at the ceiling’s fluorescent lights.

The rippling surface made her a little dizzy.

Kong Liyuan examined the tickets. It was a sculpture exhibit themed around whales, with special marks etched in ballpoint pen by the staff—for Down Syndrome children and their guardians.

The companion was Du Li. The date was January 17th.

The person who’d written “Can you take me to see it?” on that note had secretly bought two tickets.

She was still that young soul, scattering her pure, innocent love even when life left her desolate and adrift.

Kong Liyuan thought this as she set the tickets aside and looked at Fu Tingli, floating serenely on the water’s surface.

Fu Tingli seemed lost in thought, her hair sopping wet, her body immersed in the crystal-clear pool.

But with her naturally soft, gentle face, even expressionless, those light brown eyes brimmed with emotion when misted with water.

As if the slightest dampness in her sockets spoke of boundless love.

Kong Liyuan had once found that trait fascinating, always teasing it out of her.

Later, as her memories faded, she’d nearly forgotten: that overflowing affection was just the body’s echo of near-loss of control.

Kong Liyuan swam slowly to Fu Tingli’s side and said calmly, “Should I apologize? I did pull you in without asking.”

Fu Tingli snapped back, smiling easily. “No need to apologize. If anything, I should thank you.”

“Teacher Kong really helped me out a lot.”

Kong Liyuan believed that Fu Tingli was sincerely thankful. Still, she couldn’t get used to hearing those two words.

“What is there to thank me for?”

She stared at Fu Tingli’s face floating on the water’s surface, at her skin so white it was nearly transparent, at her eyelashes soaked with water.

Fu Tingli noticed her gaze.

She smiled at her.

Kong Liyuan naturally drifted closer and floated beside her.

She let herself lie back on the water too, shoulder to shoulder with Fu Tingli, their wet hair splayed out and mingling together until it was impossible to tell where one ended and the other began.

Their breaths mingled above the water as they gazed up at the ceiling in the same lazy pose, so dull it made her head spin.

“Of course I have to thank you,” Fu Tingli said again. “When I saw Xia Lai, I was thinking that if she’d deliberately driven the car over, I would’ve had to bluff in front of all those old classmates and pretend it was mine…”

“I would’ve felt pretty embarrassed, even though I did get the better end of the deal.”

Kong Liyuan lazily fluttered her eyelids. She could feel the rippling water flow over her and then across Fu Tingli beside her.

“And then?”

“But Xia Lai said it wasn’t like that,” Fu Tingli said softly. “She said you just asked her to drive the car up to me, and I’d understand.”

“Did you?” Kong Liyuan asked.

“More or less,” Fu Tingli replied vaguely. She paused for a long moment before continuing.

“At least I had a really good time today. I got to drive a car I hadn’t touched in ages, and then we messed around in the pool like idiots. It’s so cold in Shanghai—it’s been forever since I went swimming.

If you hadn’t just dragged me in here, I probably wouldn’t feel this relaxed right now.”

This was someone who lived fully in the moment, Kong Liyuan thought. But she said,

“Why did you even go to that reunion? If you were only classmates for a year, there was no real reason to.”

“Because back in California, I never went to a single one.”

Fu Tingli answered frankly. “I’m the type who treats every chapter of life like it’s a big deal. And with Li Weili inviting me every year…”

“I figured everyone must be like her.”

“Sometimes being alone gets pretty stifling too.” Fu Tingli had hoped those long-lost classmates could pull her out of her twenty-square-meter rental apartment and away from the cold grip of isolation.

Young people still clinging to their innocence always latched onto any scrap of hope.

Unfortunately, reality rarely matched her expectations. She shook her head. “Coming today, I almost feel bad for myself. I even remembered so many of their names.”

“There’s nothing to feel bad about,” Kong Liyuan said, gazing at Fu Tingli. She continued,

“You can forget them now. It’ll clear out some brain space.”

Fu Tingli burst out laughing at the abrupt remark. Her eyes curved into genuine crescents—she was truly laughing, not just putting on a brave face.

It was as if moons had risen in her eyes again, willingly tumbling into the water.

“You really are easy to please.”

Their shoulders pressed close, almost like they were back in sun-drenched California, leaning together in an open-top car and watching the golden sunset sink below the horizon.

“I really do feel lucky,” Fu Tingli said honestly.

This time, she wasn’t exaggerating.

Kong Liyuan didn’t press further. They shared the water in perfect, unspoken harmony.

Neither knew what the other was thinking, nor even what was in her own heart.

At that moment, the clear rumble of a train sounded from somewhere nearby, shattering the peaceful quiet in the air.

It was the kind of sound that instantly dragged up the past—their shared, murky history amid the roar of trains.

Fu Tingli instinctively held her breath, convinced she’d lost her defenses again and been yanked back into memories by some phantom noise.

“There’s a railway nearby,” Kong Liyuan explained. “Trains pass by all the time.”

Fu Tingli fell silent for a moment before murmuring a slow “Oh.”

But this train seemed to linger, taking forever to pass—or maybe that was just how it felt to her, while in reality it was speeding by faster than she realized.

Her own breathing slowed, yet she could still hear the soft rhythm of the woman beside her, mingled with the gentle lapping of the water.

Suddenly, she felt detached from her body, as if she could see the two of them lying side by side on the water’s surface.

Fu Tingli wore her half-soaked hoodie and jeans, sodden hair plastered to her head, looking like a bedraggled scrap of life gasping for air.

Kong Liyuan, by contrast, wore a vivid red one-piece swimsuit that bared swaths of pale skin in the crystal-clear pool, like a red flying bird unbound by any chains.

It was the sort of scene that would appear in a movie for stark contrast—their heaviness against lightness, their darkness against red.

A vivid paradox.

The world around them stretched into cinematic slow motion, everything sharpening into crisp black and white.

“Fu Tingli.” In her daze, she heard Kong Liyuan speak up suddenly.

She called her Fu Tingli.

Aside from that one time on the drive back from the garage, when she’d murmured her name like a whisper, she hadn’t called her that since.

As if, because she’d said she didn’t know the right way to address her.

Fu Tingli instinctively turned her head, gazing at Kong Liyuan in a haze. The motion threw off her balance, and her whole body began sinking involuntarily.

The weight of her drenched clothes dragged her under, her hazel eyes misting over like they were brimmed with rippling water, full and alive.

—Just like in the past, pouring love into someone without a word.

Kong Liyuan couldn’t help but be pulled down with her.

She reached out and grabbed Fu Tingli’s collar, her fingers brushing through the dark hair floating in the water.

The train let out a deafening whistle, thundering overhead as blue and red flooded the pool in chaos.

They were on the verge of sinking together beneath the surface, pinned there by the howling train into a California summer night. And yet, on impulse, she asked,

“Shall we do it?”