Chapter 38: “Underwater World” Part 2

Meng Yuhong had gotten them from her old friends and stir-fried them joyfully for the group. She’d skipped dinner herself due to an upset stomach, so the four of them polished off the whole plate.

And so, here they were, four in a row.

They’d even put on SpongeBob SquarePants, perfectly claiming one whole side of beds in this hospital room.

“So now…”

Probably some lingering aftereffect—Cui Qijin’s voice came out unbidden, hoarse as expected.

“Grandma’s gone back to make us breakfast now,” came Chen Wenran’s voice from one of the beds, faint and weak—she’d eaten the most of that plate of mushrooms yesterday.

“It’s the morning of March 24th, and the day’s not over yet,” Ran Yan chimed in, her voice a bit stronger, suggesting she was in the best shape of them all.

Dazed, Cui Qijin turned her head toward the neighboring bed.

The closest one held a figure buried under tightly pulled covers, hiding almost completely—no face in sight. Even if there had been one, she couldn’t have made it out clearly.

“Where’s Chi Buyu?”

She’d woken to the stark white of the hospital surroundings. She didn’t know where her glasses were, or even if this bundled shape was Chi Buyu.

The person under the covers flinched.

After a moment, they threw off the light pink comforter in defeat, still in last night’s pajamas but looking like they’d been in a brawl—rumpled and disheveled. Clearly, someone had rushed them to the hospital in the middle of the night, clutching the blanket the whole way.

The covers parted to reveal a pale, clean face. Chi Buyu’s complexion was poor, her brows heavy and eyes downcast. After a long pause, she mumbled,

“Right here.”

Chen Wenran coughed.

Ran Yan reached over and patted Chen Wenran’s covers. Chen Wenran swatted her hand away.

Chi Buyu burrowed back under her blanket.

She looked like a snail tucked into its shell.

Maybe it was Cui Qijin’s own aftereffects lingering, but the image struck her just like that.

And without reason, she let out a laugh.

The room’s heavy atmosphere made her laughter stand out sharply.

It prompted Chi Buyu to roll over under her covers.

Chen Wenran mustered some energy. “Cui Qijin’s lost it. Someone get her another plate—with poison attack poison.”

Ran Yan squinted over at her. “Aftereffects?”

Chi Buyu rustled under her blanket. After a while, she peeked out just a crack from her side, peering at Cui Qijin.

“What’re you laughing at?”

Cui Qijin chuckled again.

She didn’t even know why she was laughing, really.

Maybe it was confirmation of her suspicions. She just couldn’t figure out why her life turned into such a whirlwind of excitement whenever Chi Buyu was around—why utterly unforeseeable things kept happening.

But she wasn’t annoyed.

Unexpectedly, she found it… fun.

Chi Buyu wrinkled her nose, her gaze turning worried. She seemed about to say more.

But Cui Qijin spoke first. “Happy birthday.”

The room fell silent.

Chi Buyu froze, propping herself up on one elbow under the covers, peeking out like she didn’t know how to respond.

Then,

Chen Wenran’s sickly voice piped up, even a touch louder than before. “Happy birthday, Shuishui! No matter how old you are, may you always be happy!”

Ran Yan smiled faintly and added, “Happy birthday, Shuishui.”

A nurse pushing a cart happened to pass by and paused, glancing at them. “Whose birthday is it? Happy birthday!”

Cui Qijin said it again. “Happy birthday.”

Chen Wenran seemed competitive. “Hey, how come you’re saying it twice? Mine was the finale—no stealing it.”

Ran Yan ignored her. “Happy birthday.”

Cui Qijin paid no heed to Chen Wenran either. “Happy birthday.”

Chen Wenran got into it. “Happy birthday!”

…

The early morning ward buzzed faintly, its air thick and raspy. Their weak birthday wishes blended into the din, seemingly insignificant.

Or perhaps visible only to one person.

Amid the overlapping cheers, Chi Buyu sniffled, as if embarrassed, and pulled the covers over her head.

But she didn’t stop them. She let the chorus go on for several rounds before awkwardly shoving the blanket down, exposing her tousled hair and the tips of her slightly flushed ears. She lifted her chin a bit and said,

“Alright, got it. Enough already.”

Chen Wenran burst out laughing, which turned into a sudden dry heave. One person’s retch set off the next—Ran Yan grabbed the trash bin by her bed. After some vomiting and coughing, they both fell abruptly silent.

A long moment passed without a sound.

Four people in a row, four beds—no more words.

But soon enough, Chen Wenran started giggling again, probably catching it from Chi Buyu—like a goose with the hiccups.

Ran Yan caught it too, laughing as she scolded, “Did you and Cui Qijin sneak some laughing gas behind our backs yesterday?”

Chi Buyu dissolved into unstoppable laughter from the pair. Her whole bed shook as color returned to her cheeks, flushing away the pallor.

No more hiding unhappily under the covers.

Her hand dangled out for the IV, half her chin tucked under the pink blanket, eyes crinkled into upside-down crescents from grinning.

As she laughed, her gaze drifted unconsciously toward Cui Qijin.

Once their eyes met, she reined it in a little, lifting her chin to pin down the blanket.

“Cui Muhuo.”

She called out, her tone hesitant.

“Yeah?”

Cui Qijin responded lazily.

Perhaps it was the illness paling her face more than the others’. Chi Buyu studied her for a moment, then grew worried again.

“You okay?”

“Getting by for now.”

Cui Qijin replied. Seeing Chi Buyu’s concern hadn’t faded, she added,

“Won’t die, anyway.”

Chi Buyu’s eyes widened.

Her whole face scrunched up. “Pah pah pah! Don’t say stuff like that! Quick, pah pah pah with me!”

Cui Qijin suspected that if not for the IV tethering her, Chi Buyu would have lunged over to clap a hand over her mouth.

Cui Qijin didn’t believe in such superstitions.

But Chi Buyu’s earnest expression was funny. Helplessly, she played along.

“Pah pah pah.”

Flat and toneless.

Chi Buyu let it slide with a “hmph,” tucked in her blanket edge, and sighed.

“I really don’t know why I keep dragging you into this stuff.”

Yeah, ever since meeting you, my once monotonous life has been total chaos.

How else would I end up in an ambulance for a bad cold? Or become Arts and Entertainment Commissioner, dancing Trouble Maker with strangers? Or catch feelings for someone I met online? Or willingly play the tropical fish in some artsy coming-of-age flick—rewatching it over and over? How else a Brazilian turtle named Little Snail? Or know my MBTI is INTJ? Or hallucinate the Krabby Patty formula after eating Green Gill Mushrooms…

How did you manage to make me—the dull, bland sort who hated all stupid things—find even these utterly foolish escapades so interesting?

“But I bet you don’t hate it.”

How could Chi Buyu say something like that so confidently?

And follow it with such an anxious, uncertain look?

Cui Qijin couldn’t make sense of it. But she couldn’t deny it either.

She hummed in agreement, closing her eyes. Darkness enveloped her, memories tumbling in. She recalled something from just before the hallucinations and suddenly wanted to ask why Chi Buyu had been so down that night. But her lips parted without sound—she swallowed the question.

It’ll be fine after today.

Perhaps sensing her fatigue, Chi Buyu went quiet for a long while. Until a phone rang in the air—someone’s, sounding like an incoming call.

It went unanswered for ages.

Amid Chen Wenran and Ran Yan’s playful bickering in the background, Chi Buyu shifted groggily.

“Is that your phone, Cui Qijin?”

“Dunno.”

Cui Qijin pried open her eyelids with effort and reached for the bedside table. But with her right hand hooked to the IV, a flash of crimson suddenly backflowed through the red tube.

Chi Buyu was so startled that all traces of drowsiness vanished. “Let me get it!”

Cui Qijin had no choice but to withdraw her hand.

The bedside table between the two adjacent beds was shared. Chi Buyu’s left hand wasn’t hooked up to an IV, but her right was limited by the drip line. After fumbling around for a bit, she finally located the vibrating phone.

But the moment she picked it up, the phone stopped shaking.

“Hey, what’s the deal with this phone…” Chi Buyu squinted at the screen and muttered, “Looks like the call hung up?”

“Maybe it was something urgent? Do you want to check?”

Cui Qijin reached toward it. She wasn’t sure if the IV needle hadn’t been inserted properly this time, but the slightest stretch caused backflow.

Chi Buyu quickly pulled her hand back and warned, “Then don’t bother. Put your hand down first.”

Cui Qijin frowned as she watched the red tint in the IV tube gradually recede.

She tugged at her left hand, which also seemed inconvenient. A little distracted, she said, “Then you check it for me.”

Chi Buyu readily agreed. “What’s the passcode again?”

Cui Qijin recited a string of numbers and shot her a glance. “I told you just yesterday. How do you still not remember?”

It had happened after blowing out the birthday candles. Chi Buyu had forgotten to snap photos of the pineapple cake, so she’d asked for the ones from Cui Qijin’s phone. Cui Qijin had been in the middle of showering and changing clothes at the time. She’d casually unlocked it and handed it over, only to hear Chi Buyu yell from the bathroom that she’d accidentally locked the screen.

Halfway through her shower, Cui Qijin had grown irritated but couldn’t exactly step out. So she’d repeated the passcode to Chi Buyu through the door.

“Who could remember your passcode!”

A bit indignant, Chi Buyu said, “Okay, it’s open. But what’s up with this phone… Let me see. It’s…”

“Who is it?”

Cui Qijin asked.

“It’s…”

Chi Buyu fell silent, uttering no further sound.

Cui Qijin glanced over belatedly. In that instant, she felt all the blood in her body surge in reverse—

Through the noisy ward, amid nurses and doctors bustling back and forth, Chen Wenran and Ran Yan laughing and bickering, pale yellow sunlight flickering between the two beds.

It felt like sinking back into that stifling underwater world.

She saw Chi Buyu’s slender wrist emerging from the sleeve of her pajamas, two black hair ties looped around it. She saw the black old Samsung clutched in Chi Buyu’s hand as her friend stared at her in stunned silence, her bloodless lips parting.

It was as if the syllable hadn’t passed those lips in ages; the first attempt produced no sound at all.

A long, long moment passed.

As though struggling to comprehend—or barely processing it—she finally forced her lips open again and spoke the words.

“You’re… Mine?”

The evening train back to Chengdu felt far longer than the trip there. The 12306 app showed this high-speed rail journey lasted fifty-three minutes—just one minute more than outbound—yet it dragged on like an extra century. Tunnel after tunnel blurred past, and with each one, Cui Qijin replayed that scene in her mind a thousand thousand times. What should she have said or done to stop this moment from happening?

Or perhaps, long before it did, she never should have carried that old phone on her as a reminder. What kind of careless method was that? She shouldn’t have eaten that plate of green gill mushrooms that dulled her defenses—maybe it was the pineapple cake afterward, or those gulps of ice-cold beer. She’d always been strict about her diet. How could she break her rules that night?

She certainly shouldn’t have locked the screen after logging into the QQ interface without signing out. How could she have been so careless? And among all these regrets, the gravest one…

Was tying that QQ account to the phone number from back then just to keep it alive—paying the fees year after year, setting the exact same passcode on every new phone. She knew full well how dangerous and reckless it was. How could she keep doing it, unrepentant, over and over?

Yet only after ruminating endlessly on every detail did the true crux dawn on her. Amid all those “how could she,” she’d overlooked one vital thread—

When, exactly, had she started letting Chi Buyu touch her phone?