Chapter 43: “Sorry” Part 3

But she knew that holding out like this would only make it more humiliating. With extreme caution, she wiped her eye with her sleeve, then let her hand drop as she squeezed her eyelids shut tight.

“Chi Buyu, I’m going to sleep.”

Chi Buyu shushed her with a breathy sound. She’d probably never seen Cui Qijin like this before. Taking advantage of her closed eyes, she gently touched her eyelashes, confirming there were no more tears.

She drew her hand back and continued the massage. A moment later, after barely holding it in, Chi Buyu suddenly let out a “pfft.”

Cui Qijin pressed her lips together tightly.

A single “pfft” wasn’t enough for Chi Buyu. She kept giggling uncontrollably, her whole body swaying and leaning on the grass like a deflating penguin balloon.

Cui Qijin’s face went pale. She kept her eyes shut, pretending her ears had suddenly gone deaf.

She had no idea how long the laughter went on.

Chi Buyu finally reined it in bit by bit, though her exhales still carried the hint of mirth.

The scent of fresh grass filled the air, and the sunlight bathed everything in a warm glow. That long-suppressed “sorry” had finally been spoken—and she’d received an utterly unexpected response.

Cui Qijin was on the verge of drifting off. As her consciousness sank deeper, she felt herself falling further and further. A breeze carrying the smell of grass tugged at her hair, but Chi Buyu gently pulled it back from the wind.

Then, as if not quite reassured, Chi Buyu lifted Cui Qijin’s head from the grass and settled it onto her lap, adjusting it into a comfortable position. She must have leaned down to watch her for a long time, for her fingers mischievously brushed Cui Qijin’s eyelashes again, pressing close to her eyelids without pulling away.

The distant strains of an accordion floated over on the wind, mingled with the fresh scent of trees and grass, turning the moment into a low-saturation Studio Ghibli scene.

It made Cui Qijin, lost in her midday nap, all the more compliant. Curled up on Chi Buyu’s lap, she transformed into an unusually docile grown woman in that afternoon sun. She had no idea what time it was when she felt Chi Buyu’s finger lightly scrape over her nose, followed by a sigh-laden murmur.

“Like a little doll. That’s cheating.”

–

Cui Qijin slept more deeply than she ever had, only to be jolted awake by a clamor of shouts.

“Hurry! Does anyone know how to swim?”

“She fell in!”

“Oh my God, she jumped in!”

The frantic cries snapped her awake. In her haste, she flung off the fabric draped over her face and looked around in bewilderment toward the source of the noise.

It was coming from the artificial lake right next to them. The people nearby had all turned to stare at the commotion, and a few were rushing over, instantly forming an impenetrable crowd.

Where was Chi Buyu?

Cui Qijin scanned the surroundings but saw no sign of her.

She scrambled up from the grass, only to stumble as a sharp pain tugged at her ribs. Ignoring it, she hurried toward the crowd, catching a particularly shrill, terrified voice amid the chaos.

“Someone please save my child!”

Cui Qijin wasn’t fully awake yet, and in the confusion, those words were all she registered. Her head spun as she pushed through the throng for a better look—and caught sight of a determined figure leaping into the water.

Someone really had jumped in?

Where was Chi Buyu?

Where was Chi Buyu?

Echoes of her own panicked cries rippled through the crowd. Cui Qijin shoved her way forward with great difficulty until she could finally see the figure at the bottom of the lake. Her drooping eyelids snapped wide.

And then.

The woman underwater, her face tense as she searched for the child, was soaked through. She accidentally gulped down several mouthfuls of water, her face instantly draining of color.

Cui Qijin didn’t think twice.

She quickened her pace, her breaths coming in harsh gasps, and plunged straight from the shore into the lake.

In April, the icy water enveloped her instantly, washing away the dizziness fueled by the sun.

Cui Qijin surfaced quickly after diving in, straining to lift her chin to breathe as her hair trailed in the water. She swam toward Chi Buyu.

The crowd on shore was in an uproar. Another splash sounded behind her—someone else had jumped in. Cui Qijin ignored it, straining to keep an eye on Chi Buyu.

Chi Buyu, farther from shore, must have spotted her. There was a fleeting moment underwater where she pressed her lips together, but with the urgency of the situation leaving no room for talk, she focused on rescuing the child who’d just fallen in.

Soaked to the bone, Cui Qijin swam on, battling another wave of dizziness. Her strength was fading, and she choked down more water. In her haze, she saw Chi Buyu find the child and pass them to another rescuer who’d jumped in afterward.

She glimpsed Chi Buyu’s hair floating in the water, saw her puff out her cheeks to hold her breath as she swam toward Cui Qijin. Then her vision blurred, details slipping away.

She coughed violently several times, her lungs burning from the lake water that had flooded them. A spicy sting spread from her mouth and nose, permeating her entire respiratory system.

Her vision grew watery, and suddenly, Chi Buyu vanished from sight. The vast lake surface seemed empty.

Panic surged within her. She thrashed feebly at the water, though her strength was nearly gone. There was something far more terrifying than drowning in the lake.

She didn’t know how much time passed before she heard Chen Wenran and Ran Yan shouting their names from the shore, sounding desperate enough to jump in themselves. Cui Qijin struggled against the water’s pull, desperately wanting to grab hold of someone in her blurred state.

And then—a massive splash.

She’d been grabbed.

Chi Buyu had appeared from somewhere, slipping a float ring around her and locking it behind her neck to drag her to shore.

In the process, Cui Qijin slipped under several times, her face submerged until her strength failed completely. Even once ashore, wrapped in towels handed over by Ran Yan and Chen Wenran, she still felt freezing and rigid.

The child had apparently choked badly and was rushed to the park’s ambulance. The mother stammered multiple thanks before hurrying after it.

The crowd began to disperse.

Cui Qijin hunched over her fragile waist, nearly collapsing by the lakeside in utter disarray. Her face, scoured by the water, was ghostly pale.

Chi Buyu was in no better shape. She’d just saved the child and then used all her remaining strength to haul Cui Qijin out. She coughed up mouthfuls of water, drenched from head to toe, her wet hair plastered to her face and neck.

For a moment, there was nothing but coughing and the deep, labored gasps of lungs drowned in lake water.

Ran Yan and Chen Wenran must have realized they weren’t in a state to respond. Their faces etched with worry, they didn’t press, instead efficiently helping dry them off.

April sunlight evaporated the water from their bodies. The surroundings fell quiet, the faint hiss of droplets steaming away mingling with the frantic beating of two hearts.

Cui Qijin, bundled in a dry jacket and towels, slumped on the grass. Water pooled around her on the lawn, dripping steadily. Her coughing wouldn’t stop, as if her entire lungs had drowned and were now barely reviving under the sun’s heat.

Then.

She heard Chi Buyu call her name in a faint voice. “Cui Qijin.”

Cui Qijin clutched her agonizing lungs, her voice hoarse from the water. Was she hallucinating? Chi Buyu had finally called her by name.

She hadn’t done so once since their return from Leshan.

Why now?

Flustered, Cui Qijin still managed a response. “Mm?”

She forced her eyelids open to look at Chi Buyu.

Chi Buyu lay exhausted on the grass beside her, coughing up chilly water. Shivering despite the towels and dry jacket, her face remained ashen. Lake water dripped from her eyelashes and hair, and suddenly Cui Qijin thought she looked like a melting snowman.

She suddenly wanted to grab hold of her—like she had in the lake.

The sky was still a clear blue, no clouds in sight. Who knew if the sun and clouds were still at war today. Then she heard Chi Buyu call out again, as if in a daze.

“Cui Qijin.”

She said her name once more. Ran Yan and Chen Wenran exchanged a glance, then silently stepped back a few paces, keeping watch without interrupting.

“Mm.” Cui Qijin replied once they were out of earshot.

Chi Buyu persisted, her eyes reddening at the edges as she pronounced each syllable deliberately. “Cui Qijin.”

Cui Qijin smiled, letting out a few chuckles before dissolving into coughs again. Somehow, with her lungs so connected to her heart, it ached too—submerged in bittersweet water by that single call.

“Mm.”

“Cui Qijin.”

Chi Buyu called her name stubbornly once more, gazing over with drenched eyes wetter than the lake had been, her voice thick with congestion as if crying—or lost in panic.

“You shouldn’t have jumped in. You weren’t even wearing your glasses, and besides… you already knew…”

Chi Buyu’s eyes were fully red now. “I’m not afraid of water anymore, right?”

In that instant, Cui Qijin froze in shock. She realized the SpongeBob Afraid of Water really was in the past. Last time, Chi Buyu had soaked in the hot springs with them without issue—and even then, Cui Qijin had wondered if her fear of water was truly gone.

From a very tender age, Cui Qijin had known her body was frail. She couldn’t swim at the beach, couldn’t frolic freely in the snow. She obeyed this principle with remarkable maturity—never pushing her luck, never making mistakes, and above all, never falling ill to burden Professor Cui or Professor Yu.

Now, at twenty-seven, she was old enough to understand that she had always been the Sickly One. With her severe nearsightedness, she shouldn’t have gone anywhere near the water without her glasses. And yet here she was, at long last, with someone teaching her—belatedly—to confront a simple truth: Why, during that College Entrance Exam, had Chi Buyu taken one look at Cui Qijin’s admission ticket and lost all sense of reason? Why had she dashed across several streets just to deliver it?

“Sorry,” Cui Qijin said. “It seems I’ve suddenly forgotten.”

She lifted her forearm to shield her dripping-wet face.

She should have smiled, but she couldn’t understand why the water trickling from her eyelashes tasted so salty and bitter—one drop after another, just like tears.

“Probably because I’m an idiot.”