Chapter 36: Lake

Sinking.

Sinking continuously.

She couldn’t see anything clearly before her eyes, only faint, pale blue dazzling spots of light scattered across her retinas, so fragile they felt as if a single poke would shatter them. But now, Qi Ran couldn’t even move a finger, as if her body had completely betrayed her. The thought formed only to be severed in her broken cervical spine. She could only sink quietly and slowly, watching those faint, dazzling spots of light grow farther and farther away, replaced by a cold, black darkness gradually swallowing her entire field of vision.

She heard some chaotic noise beside her ear, a jumbled mess like people whispering underwater. She opened her mouth as if to say something, but only a stream of bubbles escaped her lungs and surged upward.

Icy water poured into her mouth. Qi Ran felt a moment of instinctive panic, but then she calmed down because she realized the expected drowning and suffocating sensation never came — it seemed she no longer needed to breathe.

Had she… died again?

Strangely, perhaps because she had already experienced death once, she accepted this fact quite smoothly.

She rolled her eyes, searching for Miss Ah Qiao’s figure, but found nothing.

Had Miss Ah Qiao left?

Well, although she and Miss Ah Qiao had never said it openly, after that honest talk at the construction site, they had reached a tacit agreement: they would use each other in a so-called cooperative relationship. Miss Ah Qiao would no longer entertain the thought of letting her die. In return, she had to prioritize fulfilling Miss Ah Qiao’s orders above all else. But now, she was clearly dead beyond any doubt. It was only natural for Miss Ah Qiao to abandon her and find a new host.

Though that was the logic, Qi Ran couldn’t help but feel a hollow emptiness in her heart. She wasn’t ready to face the end yet. She still had so many things left undone… It was all too sudden.

Suddenly, she felt a firm touch against her back. After a long float downwards, it seemed she had finally landed at the bottom of the lake.

The heavy sensation abruptly disappeared.

She tried, with great difficulty, to move her fingers. Soon, the tip of her right index finger finally twitched for a moment. Through persistent effort, she gradually regained control of her body. Though it was still terribly stiff, it was far better than the paralyzed state she’d been in before.

She reached out, fingertips touching her neck. The skin felt normal, and pressing down revealed no broken bones. But the vivid memory and sensation of that moment remained — her cause of death this time was suffocation, and the murderer was that strange woman draped in a bedsheet.

Qi Ran closed her eyes, carefully recalling every detail of that instant, committing all the features to memory. Then she blinked, and her vision finally returned to normal. There were no longer just vast patches of dazzling light spots. The lake bottom before her looked clean, the deep black water devoid of anything. The light struggled to pierce through the profound lake water, leaving only blurred, scattered remnants by the time it reached the bottom. By that light, Qi Ran could barely make out what was before her.

She saw a door.

Qi Ran’s expression grew strange. She found it hard to describe the feeling in her heart. In the end, she said nothing and simply walked toward the door.

It was a kind of intuition. Since this door had appeared here, its purpose was to be opened by her, she thought.

Once she was up close, Qi Ran realized the door was very familiar — because daubed across it in bright red paint were the two harrowing characters for “Pay Your Debts,” along with countless small ads stuck on like psoriasis and an iron doorknob scarred with countless dents and scratches.

It was the door of her home.

She pushed the door open. Behind it was not the familiar living room, but an empty rooftop.

“You’re finally awake.”

She heard Miss Ah Qiao’s voice.

Miss Ah Qiao still wore Tao Xiao’s face. The autumn school uniform of Jiang High fit her perfectly, and her expression remained as languid and gentle as ever, as if nothing could spark her interest. She sat on the slender stainless steel railing, looking as though a single gust of wind could send her plummeting from the top of the tall building.

Behind Qi Ran, the door slowly closed.

“Where is this?” Qi Ran averted her gaze from that familiar face.

Even she was somewhat reluctant to admit it, but seeing Miss Ah Qiao still here had made the heavy stone in her heart settle a little. Although they called it cooperation, the reliance between them was incredibly unbalanced. If Miss Ah Qiao changed candidates, she’d only have to bear new risks. But once Miss Ah Qiao was gone, the only outcome for Qi Ran was to fall to pieces and die for good.

If not for Miss Ah Qiao’s combination of self-preservation and arrogance, Qi Ran probably wouldn’t have even had the chance to use each other.

“This is your lake, a lake belonging solely to you,” Miss Ah Qiao’s voice drifted, light as a dream’s murmur. “Do you remember what I had you do on the rooftop earlier? That was to guide you in discovering this place. Falling from a great height is the simplest near-death behavior with the most distinct sensation. Only this way can you glimpse this lake that belongs to you from within death.”

Qi Ran pursed her lips and didn’t respond. When Miss Ah Qiao spoke in this ethereal tone, she felt exactly like a textbook female ghost — thoroughly chilling.

“What is a lake?” she asked. “You just said this is a lake belonging solely to me — what does that mean?”

“Exactly what it says.” Miss Ah Qiao said. “Lake is the most common term used in the Circle. Actually, it’s not a specific physical lake. It’s an independent space. Just like your lake here is this small rooftop in the Pingjiang City. This rooftop is your lake, the lake of your heart. Let me use a more common analogy to explain — do you know why psychiatrists like having their patients play with sand trays?”

Qi Ran shook her head, somewhat blankly. The term “psychiatrist” was far too remote for her, as much a fictional concept found only in books and on television as the term “Children’s Palace,” let alone knowing what a sand tray was. She did know a bit about sand pits for long jump, though — back in elementary and middle school, Xu Yan had been obsessed with long-jump for a time, even joining the track team for a while, only quitting when the high school entrance exams were near.

Seeing her bewilderment, Miss Ah Qiao elaborated further: “Many psychiatrists like using sand-play therapy to help patients express their inner world. Simply put, they let patients freely choose models and place them in a pre-prepared sand tray, a bit like creating something. This kind of therapy can help patients who resist opening up to reveal their inner world in an implicit manner. Because even in front of a psychiatrist, some patients still keep their guard up, out of habit maintaining a facade or performing. The sand tray can show their inner thoughts in a more genuine way.”

“Like solving a puzzle?” Qi Ran asked. “For the psychiatrist?”

“More or less. Hiding what you want to express in a created sandbox, and then the psychiatrist teases it apart bit by bit like solving a riddle until reaching the final result,” Miss Ah Qiao said. “And a lake is the sandbox you unconsciously create. It reflects your inner world, and it’s the most important thing for a person. That’s why I told you earlier not to ask others about their feelings.”

Qi Ran recalled. “But earlier, you said it was just a sensation — a smell, an image, or a sound.”

“Because the moment I told you it was a lake, the condition of ‘authenticity’ would be lost. You would consciously imagine your lake, deliberately construct your lake… Don’t say it’s impossible. That’s an instinctive behavior. Everyone subconsciously conceals and whitewashes their inner world,” Miss Ah Qiao said lightly. “And once you have that thought, once you develop the urge to embellish your lake, you will lose your lake for good.”

She paused and smiled. “Besides, no one really knows what this thing actually is. The reason we call it a lake is simply because the very first person who discovered it had an inner world that was an extremely deep, profound lake, nothing more. Some people’s lakes are a school, some a hometown, some their own bedroom… Everyone’s is different. Just like your lake is this rooftop, not an actual lake. It’s just a name.”

“Of course, aside from the old name ‘lake,’ there are plenty of other terms in the Circle, like Heart Soil, Thought Palace, or Soul Abode — I still prefer the name ‘lake’ myself. It’s simple and direct, far better than those mystifying, chuuni-sounding names.” Miss Ah Qiao said with a hint of helplessness.

Qi Ran froze, recalling the moment her consciousness had first returned. She had distinctly been slowly sinking down through a lake. Only after opening that door had she arrived on this rooftop.

But from Miss Ah Qiao’s words, it seemed no one else had any memory of that lake.