"It's me."
Those two words sank like depth charges, detonating deep within Su Xiaolan's heart. A tsunami of bitterness, relief, and disbelief shattered her final emotional barrier. Scalding mist instantly flooded her vision. She blinked furiously, unable to suppress the searing turbulence in her chest threatening to crack her ribs.
Li Chenyuan didn't move closer immediately. Like a leviathan lurking in the abyss, dark currents churned in his eyes. His thumb traced the frayed edge of the old library card, his voice a low, gritty rasp like shifting seabed sediment: "Secretly loved you for years. My way... was clumsy... and cruel. Sorry."
Su Xiaolan's nose stung. Before a word could escape, her wrist was seized by an irresistible force. The world spun, and she was swept into a solid, burning embrace—as if caught in the vortex of a deep-sea maelstrom by a leviathan's tail fin.
"Sit." He pressed her into the corner of the little yellow duck sofa, his breath hot against her ear, commanding yet laced with a suppressed tremor. "Just sit," he paused, as if wrestling down a primal instinct, "—At least for now, I won't 'swallow' you whole."
Her ears flamed crimson. Her heartbeat, like fish scattered by a leviathan's tail-swipe, plunged into chaos.
He lowered his gaze. The tense lines at his temples softened strangely in the sunlight as his thumb clumsily wiped the dampness from her eye. "No more tears."
"I-I'm not crying!" she protested, her thick nasal tone betraying her. "Chip crumbs... got in my eyes..."
He gave a low hum. Suddenly, he leaned down, enveloping her completely. The steady drumming of his chest pressed against her ear—that heartbeat, stable, heavy, yet carrying a chaotic rhythm like deep-sea undercurrents.
"A test." His chin rested on her crown, his tone deceptively gentle. "Listen well. Whose heartbeat is losing control for whom."
Time stretched like a rubber band pulled taut by deep-sea pressure, ready to snap. His phone vibrated twice on the coffee table. A glance at the caller ID, his voice dropped lower. "Thirty seconds."
"Wh-what thirty seconds?"
"Time-limited anchorage." His lips brushed her ear, each syllable a searing brand. "After that—you belong to my waters."
Her breath hitched completely. Her fingers clenched and unclenched against the back of his shirt. On the final beat, she finally surrendered, wrapping her arms lightly around him. The touch was as fleeting as a fish's tail brushing deep water, yet it sent a violent tremor through his chest.
The phone rang a third time before he answered. His German was cold and sharp, cracking ice. Turning away, he became the leviathan commanding his empire. Data, clauses, conditions—all intimate heat instantly condensed into steely discipline.
Su Xiaolan sat up straight, clutching a blanket, silently pushing a cup of warm water towards his hand. Without looking, he rubbed his thumb heavily over her fingertips—leaving the invisible mark of a deep-sea sovereign.
Call ended. The laptop slid towards her. "Schneider deep-water negotiations in two hours. Hone the blade on these pages. Wrap it in sugar."
She blinked. "A smiling blade?"
"Mn." Curt reply as he pulled her to sit opposite.
The clatter of keyboards filled the air. She distilled his harsh clauses into three sharp thrusts, patching data gaps with crisp footnotes, dusting sentence ends with a drop of honey compelling agreement.
"This line—'Like encountering a glowing fish on a monochrome ice field'—change it." Sudden command.
"Why?"
"Too much like you." He lifted his gaze, unnervingly calm. "Distracts me—makes me want to hunt."
Her ears burned. Rapid typing: "Like lighting a lure-lamp in the eternal night abyss."
He stared at the screen. "Hm. You are that lamp."
The air grew thick enough to ignite. She coughed lightly, retreating. "Want some congee?"
He stood, rolling up sleeves with finality. "I'll make it."
"...The kitchen is a strategic weapons-free zone!"
He calmly tied on the cream-colored 'Salted Fish' apron, the knot as deft as a sailor's hitch. "I know. My prey mustn't go hungry."
Water boiled, rice fell, ginger crushed. Blue flames licked obediently at the pot's base. In swirling steam, his profile was impossibly handsome. Leaning against the doorframe, her heart felt wrapped in congee-warmth—the storm of public opinion, boardroom daggers, covert deal shadows... receded like the tide.
Bowls on the table, he picked up a napkin, meticulously wiping a ring of congee broth from her bowl's rim. Matter-of-fact: "Clean." As if polishing a pearl in his private sea. Her scalp prickled. "Could you... not use that possessive tone...?"
The doorbell chimed twice, rhythm weighted with years.
Both looked up.
"Wang Jing?" she guessed.
"Unlikely." Li Chenyuan was already at the door.
An old lady stood there, thermal flask and cloth bag in hand, smile warm as winter sun. "Xiao Su! Last night's storm was fierce. Brought you osmanthus-glazed lotus root to ward off the chill." Words trailing slightly, fine wrinkles blooming like chrysanthemums. Her gaze landed on the tall man, pausing, smile deepening. "Ah, this must be Xiao Su's... companion?"
"Boyfriend." Li Chenyuan answered seamlessly, taking the bag. "Thank you for your thoughtfulness, Grandma."
"Oh, you charming boy!" Granny Zhang beamed, handing the flask to Su Xiaolan, deftly adjusting her scarf. "Xiao Su catches chills easily. Don't overdo it."
She lingered, eyes seeming to casually sweep the room: laptop screen dense with German clauses, the apron by the window embroidered "Unprofessional," the old chip bag on the sill—washed, flattened, refracting silver light. Her gaze lingered imperceptibly on the chip bag—fleeting as a deep-sea fish's shadow.
"Granny Zhang, won't you sit?" Su Xiaolan offered quickly.
"No, no, just delivering well wishes." Granny Zhang pressed a neatly folded slip of thin paper into Su Xiaolan's palm, smile kind. "My doorbell's been acting up, ringing like someone's tapping out a tune. You youngsters understand. Could you check if my router's throwing another tantrum?"
Su Xiaolan's fingers tightened. The paper square clenched in her palm—grid paper, perfectly creased, dotted with specks finer than dust, arranged like Morse code.
She looked up, meeting Granny Zhang's knowing gaze. A gentle, old-fashioned scrutiny—a silent question: "Decoded?"
Li Chenyuan, sensing the shift, stepped half in front of Su Xiaolan.
Granny Zhang smiled, waving it off. Eyes moving between them, tone flat:
"A salted fish wanting to laze flat must first learn to come up for air. Deep water isn't scary. What's scary is... forgetting the way back to the surface."
With that, she turned. Heels tapped the corridor: "Tap. Tap. Tap."—precise as an old radio time signal.
Door closed. Only congee fragrance lingered.
Su Xiaolan twirled the paper. "Router tantrum?"
"More like a warning: 'Someone's knocking.'" Li Chenyuan's eyes turned arctic. "Wang Jing checks the footage."
She smoothed the paper. Her heart skipped. Following simple Morse rules, the dots formed a terse warning:
"BEWARE UPSTAIRS."
Memory fragments flashed—a figure behind the upstairs peephole last night; someone fiddling with a short tripod this morning. Assumed neighborly noise, now reeked of suspicion.
"Known her long?" Li Chenyuan's gaze locked on the paper.
"Granny Zhang?" Su Xiaolan's throat parched. "Worked in telecoms, night shifts at a radio station. Knows Morse. When I worked late, scared of the dark, she'd leave a little yellow light in her window..."
She stopped abruptly—lure-lamp.
Li Chenyuan's eyes sharpened like deep-sea sonar. "She saw something. Or... she hears a frequency."
Air stretched taut as a drawn bowstring.
Li Chenyuan suddenly leaned down, palm cupping the back of her head, forcibly gathering scattered thoughts. "Lock windows. Draw curtains. Don't be alone tonight."
"Where are you going?"
"Returning you to your berth." Ordinary tone, domineering. "Then, going upstairs to meet that 'router'."
He steered her towards the bedroom. Muttered: "You whale... sounding more like a gangster flick..."
"Standard security protocol." He drew curtains tight. Turning back, gaze lingered. Leaned close again, forehead to hers, voice a husky murmur: "Thirty seconds of anchorage... isn't enough."
Her heart seared by molten rock. "How long then?"
"Until you learn to breathe freely in my depths."
He turned to leave. The doorbell chimed again—two quick, light notes—like a carefully orchestrated tapping rhythm.
Li Chenyuan pulled the door open, expression grim.
Empty. Only a thin express envelope lay on the ground. No sender. A QR code, black as the abyss, printed on its surface.
Su Xiaolan's pupils contracted! Granny Zhang's "tapping tune" and the note's "BEWARE UPSTAIRS" snapped into an icy chain—their floor was under surveillance.
She opened the envelope. Inside: a photocopy of a faded library card. On the back, tiny text like a ghost:
"F.LK WELCOME BACK TO DEEP WATER."
Gazes locked mid-air. Silent thunder cracked.
"Don't touch!" He snapped the envelope shut, icy command on the phone: "Wang Jing. Fifteen minutes. Bring gear. — Addendum: Dig deep on comms history. Granny Zhang."
A pause from Wang Jing. "Granny Zhang? Downstairs? I think... saw her name in an old comms yearbook..."
Su Xiaolan clenched the Morse paper, yet her heartbeat steadied strangely.
Granny Zhang was no ordinary neighbor. She decoded the language of the deep.
And Su Xiaolan herself—was no salted fish waiting to be caught. She knew how to surface, how to dive deep, and when to bare her teeth.
Outside, rain clouds hung low. Distant cold glint—like a lens.
Inside, congee still warm. Osmanthus sweetness wove like hidden currents.
Li Chenyuan rolled up shirt sleeves, as if waging an invisible sea battle in his living room. He turned, gaze steady as an anchor:
"From this moment, this lamp—guides only you."
He pointed to the little yellow lamp by the window.
Su Xiaolan's eyes burned, lips curved. She flicked the switch. Warm light spilled onto the sill, bathing the washed, flattened chip bag—a beacon lighting the way home through the deep, never extinguished.
The signal was sent.
The deep water responded in silence.