The poolside crowd was thinner than earlier in the morning. The light had shifted west of overhead, the water's surface no longer a dazzling reflection but a soft, blue satin. The scent of sunscreen floated in every breath.
I stood at the edge of the general area, near the railing, my fingertips brushing the choker. The floating interface lit up. The sea breeze lifted my skirt, the gold thread at the top edge of my over-the-knee stockings flashing once. Dianzi stood beside me in her light gray JK top, white pleated skirt, the little cloud at her back swaying gently in the wind.
Dianzi spun half a circle toward the camera. "The weather is so nice today, this girl here. Dancing Lamb Hoo-Hoo just now made us all sweaty. Came to the poolside to catch some breeze."
[chat] Wifey is so beautiful
[chat] Daughter's little cloud is so cute
[chat] JK uniform with the pool is absolutely stunning
[chat] What kind of dance is Lamb Hoo-Hoo?
The camera panned across the pool. The general area wasn't crowded; a few children splashed in the water. That young mother wasn't here today. The VIP area was empty, the towels on the loungers neatly folded.
In the distance, Zhao Dayong was walking over from the direction of the changing rooms. His dark gray jacket was off, leaving a light blue shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. The black backpack was slung diagonally across his back, his camera hanging at his chest. He walked very slowly, each step as if checking that the ground was stable.
He reached the poolside, put his backpack on the tiles, and took out a black, square camera bag with impact-protective lining at the edges. He placed it at his feet and crouched down to adjust the camera settings.
Dianzi glanced at me. I didn't speak.
Holding the squirrel and stepping in her thick-soled black loafers, she walked toward Zhao Dayong. Her steps were very light, the soles making no sound on the non-slip mat. When she was behind him, she looked down at the camera bag on the ground, lifted her right foot, and gave it a light nudge with her toe.
The camera bag slid off the pool's edge, floated on the water's surface for a moment, then slowly began to sink. The black fabric, soaked through, grew darker in color, a string of tiny bubbles escaping from its edges.
"Oh dear!" Dianzi stuffed the squirrel into my arms and crouched down by the poolside, reaching out to grab it. Her fingers couldn't reach; she leaned her whole body forward, her skirt nearly touching the water.
Zhao Dayong stood up, froze for a moment, then crouched down to help her fish it out.
"Sorry, sorry, sorry!" Dianzi's voice carried over. "My foot slipped."
She picked up a hooked rescue pole from the pool's edge, reached it into the water to hook the camera bag's strap, and slowly pulled it back. The camera bag was very heavy as it emerged from the water, droplets streaming down its edges. She crouched there, holding the dripping camera bag in both hands, water flowing through the gaps between her fingers.
"Let this girl here wipe it off for you." She placed the camera bag on the pool's edge, pulled a tissue from her pocket, and gently pressed it against the surface of the bag.
Zhao Dayong stood beside her, at a loss. "It's, it's fine. There should be a waterproof layer inside."
Before he could finish, Dianzi's toe gave another light nudge against the ground. The pair of athletic shoes he'd taken off by the poolside—the left one was hooked by her foot, sliding off the edge and into the water with a plop.
The shoe flipped over on the water's surface, sole facing up, and slowly sank toward the bottom.
"Oh dear, the shoe learned to swim too." Dianzi tilted her head, watching the shoe's shadow slowly disappear beneath the water. "Look, they're floating together in the water, even closer than in your photographs."
Zhao Dayong opened his mouth but no sound came out. He watched the spot where the shoe had sunk, a few bubbles rising to the surface, the water returning to calm. His left foot, now only in a sock, rested on the non-slip mat, his toes wiggling inside the sock.
——He didn't even get angry. A temper that mild is either impeccable upbringing, or he no longer has the energy to be angry.
Dianzi crouched down and reached her hand into the water. Her toes traced under the water's surface, hooking the shoe as it was halfway sunk, slowly pulling it up. The shoe was completely soaked, water streaming from its opening. She placed it by the poolside, next to the camera bag.
"This girl here didn't do it on purpose." She stood up, hands clasped behind her back. "Do you believe her?"
Zhao Dayong looked at the wet shoe and the wet camera bag on the ground, then at her face. His expression shifted from stunned to a strange kind of relaxation.
He believed her. Not that she hadn't done it on purpose, but that she meant no harm.
"I do."
"Then let's exchange contacts." Dianzi pulled her phone from her bag and opened the add-friend interface. "The matter of the camera and the shoe—this girl here has to compensate you."
Zhao Dayong paused. "No need, little miss. Really, no need."
"Yes, there is." Dianzi handed the phone over.
He hesitated. His fingers rubbed against the seam of his pants, then he took the phone and entered a string of numbers. The glow of the screen reflected on his face, illuminating the red mark on the bridge of his nose that hadn't yet faded. When he handed the phone back, the screen showed the friend request successfully sent. The profile picture was the silhouette of a camera.
"Done."
Dianzi glanced at the screen and tapped "accept." She turned the phone toward me. "Sister, I added him."
I walked over and stood in front of him.
"The camera bag. The shoes. How much?"
He waved his hands. "Little miss, really, it's not necessary. The camera bag has a waterproof layer—it'll be fine once dried. The shoe's been fished out. It'll be wearable once it's dried."
"How much."
He was silent for a few seconds, then reported a number. His voice was very small, as if saying something he shouldn't be saying.
I took my phone from my bag, opened the newly added contact, entered the amount, and pressed "transfer." The screen showed a successful transaction.
He pulled his phone from his pocket and looked down at the screen. His finger paused on the screen. He didn't tap "accept," just stared at the string of numbers.
"Accept it. That's about the cost of repairing a water-damaged camera. If the shoes don't dry, buy a new pair."
He stood there, the light from the phone screen illuminating his face. After a long moment, he tapped "accept." The notification sound was exceptionally crisp and clear in the quiet poolside, like a coin dropping into water.
"Thank you." His voice was very soft.
I turned and walked toward the pool exit. Dianzi followed, still holding the squirrel.
The corridor was very quiet, only our footsteps. Dianzi walked beside me, lifting the squirrel to her eyes.
"Sister, was this girl here's acting convincing just now?"
"It was. But you were too blatant when you hooked the shoe."
"He noticed?"
"He did. But he didn't expose it. Because he needs to believe that someone simply slipped."
Through the porthole at the end of the corridor, the sea was shifting from cobalt blue to deep gray. A crack opened in the clouds, sunlight spilling through, slicing a golden band of light across the sea's surface. The light and shadow moved slowly across the water, as though someone had spread a layer of crushed gold over the sea and was now slowly rolling it up from the other end.
I glanced back toward the pool area. Zhao Dayong was still crouched by the pool's edge, taking items out of the camera bag one by one and laying them out to dry in the sun. He paused when he picked up the memory card, held it up to the light to inspect it, then returned it to its waterproof case. His movements were still slow, but slightly more fluid than before.
Dianzi took out her phone. The screen lit up, and she looked down at it.
"His profile picture is lit up."
She turned the screen toward me. Below Zhao Dayong's account, a green dot shone quietly. Not "typing," just online. Like a person standing at a doorway, neither knocking nor leaving.
We kept walking. After a while, she glanced down again.
"Still there."
The light in the corridor retreated, porthole by porthole, stretching our shadows long and then short, short and then long. By the time we reached the fire door, she put her phone away and leaned against my shoulder.
"This girl here thinks he'll take very beautiful photos."
"Why?"
"Because he looked at your profile picture twice. And he waited that long without closing the page."
The squirrel's tail dangled from the crook of her arm, swaying gently with her steps. The fire door closed behind us. The light on the deck was growing dimmer; the clouds pressed very low, and a mist was rising on the sea.