Reservoir 3

That note was never meant to arrange a meeting.

“It’s obvious, really—once you think about it, it all makes sense.” An Ruxin’s fingers brushed across the diary’s pages. “You two lived right across the hall, not in school. Chen Anran could knock on your door at any time and ask to meet—there was no need to write a note. See, Miaoqing, the question comes back—why did this note exist? Why did she want to give it to you? Connecting it with the diary’s line, ‘It’s the same if I say it tomorrow’—what exactly did she want to say through the note? It’s simple, actually… This note contains a hidden message. That’s all. The note in the diary is the evidence I was talking about.”

“Hidden… message…” Bai Miaoqing’s body swayed.

In truth, An Ruxin felt that she’d already realized it.

Yes, she believed Bai Miaoqing had already figured it out—she just didn’t want to face it… or rather, was waiting for her to say it aloud.

So, this farce had to play out to the end. It had to escalate until it was beyond repair. Until the ugliest truth was dragged out into the light, where no one could look away.

An Ruxin didn’t look at Bai Miaoqing’s face. She clenched her jaw and continued following her train of thought: “Two things caught my attention the most. First, the big number 5 on the note. And second, the structure of the note—the frequent line breaks, especially that second line: ‘Let’s go bring joy to the haunted reservoir.’ It always struck me as a little off, awkwardly worded. Personally, I’d write it more like, ‘Let’s bring joy to the haunted reservoir together.’ But more importantly, the sentence doesn’t even make much sense. And that word—‘joy’—it’s weird, not something you’d just casually jot down. Reading it just makes me feel… like it’s forced, like the word ‘joy’ had to be in that exact spot.”

“‘The word joy had to be in that exact spot,’” An Ruxin repeated. “Once I thought that, it all clicked. I even figured out what the number 5 meant… Starting from the first line, I skipped five characters, then looked at the sixth—I found the character ‘我’ (I). The ‘喜’ (joy) from ‘喜庆’ (celebration) was just below and to the left. My eyes naturally followed…”

Her fingers moved over the paper, quickly tracing the path:

Do you remember the thing you promised me?

Let’s go bring 喜 庆 (joy) to the haunted reservoir!

It’ll definitely be a day full of fun ☆

Let’s meet behind the school on the back hill.

This is a secret—we can’t let any adults know.

You have to be there!

She didn’t look at Bai Miaoqing’s face.

An Ruxin knew she had to say it all quickly. Bai Miaoqing was on the verge of breaking down—An Ruxin could feel it. If she didn’t get it all out now, Bai Miaoqing might never be able to hear the rest.

“…I know you’ve figured it out too, Miaoqing. You’re smart. Chen Anran really was a smart girl. She didn’t use an acrostic or a simple diagonal cipher. She started from the middle of the first line and worked backward, hiding the message that way. She even wrote the number 5 on the note as a hint. Not too hard, so that no one could ever figure it out—but not so obvious that it would jump right out, either. She wrote… ah, I think… I don’t need to read it aloud anymore. No… no need.”

Do you remember the thing you promised 【me】?

Let’s go bring 【joy】 to the haunted reservoir!

It’ll definitely be a 【happy】 day ☆

The meeting 【place】 is behind the school on the hill.

It’s 【a】 secret—don’t tell the adults.

【You】 have to be there!

【The person I like is you.】

“Ah… ah…”

A pitiful, broken, and incomprehensible sound came from deep within Bai Miaoqing’s throat. She trembled violently, like a torn leaf drifting hollowly in the air.

Just as An Ruxin said… the truth was so shocking, it scared even her when she first pieced it together. At first, it seemed absurd—but the more she thought about it, the more everything lined up. Everything returned to its rightful place, every gear meshing perfectly.

In the end, An Ruxin even thought, “So it was this simple all along… Why didn’t I see it sooner?”

Chen Anran had a crush on Bai Miaoqing. That explained everything.

Why was there no trace of such a major thing in her diary, not even a hint?

Because there was a trace—the confession note was right there, pasted in. And the diary itself was filled with the notes she and Bai Miaoqing passed during school. That kind of meticulousness could only come from young, tender love.

Why did Chen Anran, practically a girl everyone adored, not dare to confess to the person she liked? Didn’t she think that person might like her back?

Because that person was Bai Miaoqing. They were both girls. Best friends, at that. And Chen Anran, who’d grown up with her, probably knew very clearly that Bai Miaoqing didn’t return her feelings.

Why was she so fascinated by the legend of the ghost who died for love at the reservoir?

Because of her hopeless crush. And because of their genders, she had no one to confide in, no way to let go. So, like grabbing at a lifeline, she believed in the legend of the ghost. What interested her wasn’t the ghost story—it was the idea that the ghost could grant wishes, especially wishes related to secret love.

Why did Chen Anran want to give Bai Miaoqing the note? What did she mean by “it’s fine if I say it tomorrow”?

The note’s hidden message wasn’t “I like you,” but “The person I like is you.” Which meant that, in her original plan, Bai Miaoqing would already know she had a crush on someone—something she’d hint at during their time at the reservoir. It would let her feel things out—if Miaoqing seemed like she might return the feeling, then she’d say, “That note I gave you had a 5 on it, right? Try skipping five characters and read diagonally from the sixth, bottom left.” Then, she could just wait quietly for Miaoqing’s response—hopefully a good one.

On the other hand, if she realized Miaoqing didn’t feel that way, and the wish-fulfilling ghost was just a myth, then she’d never bring it up again. The hidden message would remain buried, her love unspoken, and their friendship untouched. In fact, if she hadn’t forgotten to bring the note, she probably would’ve said something like, “This is important—keep it safe, okay?” or “Carry it with you, alright?” She knew Bai Miaoqing always listened to her. If she asked, Miaoqing would never have thrown it away.

But this delicate plan, dreamed up with a girl’s heart, fell apart from the start. Maybe she was just too nervous. After all, this note carried the truth of her secret love. What if the riddle was too easy, and Bai Miaoqing solved it before she’d had a chance to test the waters? In her nervous state, Chen Anran forgot to bring the note. She had no choice but to pretend nothing happened. Back home, frustrated with herself, she wrote in her diary and pasted the note inside.

As for “it’s fine if I say it tomorrow”—An Ruxin easily guessed what that meant too. After the plan with the note failed, Chen Anran probably came up with a simpler one: just test Bai Miaoqing at the reservoir. If she thought Miaoqing liked her back, she’d confess. If not, she’d say nothing, and they’d stay friends.

And so, that day came.

Even though they were heading out to explore an abandoned reservoir, Chen Anran still put on a beautiful white dress—partly for the sense of ceremony, but probably also because she wanted to look her best in front of the person she liked, especially at a moment like this.

After making her wish, Chen Anran asked an intriguing question: “Miao, you’ve never had a crush on anyone, right?” It was undoubtedly a way to test the waters.

When she got a negative response, Chen Anran could tell that Bai Miaoqing was sincere. The truth was clear—Bai Miaoqing didn’t like her that way. Later, in Bai Miaoqing’s account, Chen Anran leaned against the railing the whole time, staring off into the sky, never once looking at her—

Most likely because, in the end, Chen Anran was still just a fifteen-year-old girl. She didn’t have the confidence to hide the disappointment and sadness on her face. So she pretended to daydream, simply because she didn’t want Bai Miaoqing to see her expression.

And if you think more carefully about that “knight” Chen Anran claimed to have a crush on… the way she described them was uncannily similar to how Bai Miaoqing had described all the things she’d selflessly done for the sake of their friendship.

But as An Ruxin had thought: just how deeply can a person’s fixed perceptions—of themselves, of others—warp their own understanding?

Bai Miaoqing had probably never considered that her endless giving hadn’t been overlooked by the flawless Chen Anran she imagined in her heart. On the contrary, Chen Anran saw her as her knight. Bai Miaoqing would never have guessed that the perfect, carefree Chen Anran she held in such high regard could feel the anguish of a hidden crush—over someone as ordinary as herself.

It had never even occurred to her. Not once.

An Ruxin was certain of that.

She had already laid out all these seemingly trivial analyses to Bai Miaoqing. And still, Bai Miaoqing couldn’t say a word. It was like she was both laughing and crying at the same time, broken syllables spilling from her lips, her entire body trembling so violently even her feet couldn’t stay steady.

An Ruxin knew it was cruel—but she had to say it all.

“So, the drowning of that boy has nothing to do with Chen Anran, or with any so-called ghost,” An Ruxin said softly. “Ah… I can tell you what I believe: Chen Anran’s wish wasn’t ‘Let her be with me.’ You can see that clearly from her plan. She wasn’t a clingy girl—she didn’t need you to be with her. She just couldn’t bring herself to tell you directly. She didn’t want to ask outright, but she still wanted to know whether you liked her. If you didn’t like her, she wouldn’t have revealed any of this. Her wish was never ‘Let her be with me,’ because she was fully prepared for the possibility that you two would never be together. You didn’t notice how she felt, and in the end, what she was going to say was still ‘Let’s go back’… So, I think her real wish must have been something like: ‘Let her fall in love with me too.’”

She paused, then looked at the figure of Chen Anran’s ghost standing behind Bai Miaoqing—that damp, shadowy form.

“The wish-granting ghost of the reservoir never existed,” An Ruxin concluded. “Because Chen Anran’s wish was never granted.”

An Ruxin said: “Because you never loved her.”

Author’s note:

The next chapter will return to Bai Miaoqing’s perspective.