Today the aquarium was lively.
At the entrance, a long line had formed, with most visitors being families, and children running around excitedly.
The sun was a bit hot.
Though the May sun wasn’t scorching, standing in it for too long still made one’s forehead sweat.
Yan Yu raised her hand to shield her brow and squinted slightly.
Su Qinghan noticed this action.
Without a word, she took a folding umbrella out of her bag, opened it, and held it over Yan Yu’s head.
The umbrella cast a small round shadow over Yan Yu.
Yan Yu looked up, glanced at the umbrella above her, then at Su Qinghan.
Su Qinghan was looking down at her phone, her expression indifferent.
But she held the umbrella very steadily, firmly over Yan Yu.
The line slowly inched forward.
After about twenty minutes, it was finally their turn.
Su Qinghan took out two tickets from her bag and scanned them at the entrance gate.
Ding — Welcome.
The gate opened, and they went in.
As soon as they entered the aquarium, the whole world changed.
The light suddenly dimmed.
The walls were designed to look like a deep-sea cave, and the floor was dark non-slip tiles.
The air became damp and cool, carrying a faint salty smell.
On the other side of the glass was a huge tank, with deep blue lights shining down from the water surface, forming columns of light.
Swarms of small fish darted between these light columns, and several larger fish lazily swam through them.
Yan Yu tilted her head up, her eyes following the trails of the fish.
Su Qinghan pushed her slowly forward, the wheelchair’s wheels making soft sounds as they rolled over the tiles.
They passed exhibit after exhibit.
“What fish is that?”
Su Qinghan suddenly stopped, her gaze falling on a group of colorful small fish behind the glass.
“Clownfish.”
Yan Yu answered without any hesitation.
“And that one?”
“Blue tang.”
Yan Yu paused, then added, “That fish is in Finding Nemo too—the character Dory.”
Su Qinghan turned her head and glanced at her.
“You know a lot about fish?”
Yan Yu shook her head slightly.
“I just know a few common ones.
When I was little, I liked aquariums for a while and read some books.”
‘Childhood.’
‘Likes aquariums.’
Su Qinghan silently noted down these two pieces of information in her heart.
She didn’t even realize she was doing it.
They continued forward a bit more and passed through a long corridor.
The aquarium’s interior was cleverly designed—the passage had transparent glass on both sides, making it feel like walking through an underwater tunnel.
Su Qinghan pushed Yan Yu through this tunnel, one in front and one behind, without speaking.
The corridor’s lights were deep blue, pouring down from above like deep-sea water, reflecting on the fish on both sides.
A ray glided overhead, its belly snow-white.
Yan Yu looked up slightly, her eyes following the ray until it disappeared at the end of the tunnel.
Just then, the wheelchair suddenly stopped moving.
Su Qinghan pushed again, but the wheelchair didn’t budge.
She frowned, added more force to her wrist, and pushed once more.
Yan Yu’s attention was entirely on the fish on the other side of the glass.
The wheelchair still didn’t react, as if nailed to the spot.
“What’s wrong?”
Yan Yu turned around.
Su Qinghan didn’t answer.
She walked around to the side of the wheelchair and bent down to look at the wheel.
The right rear wheel was crooked—a screw on the axle had clearly come loose and gotten stuck between the brake pad and the hub, completely jamming the wheel.
She reached out and touched the screw, but it didn’t move.
Yan Yu also looked down, silent for two seconds.
“A wheel is broken,” she said.
This wasn’t expected.
She had checked the wheelchair when she left today, and it was clearly fine.
There had been no problems on the way, so why did this have to happen here at the aquarium?
“Sorry.”
Yan Yu lowered her eyelashes.
“We’re blocking people in the middle.
Could you help me move the wheelchair to the side?”
As she spoke, she pushed on the armrests with both hands and slowly lifted herself up from the wheelchair.
Her legs trembled slightly.
Then she saw the floor.
This section of the corridor had a slight downward slope.
Yan Yu’s pupils dilated slightly.
The slope wasn’t big, but for someone with no strength in her legs, even such a small slope was deadly.
“Yan Yu—!”
Su Qinghan’s voice became urgent.
The next moment, Yan Yu tried to grab the wheelchair armrest to steady herself, but the momentum of her body had already carried her forward.
She toppled forward.
Su Qinghan caught her the instant she fell.
One arm wrapped around her waist, the other grabbed her shoulder, forcibly halting her downward momentum so she didn’t hit the ground.
Yan Yu’s face was almost pressed against Su Qinghan’s shoulder hollow.
Instinctively, she reached out and grabbed the front of Su Qinghan’s clothes, her fingers clenching tightly, her chest heaving violently.
Her breathing was rapid and ragged, and the baby hairs on her forehead were wet with sweat, sticking to her skin.
“Sorry,” Yan Yu said, her voice breathy.
“Sorry… I didn’t—”
She took a deep breath and calmed herself.
Then she tried to let go of the clothes and steady herself against the glass wall.
She pushed.
Her body didn’t move.
She tried again, pressing her palms against the glass wall and pushing with her arms, trying to lift herself out of Su Qinghan’s support.
Still no movement.
Su Qinghan maintained the half-holding position, not letting go.
The feeling wasn’t like supporting someone who was about to fall—it was more like she was reluctant to let go.
Yan Yu frowned slightly.
“Qinghan,” she said.
Su Qinghan didn’t respond.
Her chin was resting near Yan Yu’s shoulder, her gaze fixed on the fish swimming behind the glass wall, but it seemed like she wasn’t seeing anything at all.
Her expression was calm—so calm it was strange.
Only she knew how fast her heart was beating.
Su Qinghan didn’t know why she felt this way.
She had never felt this for anyone, not even Jiang Muyun.
The faint scent coming from Yan Yu’s body invaded her breath, short-circuiting her brain.
“Qinghan,” Yan Yu called again, this time a bit louder.
“You should let go of me.”
Su Qinghan finally snapped back to reality.
She abruptly lifted her head, then gently released her hands.
Then she turned her face away.
Yan Yu leaned against the glass wall, breathing slightly heavily.
She looked down at her legs, then up at Su Qinghan.
The two of them were silent for a few seconds.
“…I’ll help you sit over there, then go find a staff member to borrow tools to fix the wheelchair.
Is that okay?”
Su Qinghan spoke, her voice half a pitch lower than usual.
“Mm,” Yan Yu replied softly.
On the other side of the glass, a clownfish was wiggling out of a patch of seaweed, its orange body strikingly vivid in the deep blue seawater.