Watching Starlight’s retreating back, Chen Mo didn’t know if she had forgiven him.
He shook his head and prepared to continue with his own business.
He walked another two blocks along the sidewalk, stopped in front of a grocery store, and went inside.
He didn’t bring the phone Vought gave him.
He spent forty dollars in cash there to buy a prepaid, second-hand antique phone.
It had no smart features, no GPS, no app store; it could only make calls and send text messages.
He inserted a disposable SIM card and topped it up with one hundred dollars of credit.
This was his “safe phone.” Stepping out of the grocery store, Chen Mo sat on a bench on the street, using the second-hand phone to go online.
The internet speed was as slow as the dial-up era, but it was enough to look up the number of a real estate agency.
He found a small, unassuming real estate agency in Lower Manhattan.
He didn’t choose those big chain brands, because someone at a large agency might recognize The Deep, and even if they didn’t, they would leave detailed client records in their system.
Small agencies handled transactions on the spot, didn’t check backgrounds, and didn’t ask questions.
“Hello, I’d like to see a few seaside houses,” he said in English, his voice lowered more than usual, stripping away that “fawning upward inflection” peculiar to The Deep.
“Are you free this morning?” The agent flipped through their schedule on the other end of the line and said they were free.
“I don’t need anyone to accompany me for the viewing,” Chen Mo said.
“You give me the addresses and the codes for the keypad locks, and I’ll go look at them myself.
If I like one, I’ll contact you directly and pay in full.” There was a two-second silence on the other end, likely evaluating the weight of the phrase “cash payment in full.” “No problem, sir.” The agent’s voice was noticeably more enthusiastic.
“I’ll send the property information to your phone right now.” Chen Mo hung up.
Ten minutes later, a text message came in.
Three properties, all on the seaside of Long Island; two were detached villas, and one was an apartment.
It included the addresses and the codes for the keypad locks.
Chen Mo took a glance at the map.
The closest property was on the North Shore of Long Island, which would take over an hour to drive to from Manhattan if he went by land.
But he didn’t need to go by land.
He was The Deep.
He could swim in the Mariana Trench.
The distance from Manhattan to Long Island was nothing more than a warm-up exercise for The Deep’s physiology.
Besides, going by water meant no cameras, no toll booths, and no pedestrians would take a second look at you.
The bed of the Hudson River was a natural, absolutely private passageway; even Translucent wouldn’t go there to monitor him, because Translucent needed to breathe, while The Deep did not.
Chen Mo stood up, stuffed the safe phone into his pocket, and continued walking along the street.
He didn’t head east, as that was the bustling area of Midtown Manhattan, where there were too many people and prying eyes.
He walked west, in the direction of the Hudson River.
Two blocks later, he saw a park by the river.
There weren’t many people in the park in the early morning: a few elderly people walking dogs, a jogger wearing headphones, and two raccoons rummaging for food by a trash can.
They were probably the only living things that noticed Chen Mo.
Chen Mo walked to the riverbank, crouched down, and reached his hand into the water.
It was cool.
His consciousness extended downward for a moment to greet the local inhabitants.
The schools of fish at the bottom of the river scattered and then gathered again, as if responding to his presence.
Very good.
No one noticed.
As for Vought’s tracker, once it entered the water, it was useless.
He took off his gray hoodie and black casual pants, folded them, and stuffed them along with his phone into a plastic bag he had grabbed from the grocery store.
Underneath, he was wearing a dark, quick-drying compression suit, which he had found at the very bottom of his closet.
He took a deep breath and slid into the water.
There was no splash, no sound, just like one drop of water merging into another.
The moment the river water submerged his head, the entire world went quiet.
The noise from the shore—the sound of traffic, the wind, the distant sirens—was all blocked out by the water’s surface.
Replacing it was a low, rumbling sound of water currents, which intertwined with his heartbeat like some kind of duet.
The visibility of the river water was low; suspended silt limited his field of vision to just a few meters, but his pupils adjusted the instant he entered the water.
The contours of the riverbed unfolded in his mind like a low-resolution satellite map: reefs, shipwreck debris, abandoned pier pilings—all as clear as if he were looking at a thermal imaging map.
His gills opened on both sides of his abdomen.
The deep red gill filaments, thin as cicada wings, drifted gently in the water.
Oxygen flowed directly from the water into his bloodstream.
He didn’t need to surface.
He didn’t need to breathe.
Then he moved.
The Deep’s swimming posture was completely different from a human’s; he didn’t need to paddle or kick his legs.
His body density could be actively adjusted within a certain range, from a density close to that of an ordinary person to a level sufficient to withstand the pressure of the Mariana Trench.
Now, he adjusted his density to be slightly higher than the river water, allowing his body to sink naturally, and then moved forward along the riverbed through slight undulations of his muscles.
It was more efficient than a fish; fish still needed to flick their tails, while he only needed to “think” it.
The silt at the bottom of the river churned beneath him like a brown cloud.
A few curious catfish swam over and then scattered in panic; these aquatic creatures seemed to be able to sense The Deep’s dominance.
Chen Mo followed the riverbed of the Hudson River all the way south.
The course of the river unfolded in his consciousness like an auto-navigating map.
Ahead was Battery Park, where the Hudson River flowed into New York Harbor.
Further ahead was the Verrazzano-Narrows Bridge; after passing the bridge, he would enter open water and then travel east along the south shore of Long Island.
It would take about half an hour to reach the location of the first property.
The piers of the Williamsburg Bridge passed overhead like the legs of giants.
Chen Mo slowed down as he approached Battery Park, switching to a deeper dive.
The water depth here was only about ten meters, but the undulations of the riverbed provided enough cover.
The sound of a tourist cruise ship’s propeller came down from above.
The low-frequency hum traveled fast and far through the river water, making his gill filaments itch slightly.
Chen Mo continued east.
He floated to two meters below the surface, glanced into the distance through the water to confirm his direction, then sank back down and continued swimming.
The first property was located on a peninsula called “Montauk.” It looked very far on a map, but it didn’t feel that distant when swimming in the water.
Half an hour later, he poked his head out of the water and saw the white house through a gap in a group of reefs.
On a cliff.
White.
Conspicuous.
Not suitable.
He sank back into the water and continued east.
The second one.
More remote, but the water at the dock was too shallow, only three or four meters deep.
His body’s lowest density allowed him to float on one-meter-deep water without touching the bottom, but if he wanted to hide underwater nearby, he needed deeper water.
The third one.
When Chen Mo surfaced from the water, he saw the peninsula.
It looked like a finger extending into the sea, with a gray stone house built on it.
He crawled ashore near the rocks behind the house.
The sea breeze was strong, blowing the water droplets on his body off like rain.
His gills automatically closed, and the scars on both sides of his abdomen became sealed again.
Chen Mo wrung the water out of his compression suit, took the hoodie and pants out of the waterproof bag to put them on, and donned a baseball cap and sunglasses.
He pushed the door open and walked in.
The living room wasn’t large, but the ceiling was high, with exposed wooden beams running across overhead.
The fireplace was built of stone, and the ashes inside were from who knew how many years ago.
All the windows faced the sea.
Chen Mo walked through the living room, pushed open the back door, and stepped onto the rocks behind the house.
He stood on the edge of the rocks and looked down.
The seawater was less than two meters below his feet, deep blue, with no bottom in sight.
He crouched down and reached his hand into the water.
An unknown small silver fish swam over and nudged his finger.
Chen Mo extended his consciousness downward.
Below this stretch of water, there was a steep underwater cliff.
Less than fifty meters from the coastline, the depth of the seabed plummeted from a few meters to dozens of meters, then continued to drop, like a slide leading into the abyss.
In the deeper areas, larger things were swimming, but he didn’t need to worry at all.
Chen Mo had decided that this was the place.
He walked back into the house, took out the safe phone, and called the agent: “The third one, I’ll take it.” “No bargaining, full payment, I can pay today.” “You don’t need a transfer lawyer?
I have my own.” “Yes, the sooner the better.” Hanging up the phone, Chen Mo stood in front of the living room window, looking at the sea outside.
“Alright,” Chen Mo said to the empty house, “from now on, this is the safe house.” CREATORS’ THOUGHTS Noct_Veyr Enjoying the story?