The pool opened wide like a blue plaza, a calm lake under a glass roof, so spread-out swimmers never bunched like drifting leaves.

Girls and boys splashed like kingfishers in rain, laughter scattering like wind-chimes in a summer breeze.

Those who could swim chased each other like playful koi, and those who couldn’t drifted off to other rides like swallows changing perches.

The water wrapped the body with cool silk, a night breeze compared to the street’s noon furnace.

Each ripple lowered the heat like shade beneath bamboo, leaving only comfort like dew on skin.

“Take this, hey!” she cried, voice bright as a bell tossed over water.

“Ugh, you brat—Sham-chan, take mine!” another shot back, sparks flying like sunlight off spray.

“Count me in!” someone chimed, quick as a dragonfly skimming a pond.

“Mizuki, let’s go too!” another urged, a petal on the current.

“Wait, I haven’t—ah, Mai, you menace!” she yelped, like a startled sparrow winging up.

Water burst around them like scattered pearls midair, and their laughing faces shone like peaches in dawn light.

Cute swimsuits bloomed like garden flowers, and the spray rose like white blossoms, the prettiest scene in this blue garden.

Eye candy stayed eye candy, for men and women alike, in a world where faces ruled like moon over tide.

You ask what Yun Shi was doing?

He sat beneath a sun umbrella like a resting crane, sipping a chilled drink while watching the water sparkle.

The orange soda tasted bright as mandarin peel, and the ice made it crisper, a frost note on the tongue while the girls played like fish.

Joining them would be better, sure, but Yun Shi let it go, his mood a shy cloud that wouldn’t cross the sun.

If he went, he felt he’d trip over himself, embarrassment piling like tumbling tiles.

“Okay, enough, enough,” Yan Er said first, climbing out with a stretch like a cat, rolling her shoulder as she slipped under Yun Shi’s shade and grabbed the soda he’d already bought.

“Whew—thought of everything, thanks, Yun Shi,” she sighed, relief like cool rain.

“...No need. I didn’t buy it for you,” he muttered, turning away, stiff as a reed that won’t bend.

He wasn’t about to admit he’d run out to buy drinks for everyone, his heartbeat fluttering like a trapped moth.

“I’m back—whoa, Xiao Yun, you’re the best, my favorite iced black tea’s right here!” someone sang, delight popping like firecrackers.

“Mm, vanilla’s not bad,” another said, smooth as milk foam.

“I like strawberry... wait, you actually got it,” a third gasped, eyes bright as stars.

“There’s even the soda I wanted...” another murmured, surprise rippling like a pebble in a pond.

One by one the girls found their favorites, and their doubtful looks fell on Yun Shi like falling leaves.

He squirmed in his chair like a rabbit sensing hawks, turning his face away.

“I’m suspicious, but I think it’s true, Yun Shi, don’t tell me—” Mai began, her tone a cat’s paw.

You know what we like to drink, right?

Before she could finish, an angry shout cracked like three firecrackers in a row.

“Shut up shut up shut up! Like I’d know the tastes of a few of you! I grabbed them at random, got it? I didn’t mean it, it just happened, so drop it!”

Yun Shi’s reaction spiked like a hailstorm, fists balling as he snapped back.

Picture it: a cute-faced boy, cheeks red as cherries, eyes shut, fists clenched, stubborn as a calf, refusing to admit what he’d done—adorable as a kitten batting yarn.

Everyone, frankly, found him ridiculously cute, their smiles blooming like morning glories.

So they shared a look and let the topic drift away like a leaf on water.

If he knows all our favorite flavors, then he cares about this little circle, their hearts thought, warm as teacups.

Seems like he’s finally getting honest, they all couldn’t help but think, a breeze turning a page.

“Ahh, that hits the spot,” someone sighed, satisfaction pooling like warm sunlight.

“Nothing beats a drink after a swim,” another agreed, voice as lazy as a brook.

They sat beside Yun Shi, sipping, their contentment soft as clouds at noon.

Seeing the girls so close he could count their lashes, Yun Shi felt a quiet fullness, happiness unfurling like bamboo after rain.

By noon, their fingers were pale from soaking, so they chose lunch first, like travelers seeking an inn before dusk.

After eating, the girls set their sights on the haunted house like moths to a lantern, but Yun Shi didn’t go; he said he wasn’t interested, and returned to the umbrella’s shadow like a heron by a pond.

They played hard anyway, and Sham was wrecked, eyes spinning like tops, a toy left in the rain.

“I may kill, but I don’t eat—O God, don’t eat me...” she babbled, terror fluttering like a trapped bat.

No good—she needed real rest, the way a wilted flower needs water.

Everyone knew Sham couldn’t handle haunted houses, foreign to the local ghosts, so Mai took her away to rest, while the others drifted back to the pool like boats returning to harbor, though Mizuki’s face stayed stormy as a spring squall.

“Back already? That was fast,” Yun Shi said without turning, his voice flat as a still pond.

He worried a little about Sham, a cloud passing across the moon, but remembering her thorny temper, he decided not to fuss, a blade sheathed again.

“So what now, swim again?” Yan Er asked, glancing over the water like a scout.

Aside from Yun Shi, only three other “girls” remained in the public eye, their shadows tall as reeds.

“I’ve had enough,” one Mizuki said, tone soft as a shade tree.

“Me too,” the other Mizuki added, cool as porcelain.

“Got it,” Yan Er murmured, sinking into thought like a stone in deep water.

Someone hadn’t even gotten in yet, a fact gleaming like a coin on the path.

“Right, Yun Shi, you still haven’t swum,” Yan Er said, the topic sliding toward him like a lantern boat.

Both Mizukis looked over, and Yun Shi’s shoulders trembled, a twig in wind.

“What, problem?” he asked, stepping back a pace, stiff as a deer before an arrow.

Seeing that, Yan Er smiled with fox-bright eyes and came closer, mischief fluttering like a paper kite.

“You came to a pool—wasting it if you don’t swim,” she coaxed, voice honeyed as summer tea.

“Nonsense. I’m not getting in,” he shot back, refusal hard as granite.

“C’mon, don’t be like that, come play,” she pressed, a tide lapping at a stubborn rock.

“You’re annoying. I said no,” Yun Shi answered, clean as a guillotine.

The two Mizukis traded a look and smiled, their plan a spark under dry pine.

“Anyway, I’m not going down there. That’s that. I’m going to buy something,” Yun Shi said, tossing out a flimsy excuse like a paper fan.

He turned to bolt, feet ready to fly like startled quail, but Yan Er was quick, catching him by the collar like a cat snagging a kitten.

“Hey, what are—”

Splash!

He didn’t finish the sentence; with one light push, he plunged headfirst, the world flipping like a coin.

His weight vanished and cold wrapped him like night water; bubbles rushed from his mouth like silver beads, saying one thing—he’d been shoved in.

Yan Er watched the blooming bubbles and smiled, satisfied as a prankster under plum blossoms, waving for her friends to follow.

“Hey, let’s get in too—”

She stopped, because—

Both Mizukis stared at the pool, rigid as stone lanterns, saying nothing as their eyes widened like moons.

Yan Er followed their gaze, and froze too, her breath snagging like silk on thorns.

“Gwah wah wah wah...!” came the sound, jagged as a saw through ice.

A figure thrashed in the water, arms and legs flailing like a beetle on its back; now and then a small head or hand broke the surface like a drowning leaf.

Bubbles boiled up like a spring, and his panicked flailing hurled more spray than any game, a white storm on blue glass.

“He can’t swim!” Yan Er blurted, the truth striking like lightning.

No wonder he wouldn’t get in, no wonder he hugged the shore; he was a land duck through and through, dry as dust at sea.

And if she pushed a non-swimmer—she was sunk, guilt crashing like a wave.

“Gwah...!” Yun Shi swallowed too much water, his stomach churning like a capsized boat, vision blurring like ink in rain, and his strength bled away, sinking slow as a stone.

“Bad! Yun Shi’s drowning!” Mizuki cried, voice cutting like a bell in fog.

Yan Er gathered herself to dive, but a cold draft sliced past like an arrow, and a splash sounded as someone vanished from her side.

Mizuki didn’t hesitate; the moment she saw him go under, she dove, pure instinct like a swallow spearing the river.

Terror clenched her heart like a fist, and panic burned cold as iron; she was scared—so scared of losing someone—that urgency sharpened her faster than anyone.

“Yun!” she called in her chest, a prayer tossed into deep water.

Under the surface, Yun Shi’s eyes eased open, the world green and wavering like jade; a familiar shadow swam toward him, her hand reaching like a lily stem.

Probably that idiot, he thought, a smile flickering like a candle, and he let his eyes fall closed.

...

“What do we do? I didn’t mean it!” Yan Er cried, remorse cracking like ice.

“It’s okay, Yan Er, Yun’s okay,” Mizuki said, steady as a shore.

“Should we call a lifeguard?” someone asked, voice thin as reed-flute.

“No, there’s no time, he isn’t waking,” Mizuki answered, urgency tight as a bowstring.

“Mizuki, we might need... mouth-to-mouth,” the other Mizuki said, cheeks warming like sunrise.

“Eh!” came the squeak, small as a mouse.

Yun Shi lay flat on the tiles, soaked clothes clinging like a second skin, outlines soft as silk; his wet hair fanned on the ground like black seaweed.

But he’d just been hauled out, and his mind hadn’t returned, drifting like a boat in fog.

“Mouth-to-mouth, that...” Mizuki whispered, face red as pomegranate.

“But if we don’t...” Yan Er said, torn like paper in wind.

Even if it was just first aid, doing that to a boy made her flush, shame prickling like nettles, because a girl’s kiss is a treasure kept like jade.

But—

If they didn’t, Yun might—

Mizuki shook her head, resolve hardening like ice, and under the gaze of Yan Er and Mizuki, she knelt, steadying his head with gentle hands like petals.

The two innocent girls covered their burning faces with their fingers, peeking through like sparrows behind leaves.

Her palms met a softness like jelly, and Mizuki’s blush deepened to crimson, but she set her hands to his abdomen, focused like a monk at a bell.

His stomach wasn’t rough as she expected; it felt smooth and soft, like a girl’s skin after bath, and the surprise flickered by like a firefly.

She pressed again and again, each motion a wave against a shore, her mind on him and nothing else, because she truly didn’t want Yun hurt.

She lowered her face, her breath brushing his skin like warm wind, hesitation hovering like a moth.

Then she steeled herself, iron under silk, parted his cherry-soft lips, and set her own gently to his, light as petals meeting dew.

Soft met soft, and an orange note rose like peel crushed in palm; for a heartbeat she startled—his lips were so soft, so fragrant.

She sent air in slowly, then again, generosity flowing like a spring without counting drops.

She didn’t know how much oxygen each breath carried; she only knew her heart was racing like hooves over a bridge.

“Cough!” he gasped at last, water spilling from his mouth like a spilled bowl, the belly’s burden finally leaving.

Mizuki took in the scene, cheeks burning like a peach blossom; she rose and, light as a petal, settled onto Yun Shi.

Yun Shi’s vision slowly returned, and she saw a girl atop her, a face lit red like a sunset behind rain.

No wonder her body felt so soft, like cloud drift; a girl was there.

Confusion washed first, then focus; she made out the figure above, a worried blush, beautiful as spring water.

Without thinking, Yun Shi breathed a name, soft as dew: “Mizuki...”

Mizuki let the flush ebb, and with a shy voice like willow wind, said, “Welcome back, Yun-kun.”

Between girl and girl, a delicate feeling sprouted, like a green shoot after rain.