They coursed past jagged islands and passenger ferries on a similar route to theirs—though with engines and roaring smokestacks, those ships defied the rule of the wind. The Cloudlander, powered by its sails, rode the whims of the air, speeding with the swells and slowing with the lulls.

From here, there began four hours of easy sailing eastward and a little south—punctuated by food, water, and copious conversation—about home, life, and the race to come. As they crossed noon, the first sliver of deep green, rimmed by the white of sand, rose out of the horizon.

As the sight met their eyes, the gale began to howl. Like a shroud pulled over the sea, the sky greyed, accompanied by Iki’s notification of what they both suspected— “Looks like a short shower incoming from the ocean, with strong northeast-by-east winds, maybe fifteen degrees to port from your current course.”

“Good thing we've just entered sight of Yenyun Island,” muttered Jinai while Anqien cast an eye towards the dashboard compass. Already the wind was beating against every rope, pushing back against their bow. “How long do you reckon it’ll stay?”

“An hour or so. And it looks like the wind might oscillate.”

“We’re about dead east from Yenyun,” Anqien replied, glancing now and then at the horizon. “We could start beating and then tack on the wind shift.”

“You wanna gamble on that shift?” asked Jinai.

“We didn’t get here by playing safe, isn’t that what you always say?” they answered. “And besides, it’s only a dry run.”

“Hey! You’re meant to be treating it like—”

“I know,” Jinai cut Telaki off. “Alright, let’s do this.”

“Tacking thirty degrees to starboard,” Anqien called, gripping the helm.

“Ready!”

They heaved the rudder and mainsail, and the yacht turned keenly to starboard, so that the wind now lifted the sail forward. This was the closest angle to their preferred route without being caught in irons against the wind. Yenyun was now to their left, a little way off their bow.

As the dashboard clock ticked to one, the clouds that rolled over the sun began to spit rain upon them, drenching their hair and running off their goggles. By now, too, they had a full view of the village of Caiyun nestled in the coastline, its many jetties hosting vessels as small as rowboats and as grand as cruise ships.

“Almost in the bay of Caiyun now,” Jinai said, and on the other end of the relay, Telaki let out a whoop.

“You show that sea who’s boss!” she shouted, voice crackling from volume. “It’s been five and a half hours. You’re right on schedule.”

Anqien swiped rainwater off their forehead, adjusting the heading of the boat. “Well, that’s a relief,” they said.

When that wind shift hit, fifteen minutes later, it they tacked once again into a head-on charge to Caiyun, the rain spattering their faces. That wind was enough to carry them into the churning bay waters, where they glimpsed a multitude—hobby fishers on the jetties taking advantage of the shower, and boats with their gangplanks down for boarders. Some stared as they veered into the coastal waters; others yelled out what may have been their names and other salutations that were lost to the rush of water.

Caiyun had never grown larger than a village. In eras past, it had been frequented by trade ships, but since Muli Bay had been closed to cargo and fishing, the commercial traffic to this harbour had thinned. Still its citizens did well for themselves, living off the land and the sea.

“I'm gonna say we've hit Caiyun,” Anqien said. “Let's turn back.”

“Ready to gybe,” Jinai replied through the melange of noise. Anqien nodded back, and she began to reel the sail in to centre. “Three—two—one!”

As they arced around to face the way they had come, the mainsail caught the wind from the other side, and the boom swung with a guttural creak. Jinai hauled the sail in seamlessly, easing it into its new position on the port side of the boat.

“Are we running, do you reckon?” Anqien asked.

Jinai nodded once. “Wind’s good.” She sprinted to the bow, snatching the spinnaker from beneath the thwart, and hoisted it up in front of the jib sail, watching it fill with rain-speckled wind. Its westward pull on the vessel was instantaneous, lifting them back in the direction of Wulien.

“Let’s get as far downwind as we can!”

Their downwind run was uninterrupted, except for a second meal break and a change of tack about two miles from Wulien, to duck north of Canlan Island. The clouds began to thin and scatter, and through them the sun began to pierce, cool grey light gradually strengthening to a vintage gold.

As they rounded the northern tip once again, the whole of Muli Bay glided into view, gold in the descending sun. They paused their idle chatter in the fresh after-shower air to take in the full breadth of the coastline, running north to south and punctuated by outcroppings, inlets like the one where the marina sat, a weave of jutting masts and cables, and peninsulas such as the fish market’s. North of that, there rose the pale steeple of Nakano, and then the Tienshi Tower behind it—the only airborne building in Helfi—topped in a ring-shaped observation deck.

Rising from the coastline like uneven stairs were the terraces of buildings, all painted in warm hues, or left as bare brick. Here and there, lights were lit in the coastal windows, but the afternoon sun dwarfed them at this time of day, glinting in gold ribbons across the water.

They soared, grinning, into the embrace of the bay. “How was it?” yelled Jinai as they sped back into the marina, starting to lower the sails as they decelerated.

Telaki, with her head of pink braided hair, was impossible to miss, jumping and waving as they pulled in towards the berth. Anqien steered their trajectory towards her. Jinai had only just finished rolling the spinnaker when Anqien slung a grinning Meman the mooring rope.

“Ten hours, twenty seven minutes,” Lujang said, squinting at her watch for good measure while the wind fell away.

“Talk about a fantastic re-entry into the NHR zone!” Telaki hollered, hands cupped around her mouth.

“Yeah, yeah,” Jinai said, calmly gathered their supplies into their packs, but Anqien saw in the lightness of her step that she was brimming with delight.

It was almost as if she were ashamed of her joy. Or afraid?

Answering her passing whisper of “good work” with a clap on the back, Anqien slung their own pack over their shoulder, now heavy with wrappers and empty bottles, and began to climb the ladder to the pier. Every muscle in their body complained—it was only after the adrenaline high that the aches ever set in.

Halfway up the ladder, gripping the chipped green paint of the rung, they looked down at Jinai on the deck. “You wanna head down the promenade after this?”

She blinked back up. “Just to hang out?”

Their pulse doubled inexplicably. “Yep! Just, kinda, to wind down after all that sailing.”

Jinai spent a second deliberating, before beaming back with, “Sure, I could use that.”

Bags slung over their shoulders, the pair strolled five minutes up the promenade and picked out a part of the shore not obscured by breakwaters and peninsulas, in front of a row of shops they had never visited. Tucking their shoes in their bags, they clambered down to the tide and settled atop a slanting block of stone rubble, smoothed by the sea.

Side by side, they swung their legs in the surf, hands down on the weather-worn stone. Jinai had changed back into her old pink scoop-necked tee, denim pants rolled up above her ankles. She rolled her right shoulder a few times, massaging a sore spot between her shoulder blades.

“You looked happy back there,” Anqien said amid the calls of gulls. “When we came back from the run.”

“You could tell?” she asked without looking.

“Only because you were trying so hard not to look pleased,” they replied. The tide pulled back in anticipation.

She blinked twice. “I was? I guess, maybe—”

An errant wave surged up the stone, spraying their feet and faces. Yelping, Jinai dove against Anqien for cover, arm looping around their waist as they both tumbled, half-drenched, against the rock behind them. As the ocean subsided, her shout turned into a laugh in their ear.

“Whoa, sorry, that caught me off guard!” she exclaimed. She picked her head up in a trail of showering drops and grinned at them. Their faces were too close together. They could see the flecks in her blue eyes.

Was this the same person that Anqien had admired all this while—hero and virtuoso, star and comet? Like vapour evaporating in the sun, heat rose through their chest and filled their head, swallowing them in a daze. Jinai was trying to unhook her arm from about their waist as she propped herself up—but they felt an impulse to stop her, to beg her to stay right where she was and keep holding them like that.

But their breath caught and they said nothing, and Jinai swung herself upright in a smooth motion, gaze still trained on theirs. Anqien watched her wordlessly from where they lay against the slant of the rock. The wind whipped her dark, curly hair about. She pushed it ineffectually behind her ear. “Everything alright?” she murmured.

“Oh, no, yes, I’m fine!” Anqien shook themself, burying their cheek in their shoulder to ease the blush away. “I think I’ll stay here for a bit.”

She chuckled. “You’re so silly, it’s adorable.”

They sucked in a breath as the words hit like a bolt through the heart, and their eyes darted away. “Uh. Hah.” They pushed upright on trembling arms. “But yeah! I…I’m always happy to see you happy.”

Jinai sighed. “You know, I haven’t thought about whether I’m happy in a long time. Never checked in with myself or anything. So hearing you say that…I guess, I wonder if I’ve been less happy than I realised.”

“You did seem downright miserable for half a year. I really felt it when things changed.”

She chuckled. “That bad?” She shook her head. “You’re right though. Back then, when we were sailing, I really was happy, I think. I suddenly remembered why I love it. You feel so free out on the open water, you know?”

They nodded. “Like no one and nothing can catch you. Or tell you what to do.”

“We could just run away in our yacht one day. Couldn’t we? Just pack our things and go—sail to the other side of the world and never have anything to do with all the bad shit in this life again.”

“You don’t think there’ll be bad shit wherever we go?”

“I mean, there will be. But at least I won’t be in Wulien anymore. No more traces of Josa everywhere I turn. Nothing to remind me of the past.”

“Except me?” Anqien murmured.

“No, I don’t want you in the past. Getting to do my career over with you has been the best thing Wulien has given me. And if I ever left, I’d want you to come with me.” She cocked her head to a side. “If you wanted to. But you also have the rest of your career ahead, so…”

“No, no, I would love to go wherever you go.” Their head was spinning with her words. “We could start our careers over, right?”

“Not if they know you’ve a fugitive from Cloud Connectors.” But Jinai was beaming again, that enthrallment glowing on her face as she sidled towards them—not seeming to notice how it instantly brought the blush back. “It’s all just wishful thinking anyway. Chances are, even after I retire, I’ll stay to help the team. Keep mentoring you till you’re the best you could be. ‘Cause you deserve that.”

They were close enough to touch, and Anqien fought their sudden bottomless yearning to close that gap. It would be too much at once. They would give themself away.

Give what away? That I'm in love with her?

Though they had already known it deep down, the realisation still hit them like a boom swinging on a gybe, clocking them on the back of the head. They looked the other way. No, no, no. No. She’s said she isn’t ready. Feverish thoughts rattled in their mind. I can’t keep thinking about this. I need to forget about it. She’s…

“—Anqien? Hello? You still with me?”

Their head whipped back. Jinai’s face was aglow in the orange light, eyelashes glimmering. A new tide of longing washed away any hope they had had of convincing themself this wasn’t happening. “I…think we should probably head off soon.” They wiggled away. Damn it.

“Oh, come on, so soon?” she answered, tugging on their arm. Only then did she seem to notice the change in their mood, and her face softened, fingers dropping away. “Alright, no more talk about running away together, I didn’t realise it was bothering you.”

It's the opposite of bothering me. That’s the problem. This, they did not say. Instead, their eyes darted to the horizon, where the purple was sweeping over the pink, bringing stars with it, and the layers of clouds were lit aflame by the sinking sun.

“I’m alright,” Anqien said simply.

“You sure?” Jinai nudged them. “I didn’t say anything.”

“Yeah! I’m just. Assuring you. You know.” They resolved to shut their blabbering mouth after that, although their thoughts continued to ramble in blazing disarray.