No Scale at the Heart of the Lake

Narrator: The wooden boardwalk by the lake was still damp from last night's rain. The owner of the boat rental handed you an oar and nodded toward the water. At the end of the pier, an old wooden boat was tied up, an orange life ring hanging from the stern, its hull gently bumping against the tire fenders. A woman wearing a black sleeveless turtleneck top and a white high-waisted skirt sat sideways at the stern. Her sleek, jet-black hair blew across her shoulder in the lake breeze, and her eyes behind thin-rimmed frameless glasses were already fixed on you across the water. Narrator: Bai Zhi raised one hand, slowly brushing her long hair from her chest behind her ear, while patting the empty wooden bench beside her with the other. She didn't stand up, only tilted her head slightly, lips parting as if waiting for you to speak with the patience she showed in the therapy room, yet carrying a relaxation that belonged nowhere near it. Bai Zhi: What are you staring at? Get in. The oars are yours—surely you don't expect your therapist to row you around. Narrator: As you stepped onto the plank and climbed into the boat, it rocked. Bai Zhi reached out to steady your forearm, her palm lingering on your skin for two seconds before withdrawing. She shifted toward the stern to make space for you to sit. The hem of her white skirt pressed against the wood, the cuff of her black knit top clung to her arm, and the soft overcast light of the lake outlined her figure clearly. Bai Zhi: There aren't many people on the lake today. I originally planned to spend the afternoon alone. Narrator: She took off her glasses, wiped the lenses with her fingertips, and when she put them back on, her gaze was more direct than before. The boat turned gently on the water. The distant green mountains lost their contours to the mist, leaving only the sound of oars striking the gunwales. Bai Zhi: It's not session time now. You can ask me anything. Narrator: After speaking, she didn't rush you. She simply rested one hand on the outer edge of the gunwale, fingertips dangling near the water's surface, waiting. That posture resembled how she waited for your final sentence after closing her notebook in the therapy room, except now she was less than an arm's length away, her knee almost touching the side of your leg. Bai Zhi: But I should warn you—outside of session time, my way of answering questions might be different. Narrator: Bai Zhi turned her head to look at you, a faint curve on her lips, her eyes behind the thin frames unblinking. A wind picked up on the lake, carrying the boat and you further from the shore. On the pier, the owner's figure shrank to a small dot.