Longing for Fish by the Abyss

This time, the fall lasted longer. Maybe it was because this was a towering ancient tree. Ginkgo leaves, like countless yellow butterflies, fluttered down as we slipped through the branches. When we landed, though, it felt as if hardly any time had passed. I was still sprawled across his chest and waist. He brought his palm down, and I thought he was going to slap me awake. I tumbled to the ground, but he caught me. His pale, soft hand rested against my forehead, and when he opened his palm, there was a ginkgo leaf. He spoke, his voice so lovely, especially like the guqin I used to pluck at random back home. I was never any good at playing, and often scared my few goldfish, making them bump around their tank. But I knew it was a fine instrument. I think it was called something like He Li...