“Young master, we’ve reached the target islet,” the pilot said, his voice slicing the cabin air like a blade skimming still water.

“Huh? We’re already there?” Lin Fan stirred, drowsy as mist, grabbed the helicopter’s skid, and poked his head out like a gull testing the wind.

The sea breeze hit him like cool silk on skin, blowing the last scraps of sleep away like frost under morning sun.

An island rose into view like a jade plate set on blue satin, its shore a pale ribbon encircling green.

“This one?” Lin Fan pointed, finger steady as a compass needle, eyes bright as flint.

“Yes, per satellite nav, it’s this one,” the pilot confirmed, words firm as a lighthouse beam in fog.

“Circle the beach once, I need to check something,” Lin Fan said, heartbeat steadying like a drum under a calm sky.

The helicopter banked high, a dragonfly tracing loops over glassy water, rotors beating like a storm held at bay.

“Mm… got it… here,” Lin Fan murmured, gaze snagging on a charred nest of firewood like a crow on glinting coal.

“Right here, thanks for the lift,” he said, hooking a small case to a parachute, motion smooth as a fisherman casting a net.

He slung on his pack, stepped onto the skid like a diver on a cliff, and signaled with a quick flick, sharp as lightning.

He flipped backward and dropped like a hawk stooping on prey, angling into a dive toward the case’s falling path.

The pilot watched his neat descent and chuckled, smile wry as late sun on waves. “Chasing a girl’s not easy these days.”

The helicopter peeled away like a gull catching a tailwind, and the sea swallowed its noise like dusk swallowing light.

Lin Fan popped his chute, white silk blooming like a lotus, then settled into the water with a soft kiss of spray.

“Haven’t jumped in ages—feels great,” he laughed, joy bright as a flare, cutting the lines and gripping the bobbing case like a buoy.

He swam for shore with strokes clean as oars, hauling the little box through ripples that shivered like silver fish.

——

“It’s been a full day, and not a whisper,” Joanna breathed, setting the phone down like a stone dropped into a well.

Her heart felt bruised as a plum, and her eyes were swollen red, twin moons drowned by rain.

“Don’t panic—I've alerted our people in the military,” her father said, voice steady as an anchor in chop. “They’ll help with the search.”

After all, Xiao Qianxue had saved his daughter and fallen into danger, and duty tugged him like a tide that won’t let go.

“I hope they find something soon,” Joanna whispered, prayer thin as smoke. “Xiaoxue, please be safe… please come back.”

Tears slid again, warm as spring rain over peach-petal cheeks, leaving shining tracks like dew on blossom.

On the Xiao family’s side, her father paced like an ant on a hot wok, helpless under a sky of iron.

Madam Xiao still slept, breath shallow as a moth’s wing, and the room felt cold as a shuttered shrine.

“Amitabha, Tathagata, Guanyin, Shakyamuni—please bless my daughter’s safe return,” he cried, kneeling hard as stone, forehead knocking the floor like a bell.

——

On the beach, Lin Fan searched with patience taut as a drawn bow, eyes combing the scrub like wind over grass.

“Huh, where’d the little girl hide?” he muttered, curiosity prowling like a cat through his ribs.

He spotted a pile of broad leaves stacked oddly, like shuffled cards trying to hide a secret.

He peeled them back carefully, fingers gentle as lifting a veil, and a shadowed hole yawned beneath like a fox’s den.

He slid inside, the space opening up like a lantern-lit hall, larger than the low mouth had promised.

There she lay: a perfect beauty, golden hair spilled like silk on stone, features fine as carved porcelain in soft dusk.

Her eyes stayed closed like two quiet lakes, and her cherry lips held a faint curve, sweet as spring fruit.

It was the one he’d dreamed of day and night, a star he’d chased across dark water, now within arm’s reach.

Desire surged hot as wildfire, to scoop up that feather-light body and lock it to his chest like a shield.

He forced it down, steady as a dam on a river, and backed out, because Little Loli still slept like a kitten.

“All right, let me make a proper breakfast,” he said, rubbing his hands, glee flickering like kindling catching flame.

He returned to the supply box, and red light flared from his hands like twin blades, scything the grass around the hole.

In moments, the wild edge lay flat as a courtyard, a green square waiting like a stage before a show.

“Now we can set the table,” he said, breath easy as breeze, unfolding portable table and chairs with crisp, practiced motions.

He misted bug repellent in a halo, fine as rain, so no little pests would crash the feast like rude guests.

“Toast… milk… bacon… salad,” he murmured, laying them out like offerings, each plate shining like a little moon.

“Done—now we wait for her,” he said, licking his lips like a fox at the henhouse door, eyes on the hole.

“Mmm…” From inside, Little Loli stirred, her waking voice soft as a flute under blankets.

She propped herself up, dazed as fog, and her stomach growled in protest like a stray dog in winter.

“So hungry,” she whispered, a sigh light as smoke, thinking of breakfasts that used to arrive like sunrise.

“Guess I need to forage… life’s rough,” she muttered, resolve thin as thread, when a fragrance rushed in like warm wind.

“So good… smells like toast,” she breathed, nose twitching like a rabbit’s, the foodie in her leaping like a spark.

She darted out, quick as a swallow, and the scene stopped her cold like thunder without clouds.

The weeds had become a lawn neat as velvet, and at its heart stood a table with two chairs like a picnic in a dream.

On the table lay a bright salad and golden toast, plus Western pastries lined up like soldiers at parade.

Beside them stood someone achingly familiar, a figure clear as a lighthouse after fog lifts.

“Am I still asleep?” Little Loli rubbed her eyes, doubtful as a cloud, trying to shake the dream like dew off grass.

Lin Fan drank in her drowsy look, warmth rising like sun through frost. “What, a few months and you don’t know me?”

“Lin… Lin Fan?” she gasped, shock cracking like ice, words trembling like a struck string. “Is it really you?”

Months ago they’d lived and died together like fish and water, and now he stood here like a star fallen to earth.

His fair face was cut like jade, cool and clean, and his dark eyes held a luster like deep obsidian.

His tall frame radiated confidence and maturity like a mountain after storm, and he seemed a head taller than before.

“All right, Xiaoxue, save the shock—have breakfast first,” Lin Fan said, voice gentle as warm bread, and he pulled out a chair.

His silhouette blurred like heat-haze, and he appeared behind her, a ripple in air smooth as silk.

One hand settled on her head, ruffling like breeze through wheat, while the other gently guided her to the table.

She wanted to ask about his entrance and that footwork, questions buzzing like bees, but breakfast called louder than drums.

“I’m digging in!” she announced, cheer bright as morning bells, and focused on the feast like a pilgrim at an altar.

Lin Fan smiled and sat beside her, calm as a lake at noon, tasting his own breakfast bite by bite.

After a while, Little Loli finished, cradling her milk with both hands like a warm lantern, sipping in tiny kisses.

Lin Fan stared, spellbound as a moth at flame, eyes soft as dusk over water.

Bang. “Oww, that hurts!” he yelped, clutching his head like a struck gong, pain flashing like summer lightning.

“Hmph! Who stares at a girl while she eats?” she huffed, cheeks puffed like buns, arms crossed like closed gates. “I almost thought you’d matured.”

“In my eyes, Xiaoxue just got even cuter,” he said, grin easy as tide, and tried his habitual head-pat kill.

She tilted away, dodging like a heroine on cue, but his hand flowed faster, changing angle like a swallow’s wing.

It landed softly on her head, a touch light as snow, and her protest burst like steam from a kettle.

“Damn you!!!!!!!!!”