Beisha Bay was one of Xinchi City’s most famous tourist spots.

Hotels, swimming pools, even unique water activities—all available here.

At the entrance stood a massive stone archway. Carved deep into the stone and freshly repainted each year were the three bold characters: *Beisha Bay*.

Chen Dao barely noticed. Since college, seaside outings had slipped from his life—either holed up in his dorm or stressed over group projects.

Past the archway lay a parking lot. Further in, small shops lined the path: convenience stores, inns, Shaxian Delicacies, Lanzhou Hand-Pulled Noodles—everything you’d expect.

This had once been a quiet fishing village. After development, half became a scenic zone; most residents moved away. Only a few stayed to run businesses.

*Living off demolition compensation… doesn’t sound so bad*, he mused.

Crossing the nearly empty lot, Chen Dao walked slowly against the evening sea breeze—growing sharper by the minute—carrying cigarettes and tea toward the seafood stall owned by Zhao Lexuan’s relative.

A stall specializing in seafood. The kind that, paired with beer, could trigger gout.

One of his college roommates had suffered from it.

From afar, he spotted a stout man lingering by the stall entrance, glancing around—a chef, clearly skilled.

“Uncle Zhao!!”

Waving, Chen Dao broke into a run.

The plastic bag rustled noisily in his hand, but didn’t slow him. The man checked his phone, comparing photo to face, then offered a faint smile.

“So you’re Chen Dao?”

“Yes, Uncle Zhao! Thank you so much for your help! I brought hibiscus-flavored tea—please try it!”

No lengthy pleasantries. Chen Dao handed over the gifts, caught the genuine delight on Uncle Zhao’s face, and smoothly steered talk toward stall operations.

After circling the topic for half an hour, they finally reached Chen Dao’s request: keep an eye on a girl who’d visited recently. A *very* beautiful one—the movie-star type.

Beauty standards shifted with generations. In a few years? Aesthetic chaos. But now? Still decent—especially for this elder from the ’70s.

Uncle Zhao patted his shoulder and pointed.

“A girl—high ponytail, puffer jacket, pretty. Around 165 cm? Looked heartbroken, headed that way. Not sure if it’s her, but I sent my daughter to follow.”

Seeing Chen Dao’s calm composure, Uncle Zhao silently affirmed his choice.

“Thanks, Uncle. I’ll treat you to drinks later,” Chen Dao said, already walking off.

Well-paved roads. Streetlights glowing steadily—as if quietly scolding him for skipping student duties.

Phone powered off. Told no one he was coming.

Only Zhao Lexuan might’ve guessed.

*Old Zhu’s gonna chew me out later*, he thought with a wry smile, pulling his thin school uniform tighter. Beneath it? Just a light undershirt.

*And that little rascal Xia Jiuli actually bought a puffer jacket?!*

The stall’s lively buzz faded. Colorful LED glows on his clothes softened into plain white streetlight. Chen Dao was close now.

The road widened. Buildings thinned. Waves crashed against rocks—a rhythmic argument carried off by the howling wind into the night.

Nearby, a curvy woman wrapped in a windbreaker turned at the crisp sound of footsteps.

Black headscarf hid her hair. Cheeks flushed red from the wind. Her whole body trembled.

“So you’re Chen Dao? Lexuan mentioned you.”

Lips pale, she rubbed her arms, glancing between him and a distant figure on the shore.

“Sister Zhao, I’m so sorry I’m late. School didn’t let out until now—I had no choice…” Chen Dao murmured, pulling a warm hand warmer from his pocket and pressing it into her hands.

This gentle-faced, kind-hearted married woman blinked in surprise.

“How thoughtful! I’ve stood here three hours—that girl won’t leave. Be careful! Come eat later—I’ll treat you!” She beamed, tucking the warmer close. Warmth bloomed from her core, spreading through her limbs.

“Thanks, Sister.”

After another shoulder pat and her retreating steps, Chen Dao turned toward the coast.

He stepped down onto damp, soft sand. *Crunch.* Each footfall whispered his presence; the trail behind, proof he’d walked this path.

Among scattered prints, two neat rows led straight to her. Chen Dao sidestepped them, leaving his own beside.

Closer now. Wind howled. Waves roared. Yet the lonely silhouette ahead remained unmoved.

*They say look up at the stars—you’ll find one that keeps you company.*

*But Chen Dao knew: look up too long, and the moment you look down… you might not bear the silence.*

Footprints halted.

Her size-36 canvas shoes—fresh, yet dusted with sand—rested just beside his.

Five meters away.

Hands buried in pockets. Back turned. Hood pulled tight over her head. Only a few wind-teased strands escaped the brim, dancing wildly.

“So vast… You know, Xiangzhou has no sea.”

Her voice—still clear as a lark’s song—now carried a fragile spark. The kind of fleeting warmth before the end.

“Hiss… Then don’t pick drowning. Choose something else.”

Chen Dao mirrored her stance, hands in pockets.

Xia Jiuli turned slowly. A flushed, lovely face, etched with surprise and confusion:

“Aren’t you here to stop me?”

She wiggled her toes.

Rolled-up cuffs revealed delicate feet kissed by waves, coated in wet sand, rinsed by the tide.

Chen Dao’s gaze drifted past her, toward the endless dark:

“I’m here to collect the body. While it’s still warm. So skip the sea—it gets all wrinkly. Ugly.”