454: The Eight Immortals cross the sea, each displaying their sorrow.

On the Shores of the East Sea, the pre-cleared tidal flats and reef areas.

One hundred and eight ceremonial cannons stood pointing skyward, their barrels gleaming, draped in bright red covers that shone dazzlingly under the searchlights.

The commander waved down a small flag.

"Boom—!"

The first cannon fired, deep and powerful, shaking the sea surface and echoing far away.

Immediately after, the second, the third... the cannon fire was continuous, like the most lively firecrackers during the Summer Country's Spring Festival, one after another, lighting up the night sky, their echoes reverberating between the sea and sky, lingering for a long time.

Many residents in coastal cities were awakened, opening their windows to listen to the regular, loud cannon fire and gaze at the faintly flickering red light on the distant horizon.

"What's that noise? In the middle of the night..."

"Shh, I heard it's a salute for Country R."

"A salute? Why does it sound like New Year's?"

"One hundred and eight shots! Very particular!"

On social media, night owls were already buzzing.

"One hundred and eight cannon shots? I'd call this official move a decisive blow."

"Red cannon covers, it's actually red cannon covers. Hahahaha, this method of mourning is so uniquely 'us,' I love it, I love it."

"I'm at the seaside, live broadcast: The cannon fire is loud, even the seagulls are startled and flying away. The scene is... solemn! [dog head emoji]"

"'Empathy,' I suggest it be included in the annual golden diplomatic phrases."

"Am I the only one who noticed the spokesperson's mouth twitching a bit? Pity him for one second, the remaining fifty-nine seconds are for roaring with laughter."

"The East Sea is sleepless tonight. This cannon fire, just listening to it lifts the spirit."

"Indeed, indeed."

Across the ocean, in Country M.

In the White House Press Briefing Room, a blonde, blue-eyed female spokesperson, dressed in a black skirt suit, spoke with a solemn expression: "The people of Country M stand with the people of Country R. We extend our deepest sympathy for this tragedy."

"To commemorate this sad day, the President has signed an executive order, requiring all Country M chain fast-food restaurants nationwide to provide one free 'Comfort Fried Chicken Nugget' today. May the deceased rest in peace, and the living find some warmth."

The reporters below exchanged glances, full of surprise.

Fried chicken nuggets?

Comfort???

A reporter asked: "Ms. Lola, where does the funding for the free fried chicken nuggets come from?"

"From the 'International Friendship and Food Care Fund,'" the spokesperson said without changing her expression, "sponsored by several enthusiastic food companies."

In fact, those "enthusiastic companies" were precisely the ones that had taken over the most of Country R's chaebol overseas assets.

As soon as the news broke, the streets of Country M became lively.

Long queues formed outside several fast-food restaurants. People received fried chicken nuggets wrapped in black greaseproof paper (usually white), their expressions a mix of solemnity and excitement.

On social media, the hashtag "#Comfort Fried Chicken#" quickly went viral.

"Honestly, these fried chicken nuggets taste good, and the black paper makes it more 'ceremonial.' [Image]"

"Am I tasting joy in my fried chicken nuggets? Is it just me?"

"Commemorative Day Special — 'Sinking Flavor' Fried Chicken, you deserve it."

"When I got the fried chicken, the background music was a variation of 'The Star-Spangled Banner.' This atmosphere is so Country M."

Many young people simply organized spontaneous "fried chicken parties" in parks and squares, euphemistically calling it "bidding farewell to a distant neighbor, the Country M way."

Lively pop music, the aroma of grease, and boisterous laughter intertwined. Rather than mourning, it felt more like a sudden street carnival.

In Country Y, outside 10 Downing Street in London, the Prime Minister delivered a brief statement, his tone as restrained as ever, even a bit cold: "This is a loss for human civilization. Country Y will lower its flags for half a day."

"Furthermore, the Royal Botanic Gardens will establish a small 'memorial nursery,' planting species of plants that once flourished in Country R, as a token of remembrance."

Half a day.

A small nursery.

The scale was perfectly Country Y.

The public reaction in Country Y, however, was even more representative.

Several old clubs and pubs introduced a "Doomsday Special."

A cocktail, deep black in color, extremely bitter on the first taste, but with a strangely sweet aftertaste, named "Twilight of Mount Fuji."

On the Banks of the Thames, a well-known street band played a particularly cheerful rendition of 'Funeral March,' drawing passersby to stop, and some even swayed to the melody.

The front-page headline of 'The Times' that day read: 'The End of an Era: On Geological Disasters and Shifts in the International Landscape,' with serious and profound content.

But in a small corner of the supplement, there was a cartoon: a small island sinking into the sea, the splash of water vaguely resembling a smiling face.

Country F.

In Paris, the Ministry of Foreign Affairs spokesperson spoke with poetic flair, expressing sorrow for "the disappearance of a land that carried history and art": "The French cultural sphere will enter a brief silence, as a mark of respect."

The specific measures were simple: the lights at the Paris Opera House dimmed for five minutes, and the lighting in a certain East Asian artifact exhibition hall at the Louvre was reduced, adding a touch of "melancholy."

While the official sector was "silent," French bakeries and cafes became lively instead.

Many shops introduced limited-edition items: hard baguettes, twisted into shapes as if soaked in water, named "Resilient Remembrance."

The accompanying coffee art featured a collapsing Eiffel Tower, with cherry blossoms floating beside it.

"Life must go on, and food and art are the best comfort," a French food blogger said, winking as she live-streamed cutting open a strangely shaped baguette.

"You see, the inside is still soft, a rather profound meaning, right?"

The comment section was full of teasing remarks like "Got it, got it" and "French romantic mourning."

Other countries also adopted a "Eight Immortals Cross the Sea" approach, each displaying their own form of "grief."

After broadcasting the news of Country R's sinking, a certain TV station in the Mao Xiong Country seamlessly transitioned to a cheerful excerpt from the classic ballet 'Swan Lake.'

The host gravely stated: "Art is eternal, and life also cycles in another form."

South Bang Country announced a nationwide broadcast of mourning music, but many shopping malls played rousing soundtracks from ancient war historical dramas, which netizens jokingly called "support carved into their DNA."

In Country A San, a temple held a blessing ritual, but the flames used for the ceremony were particularly vigorous, and the priests' dance rhythm was significantly faster than usual.

The global internet was filled with the atmosphere of 'grief.'

Memes, jokes, and fan-made videos spread wildly. The "Global Mourning Methods Competition" became the hottest topic, with Summer Country's red cannon covers, Country M's black fried chicken, Country Y's half-day flag, and Country F's sunken baguette being repeatedly compared and ridiculed.

True sorrow perhaps only existed in the hearts of a few direct witnesses and humanitarians, but more often, it was an ineffable, absurd collective emotional release.

This island nation, which had brought complex memories to the world, made its complete exit in such a dramatic fashion.

What remained, besides underwater ruins, was this myriad of "memorials" from all walks of life.

(￣y▽￣)~* covering mouth to snicker