107: Chapter 107 Let's come together next time

Hu Tian smiled, flipped his phone face down on the table, and continued eating shrimp.

She was probably at work, sneaking glances at her phone, and had been tempted by that photo of the shrimp; she was likely already thinking about what to have for dinner.

He didn't reply again, letting her stay hungry for a while.

The steamed fish followed. It was a local variety, not very large. After being steamed, the skin was taut and drizzled with a layer of sauce, topped with shredded green onions and ginger slices. It was still steaming when it was brought to the table.

He used his chopsticks to make a gentle slice along the spine, and the fish meat opened up layer by layer—white and delicate. He picked up a piece and put it in his mouth; it was smooth, without any fishy smell, and the fresh flavor emerged, balancing the saltiness of the sauce. It was cleaner than the shrimp.

He ate slowly, not in a rush, pairing it with beer. A bite of fish, a sip of alcohol. The noise in the restaurant was very soft. The two backpackers were chatting enthusiastically, and he could occasionally hear a few words about their next destination. At an exciting point, one of them slapped the table, and then both of them burst out laughing.

Young and full of energy.

Hu Tian glanced at them, said nothing, tidied up the remaining fish meat, and continued eating.

By the time he finished eating, the sky was completely dark. The lights in the courtyard were on, casting a yellowish glow on the small trees, and the shadows of the leaves flickered on the courtyard wall with the wind.

He settled the bill, stood up, went back to his room to change his shirt, put on a loose T-shirt, and swapped his pants for a pair of deep blue beach shorts. They were loose-fitting. He put on flip-flops, took his room card, and headed out.

The yellow lights in the corridor were still on. He walked to the end of the corridor, bypassed the side walkway, and went out through the small back door. He crossed a narrow path where the ground was a mix of fine sand and gravel. After a few steps, the sand increased, and the ground began to feel soft. His flip-flops made a crunching sound as he stepped on it, and grains of sand leaked in through the gaps of the soles, pressing against his soles. It wasn't uncomfortable, just a bit full.

He reached the beach.

Twilight had passed, but there was still a hint of color left on the horizon—not orange, nor red, but an indescribable dark purple that faded into the deep blue of the night sky further up. A few stars had already appeared, hanging very low.

There were fewer people on the beach than in the afternoon, but there were still some, in groups of twos and threes. There were families taking walks, couples sitting together, and children still running by the water's edge, chasing the waves. They would run away when a wave came and chase it back when it receded. Adults sat behind them shouting, their voices scattering in the sea breeze.

The sounds from the night market were louder now—the sound of frying pans, voices, music—but across this stretch of sand, only a vague outline of the noise reached him. It wasn't noisy; it was just right.

A row of beach chairs was laid out. Most were empty, but a few were occupied. Some people were lying down looking at their phones, some were looking up at the stars, and two were talking in low voices—so quiet that he couldn't hear what they were saying.

Hu Tian sauntered over and picked one near the sea. The position was slightly off to the side, a bit further away from the others. He sat down, then leaned back, stretching out his legs with his ankles resting on the edge of the chair, just lying horizontally like that, looking up.

The sky was vast.

He was used to living in the city, where the night sky was a kind of orange-yellow. The streetlights tinted the entire sky. There were stars, but they were sparse and dim, requiring effort to find.

It was different here. The night sky here was truly black—the kind of black that pressed down into the depths. Stars came out one by one, more and more. Sparse at first, then dense, and finally, that faint white streak across the sky was the Milky Way. It was blurry, like someone had smeared a stroke of light ink across a black cloth.

He just watched, thinking of nothing and doing nothing. The sound of the waves hit the shore one after another, rhythmic and not fast. He listened to that rhythm, and his breathing slowed down with it.

The wind came from the sea, salty and humid, blowing against his face and arms. It wasn't cold, just clearer than the indoor air. When he inhaled, it felt like his lungs were being refreshed by the breeze.

The beach chair swayed slightly. Someone walked past him, their footsteps rustling in the sand. As they walked away, the sound faded.

He took out his phone, flipped to the conversation with Zhou Waner, and took a look. She had sent another message later: "I want to eat seafood tonight too."

Then she said nothing more, probably having started class again or being pulled away by something.

He typed two words: "Waiting for you."

He sent it, placed the phone on his stomach, and continued to look at the sky.

Waiting for what? He didn't say, and she probably wouldn't think too deeply about it. It was just a casual response, a casually sent two-word message.

But once said, it was said.

He was running back and forth on this path of treasure hunting—Donghu Island, and he didn't know where the next stop would be. He would talk about it after this trip was over and he returned.

In this kind of life, he spent more time away than together. Sometimes he felt he couldn't explain it clearly. It wasn't bad, just drifting—drifting everywhere. Sometimes it was great, and sometimes he felt something was missing. He was too lazy to think carefully about what was missing. Anyway, the sea breeze tonight was truly good, the shrimp was truly fresh, and the stars were truly numerous.

It was enough.

In the distance by the water, the child chasing the waves was finally caught by his family and picked up. The child was still struggling, and the adult carried him back on their shoulder. After a few steps, the child stopped fussing and lay on the shoulder, head resting down, probably tired.

Hu Tian watched the scene, the corners of his mouth curling up slightly.

Someone nearby was talking. It was the voices of two girls sitting two chairs away. They spoke with a slight out-of-town accent, and their voices weren't loud. They were discussing tomorrow's itinerary, where to go snorkeling, and which beach was more beautiful. Their voices were light and cheerful, with the kind of relaxation that a vacation should have.

He didn't lean in to listen; the voices were just there in the background.

Another wave washed up, hitting the edge of the beach with a splash, spreading out, and then receding. The sand was moistened by the water, reflecting a bit of light in the night.

He lay there for a while. All those things in his mind—the Copper Box, the Documents, the Bronze Artifacts with abnormal reactions, channels, appraisals—one by one, they had still been revolving in his head in the afternoon. Now, after being blown by the sea breeze for a while, they became distant. They were still there, but it was as if they were separated by a layer, no longer pressing.

Tomorrow's matters would be dealt with tomorrow.

Tonight, he would just lie here.

He flipped his phone over, turned on the screen, and checked the time. It was 8:40 PM. Zhou Waner hadn't replied again; she was probably still busy.

He turned off the screen, placed the phone back on his stomach, closed his eyes, and stopped looking at the stars, just listening to the sounds.

The waves.

The wind.

The two girls talked about which restaurant was delicious and let out a low laugh.

The slight bustle of the distant night market.

The chair swaying gently.

The sound of the sand as someone walked past him and faded into the distance.

He just listened like that, taking in these sounds layer by layer, without filtering or choosing, letting them all in. His mind was very quiet, so quiet it was almost empty.

He didn't know how much time had passed, but when he opened his eyes, there were even more stars in the sky than before. The Milky Way was clearer, and the blurry white path had become a bit more solid. He could see that it had wide and narrow parts; the wide parts looked like they were piled together, while the narrow parts stretched out, very long, leading to who knows where.

He stared at it for a while, thinking to himself: What do the things already found on Earth even count for? A few items picked out of a pile of mud. Compared to that up there, they were nothing.

The thought flickered, and he found it laughable. He shook his head and sat up.

After sitting up, the sea breeze hit his face. He squinted, brushed the sand off his legs, stood up, and sauntered back in his flip-flops.

Passing the row of beach chairs, several were now empty. The two girls were gone. Only one person remained on a chair—an old man with white hair, looking up at the sky, motionless and quiet, just sitting there.

Hu Tian didn't disturb him as he passed, walking around him and onto the small path.

The sand under his feet changed to gravel, then to the path. The darkness he had felt when coming in was replaced by the yellow glow of the streetlights on the path. He followed it, passed through the small back door of the courtyard, and entered the corridor. The corridor was quiet. Those few photos were still on the wall, illuminated by the yellow lights.

He reached his door, took out his room card, swiped it, and the lights came on. He pushed the door open, went in, and closed it.

The room was filled with the low hum of the air conditioner. The bed was made, the curtains were open. He sat down on the edge of the bed, kicked off his flip-flops, leaned back toward the pillow, and took out his phone to check it.

Zhou Waner had sent a message: "What are you doing?"

It was sent twenty minutes ago.

He replied: "Looking at the stars. Just got back."

He sent it and waited for a while. The other side showed "typing," and then a message came out: "You, going so far to look at the stars without even asking me to come along."

He looked at the line of text, thought for a moment, and replied with three words: "Together next time."

He sent it and said nothing more. He placed the phone on the nightstand, lay flat on the bed, pulled a pillow under his head, and looked at the ceiling—white, ordinary, and empty.

The air conditioner was still humming, and the curtains had a slight curve from being blown by the wind. The distant night market outside hadn't ended yet, and a faint sound filtered through, but it was already very, very light.

He closed his eyes.

He didn't know when he fell asleep.

There was no struggle, no tossing and turning. One moment his eyes were open, and the next time he opened them, light was already filtering through the curtains—white, with the thin brightness of the morning.

He stared blankly on the bed for a moment, then turned his head to look at the nightstand.

Next to the phone was a small card placed by the inn for guests to see. It had the room number, checkout time, and several service items.

He picked up the phone and checked the time: 7:23 AM.

He unlocked the phone. The screen lit up, and the notification area was covered in red dots, all from Zhou Waner.

He scrolled through them from top to bottom.

The first one: "Are you back yet? Why aren't you talking?"

The second one: "Asleep?"

The third one: "Oh, never mind. You sleep, I'll find something to do myself."

The fourth one: "You promised to ask me next time."

The fifth one: "Forget it, forget it. Sleep well. Good night."

The last one was sent at 11:57 PM.

He went over the messages from beginning to end with his thumb, then covered his forehead with his other hand. He stayed muffled against the pillow for two seconds before sitting up, dangling his legs over the edge of the bed. With his back arched and head lowered, he began to reply to the messages.

He typed: "Fell asleep and didn't see them. I didn't mean to not reply."

He sent it, and it showed as read, but there was no movement from the other side.

He waited for a while and typed again: "Did you not sleep well last night?"

This one was also sent and read, but still no movement.

He gripped the phone in his hand, stared at the profile picture, thought for a moment, and typed again: "I really just fell asleep. Don't be mad."