108: Chapter 108 The Return Journey, Binhai

A few seconds after he sent the message, a reply popped up: I'm not angry.

He looked at those three words, knowing exactly what they meant. He replied: You're definitely angry.

The reply came quickly: If I say I'm not angry, I'm not angry.

He looked down, his lips twitching slightly. He replied: Okay, you're not angry. My mistake. I'll be more prompt with my replies from now on.

After he sent that, there was a brief silence before another message arrived: Forget it, I'm just teasing you. Did the stars look good last night?

Hu Tian looked at the message and leaned back against his pillow. He replied: They were beautiful. Even the Milky Way came out.

Zhou Waner: What's the point? I didn't get to see it.

He thought for a moment and replied: Then next time you come, I'll take you there.

The silence from the other side lasted a bit longer this time. Then a message came: Keep your word. I'll remember that you promised.

Hu Tian stared at the words, tapped his thumb on the screen, and replied: I will.

Then he casually placed his phone back on the nightstand.

Next to him on the wall was a small calendar, the kind guesthouse owners buy themselves, pinned up with a round tack. The picture was of a small southern town, with the dates listed below.

He squinted his eyes to take a look. It was Thursday.

He had been here in the south for over two days. Having arrived Tuesday evening, it was already Thursday.

He set his phone down and lay on the bed for a while longer, staying still and listening to the sounds outside.

The sound of the sea was still there, lighter than during the night, as if it had been smoothed out. The wind had also died down, and there were occasional bird calls—one or two intermittent chirps.

Footsteps passed softly in the hallway as other guests began to wake up.

He sat up, his hair a mess. He ran his hand through it a few times, stood up, and went into the bathroom. He washed up, splashed cold water on his face, and glanced at himself in the mirror. He felt decent; he had slept like a log last night.

He changed his clothes, grabbed his phone, put his room card in his pocket, and headed out.

The guesthouse dining room was on the first floor. The hallway smelled of breakfast—rice porridge and pickled vegetables, with a hint of steam from a wood-fired steamer. He followed the scent downstairs and pushed open the wooden door to the dining room.

The dining room wasn't large, just the guesthouse's own living area converted for use. There were four wooden tables, somewhat old, but the surfaces were wiped clean and had an oily sheen.

Two tables were already occupied. One was a middle-aged couple with a seven or eight-year-old child. The child was head down, shoveling porridge, while the parents discussed where to go today.

At another table sat a young woman alone, her phone on the table as she scrolled through something, a bulging canvas bag resting beside her.

The proprietress came out from the back, saw him, and smiled. "You're here. Sit anywhere. Today we have porridge, steamed buns, marinated eggs, and fried dough sticks. They're freshly fried, so help yourself."

He said thank you and sat down at the table by the window. The window was open, offering a view of a few trees in the courtyard. The morning light slanted in, casting shadows of the trees on the ground that swayed as the wind came and went.

He went to the side counter to get his food: a bowl of porridge, two steamed buns, and a marinated egg. After a moment's hesitation, he took a fried dough stick as well.

The porridge was plain white and cooked until soft. The pickled vegetables were finely chopped to accompany it. The buns were filled with meat and vegetables, with thick, substantial skins.

He ate neither fast nor slow, casually watching the trees in the courtyard as he ate.

The proprietress brought out a pot of hot tea and poured him a cup. He thanked her and took a sip. It was a local variety, not expensive, but it had a clean taste.

After finishing, he neatly arranged his dishes, stood up, and headed upstairs.

Returning to his room, he began to pack.

He hadn't brought much. In his backpack were a change of clothes, toiletries, a pair of sneakers, and some miscellaneous personal items.

He hadn't organized things when he returned last night. His clothes were draped over a chair, and his toiletries were scattered across the bathroom counter. He picked them up one by one, folded them, and put them away. His movements were unhurried but efficient.

He put his toiletries in a bag and tucked it into the side compartment of his backpack. He put his shoes in a bag at the bottom and used another bag for his dirty laundry, pressing it to one side.

He zipped up his backpack and did a final sweep of the room to see if he'd forgotten anything.

Only the guesthouse card remained on the nightstand. It wasn't his, so that was fine.

The chair was empty, and the water glass on the table belonged to the room.

As for the items on the nightstand, best not to mention them...

He glanced into the bathroom; the counter was empty, and the towels were back on the rack. Everything was in order.

He picked up his backpack, carried it out, closed the door behind him, and went downstairs.

The proprietress was at the front desk, looking down at some accounts. Hearing footsteps, she looked up and saw him. "Checking out?"

"Yes."

The proprietress took the room card Hu Tian handed her, tapped a few keys on the computer, and quoted eighty-six. Hu Tian paid with his phone.

The proprietress printed a receipt and handed it to him. They exchanged a few more words, then he thanked her, picked up his backpack, and walked out the guesthouse door.

The air outside was cooler than in the dining room and carried a hint of moisture unique to the seaside in the morning. He paused at the door, took a breath, and then walked toward the pier with his backpack on his shoulder.

The roads on the small island weren't wide, paved with stone slabs that were uneven in places.

People had opened their shops along the road and set out their wares. An old man had a few types of morning market fruit displayed at his door, while another shop was sorting last night's catch. Several fish were laid out on ice, silvery-white with eyes that were still bright.

He reached the pier. The yacht was still in the same spot where he had parked it yesterday, tied up and unmoved.

He put his backpack on board, jumped onto the boat, and performed a check. Engine, fuel level, knots—everything was fine.

He untied the ropes, pushed off from the shore, and started the engine. The engine hummed low as he adjusted the direction and slowly steered out of the pier.

Once out of the pier area, the water opened up. He accelerated, and as the speed increased, the bow cut into the water, splashing white spray on both sides. The sea breeze hit him full in the face. He squinted, one hand on the steering wheel, looking ahead.

The water was very flat. The wind wasn't strong today, so there wasn't the kind of swell he'd faced yesterday. His vision was filled with deep blue water and the distant sky, the horizon line clear and straight as if drawn with a ruler.

He drove like that, unhurried, maintaining a steady speed. A seabird passed by the side of the boat, gave a cry, and headed off into the distance.

He thought about yesterday's events—the Copper Box, the Silk-wrapped Documents. He ran through these things in his mind. Unlike the fuzzy thoughts he'd had while lying on the beach chair last night, it was now daylight and his thinking was clearer. But there was no rush; these matters would have to be handled slowly once he got back.

After more than half an hour of sailing, the silhouette of the city pier appeared ahead. Buildings, cranes, and barges clustered in the distance. He eased off the throttle, slowed down, and steered toward the harbor entrance.

Entering the harbor, he dropped the boat's speed to a crawl. Following the pier's markings inward, he found the prearranged spot, pulled alongside, tied up, and killed the engine.

As soon as the engine noise stopped, his ears were filled with silence, save for the bustle of the pier. People were moving cargo, machinery hummed, and a few seagulls perched motionless on the railings.

He jumped ashore, came up with his backpack, and then pulled out his phone to call the boat rental owner.

The owner arrived quickly, his skin deeply tanned and his pace brisk. His first glance was at the boat. He walked around it, went aboard for another check, then came down and clapped his hands. "No problem, everything looks good. You used it well."

Hu Tian settled the final balance. The owner gave him a receipt and casually offered him a cigarette. He said he didn't smoke, so the owner lit one for himself, dangled it from his mouth, and said:

"Come find me again next time. I'll give you a discount."

The two spoke for a bit on the pier before parting ways.

Hu Tian walked through the pier's covered walkway, out the main gate, and toward the parking lot.

The parking lot was on a small street near the pier. He had parked his car here before setting out. After more than two days, the car was fine, though there was some dust on the windshield. He walked around it to check, found no issues, put his backpack in the trunk, then sat in the driver's seat and started the engine.

It was hotter inside the car than outside. He turned on the air conditioning and set it low. While waiting for the temperature to drop, he placed his phone on the mount, opened the navigation, and entered the address for a hotel in the city.

The navigation chimed. He shifted gears, drove out of the parking lot, and hit the road.

The city roads were different from those on the island—wide, crowded with cars, and filled with traffic lights. He followed the navigation, stopping at several intersections for lights. He looked at the roadside; he wasn't very familiar with this area, as he had driven straight to the pier when he arrived. On the return journey, things were clearer. There were malls, restaurants, pharmacies, and wet markets—ordinary city streets with an ordinary sense of daily life.

After driving for about twenty minutes, he reached the hotel.

This was the hotel he had booked when he arrived. It was a standard business hotel—not large, but clean. It was located on a street slightly inside the city center, so it wasn't noisy and parking was convenient.

He parked the car in the underground garage, took his ticket, and rode the elevator up with his backpack.

A young woman at the front desk saw him approach and asked, "Hello, are you checking out?"

"Yes, please."

Hu Tian handed over his room card, completed the checkout process, and settled the final bill.

It was now 10:30 AM.

The sun on the street was already a bit hot. He squinted and walked toward the parking lot.

A morning tea shop on the roadside was still open. He went in, sat for a while, ordered a cup of tea and two dim sum dishes, finished them, and paid the bill.

He left the parking lot, slung his backpack over his shoulder, walked to the car, opened the trunk, put the backpack inside, and then sat in the driver's seat.

He reset the navigation. Destination: Binhai.

The distance appeared: six hundred and thirty kilometers. Estimated travel time: seven hours and fifty minutes.

He took a look; it was just past eleven in the morning. He calculated that he would reach Binhai around evening—not early, but acceptable.

He started the engine, drove out of the parking lot, and got on the road.

He drove through the city for a while, crossed two overpasses, and merged onto the highway.

The toll booth at the highway entrance spat out a card. He tucked it away, stepped on the gas, and once up to speed, merged into the main lane.

The road was wide and there wasn't much traffic. He kept his speed steady at around one hundred and twenty, following the flow of cars.

The weather was good—sunny with few clouds. The road ahead stretched out into the distance, seemingly endless. The sound barriers on either side receded section by section. Occasionally, an exit sign flashed by, but he barely looked at them. With the navigation on, he just had to follow it.

After driving for about forty minutes, he arrived at a service station to rest. Remembering something, he took his phone from the mount, unlocked it, found his chat with Zhou Waner, and typed a few words: Heading back to Binhai. On the highway now. I'll be there tonight.