She used light to remember him.

[Resort Meeting Room Morning Meeting]

At 7:20, the glass was still slightly fogged. The projector screen was on "Opening Countdown." Steam rose from a paper cup of coffee, the air conditioner whirred at low speed, and the green exit light in the corner cast a thin line across the floor. She held the angle sketch she had drawn under the awning last night to her side.

He stood at the end of the table, his tone brief and calm: "The re-inspection passed last night. Three things to do today—first, the final inspection for the opening ceremony; second, the media flow rehearsal; and third, the inspection of external equipment."

The pen tapped three times on the table: "The overall control of the situation rests with the central authority. Complete the reinforcement of signage and corner markers before 10:00 AM; conduct another round of inspections throughout the park this afternoon. Security: seal off the suspected new photography spots reported last night before 9:00 AM, clarify their source, and prepare evidence for legal action. Conduct a comprehensive inspection of the entire park for suspicious filming and recording devices to prevent privacy leaks caused by unauthorized installations by external personnel; if any are found, seal and lock the footage until legal action is taken to collect evidence before removing them."

Operations control log: "Received".

He looked at her, his tone still brief: "Hu Li, you are responsible for inspecting and confirming the positions of the light sources in your assigned area."

She nodded and added, "Last night I saw a red dot under the dormitory building's canopy that wasn't on the list. It was located on the northeast corner platform, facing the entrance, but that's not right." She handed over the sketch of the angle.

He glanced at it and said, "Preserve the evidence first, then dismantle it. Find the person." He then told the security guards, "Go and confirm the items she marked last night, and archive all the surveillance footage."

At the end of the meeting, he scanned the room and said, "Each group must sign off by 10:00 sharp. If you have any objections, speak now; there will be no exceptions after 10:00. Anyone who does not arrive by then will be considered not present."

No one spoke. The party ended.

As he passed by, he swept his fingertip across her shoulder, and the powdery residue disappeared. He didn't stop: "Eat something first."

The assistant placed a hot bag in front of her: two eggs, a slice of toast, and a bottle of warm milk.

She looked up at him, her eyes crinkling into a smile: "Is breakfast something to be ordered about?"

He paused for a moment, his tone indifferent: "Make sure you have eggs, don't go hungry." His gaze returned to the schedule, and he whispered an additional instruction: "Keep up, there's a lot of road to travel today, be careful."

She folded the bag closed, tucked it under the folder, gave a soft "hmm," and followed in his footsteps.

[Morning inspection of the resort's inner courtyard]

The sea breeze pressed the reeds into long, curved lines. She walked along the engraved lines, taking pictures with her phone as she went, recording how the sunlight fell on the paving stones and railings at each corner. The warm light stretched a thin ribbon across the stone surface. She took a picture from an "adult's perspective," then squatted down to take another from a "child's perspective," put both in her notes, and wrote next to them: "Those returning to their rooms won't feel lonely."

The light at the corner of the outer corridor was too thin, so she raised her hand to shield her eyes and tried adjusting the corner light angle back by half a notch; she then took a second photo for comparison. The edge of the lens inadvertently included half of his shoulder and back, as if giving the image a sense of proportion. She didn't deliberately avoid him, but simply wrote four words in the notes: Someone is here.

He stood at the back, watching her take photos and write notes, without interrupting. When she squatted down to check the equipment labels, the back of her hand brushed against the edge of the box, leaving a thin red mark. He glanced at it only once, his tone brief: "Wipe it." He added, "Be careful."

She lowered her head and said, "It doesn't hurt." She synced the photo to the task sheet, and when she looked up, she flashed the camera at him. He didn't react, but only told the security guard, "Put the box inside, don't block the way."

[Morning rehearsal for the resort's glass walkway]

Public relations, operations, and security personnel took matters into their own hands, carrying test equipment and positioning cards, and walked the route to simulate the height and stopping points that media cameras would see. She tested two brightness levels at the edge of the second floor, first shooting a test image at 0.25, then shooting a delay comparison image at 0.35, and wrote in the corner of the page: "The end of the corridor should be one shade warmer."

She walked up to him, about an arm's length away, and looked up to ask, "If I reduce the delay to 0.35, would you think this is dragging?"

He looked at her for three seconds, then said in a low, brief voice, "No delays. Follow procedure."

She hummed in agreement, took a step back, and pressed the shutter while looking at the light refracting off the glass. The light cast a faint halo around the edge of his shadow. She whispered, "You're steady as soon as you arrive." Next to the photo, she wrote: "Person arrives, light is steady."

He didn't take it, his hand behind his back in his pocket, like closing a knife. She took another picture of the scene, leaving him only at the edge of the frame as a size reference.

A PR colleague at the finish line held up a card and asked on his behalf, "If people outside ask if there will be a delay?" He only replied with four words: "As scheduled. As planned." Another card appeared: "What about funding and equity?" He replied, "Company matters, the company will discuss them." He raised his hand to signal the drill to continue. She also noted the changes in light during this dialogue drill: when they mentioned "delay," the clouds just parted, and the corridor became one level brighter.

He looked away, his tone regaining its composure: "Finalize the lighting layout before noon."

[Narrow passageway at the back of the resort near noon]

She handed the updated lighting schedule to the control room and turned to meet him in the narrow passageway. Equipment cases and hanging lights lined both sides, casting a bright line of sidelight along the wall. She raised her phone and took a picture of that light, captioning it: "The boundary ends here."

She stopped, looked up, and asked, "Are you going first?"

He shook his head: "You go ahead."

She didn't move, deliberately keeping an arm's length distance from him, her voice rising slightly at the end: "Then let's go together."

They both turned to the side at the same time, their shoulders almost touching, then stopped simultaneously. He raised his finger, drawing a very thin line in the air: "To this line."

She stared at the spot where his fingertips landed, pressed the shutter, and captured his hand and the sidelight in the lens. Her voice was as soft as falling dust: "I always stop at this line, and I only go over after you nod."

He whispered, "Not now." He paused for a second, then added, "The day will change."

She smiled brightly: "I've got it." She named the map "Boundary Map".

She lowered her voice and tried asking, "So, do you believe me?"

His answer was brief: "A letter."

The intercom beeped, and the production manager urged everyone to move on. She raised her hand in a "wait a moment" gesture and brushed past him. Her skirt was light, like the wind brushing against his knuckles. He didn't grab it, but stood there for two seconds before turning around.

[Lunchtime at the resort staff restaurant]

It was nearing afternoon when the inspection was underway, and there weren't many people around. She sat by the window with a bowl of clear soup noodles. He walked by with a black coffee, stopped in front of her table, and wiped the water droplets from the rim of the cup with his fingertips.

She watched that action and laughed, "Are you a germaphobe?"

He glanced at her: "It's a habit."

She picked up a bundle of noodles with her chopsticks, then put it down: "You have many habits. For example—leaving things unsaid, and finishing what you've already done."

He didn't reply, but lowered his voice and said, "Slow down, it's hot."

She deliberately blew on the noodles: "You want me to stop messing around? That's why I want to tease you even more."

He lowered his eyes and smiled faintly, like a razor blade slicing across the edge of a table, leaving no mark, only a sound.

She paused for a moment, then tapped the rim of the bowl with her fingertip: "Your smile is more dangerous than your silence."

He looked away: "Eat."

She probed in a low voice, "What if someone comes after you?"

His answer was brief: "Handle it."

She asked again, "Is it aimed at me?"

He said, "I'll do it."

She obediently ate a few bites, then winked at him as she stood up: "I'll wait for you on the left this afternoon."

He: "Mm."

[The path in the side courtyard of the resort before dusk]

The evening breeze turned the low bushes a dark green. She carried the folder toward the supplies compartment, while he came from the other end. They both slowed their pace.

She looked up: "You've been very quiet today."

He said, "I'm thinking about it."

She smiled and asked, "Did you miss me?"

He looked at her but didn't answer. She said it for him: "I've thought about it."

He shifted his gaze to the side, brushing aside a thorny branch: "Watch out for the thorns."

She stepped aside, her shoulder brushing an inch against the back of his hand before moving away. She whispered, "Do you ever want to be a little less obedient?"

He said, "Not here."

She asked, "Where is it?"

He didn't take it, but instead draped his coat over her arm: "Don't be cold."

[Resort Nighttime Rehearsal]

The night wind rustled, and the flags swayed. The process was repeated on the field, with the lights dimming for three seconds before turning them back on.

As darkness fell, she didn't move, but whispered in the darkness, "I'm here."

He replied softly from a distance, "I know."

The lights came back on, and the crowd dispersed. She didn't approach, but took out her phone and sent him the photo of the light she had just taken, with only a few words in the caption: "Here."

Hu Li: "If I stay here indefinitely, will you feel at ease?"

Mu Tianlang: "Yes."

Hu Li: "Will you miss me?"

Mu Tianlang: "Yes."

Hu Li: "Then what are you afraid of?"

Mu Tianlang: "It's not that I'm afraid."

Hu Li: "What is that?"

Mu Tianlang: "Boundary".

Hu Li: "Whose?"

Mu Tianlang: "Mine."

Hu Li: "Then tell me your boundaries."

Mu Tianlang: "Not here."

Hu Li: "Where is it?"

Mu Tianlang: "Another day."

She looked up at him. He stood motionless in the shadows opposite her, his hand clenching and unclenching in his palm.

Hu Li posted another message: I will wait, but not for too long.

Mu Tianlang paused for a few seconds before replying: I'll do it as soon as possible.

Hu Li put his phone back in his pocket and said softly, "Okay."

[Night at the Resort Staff Dormitory]

She took off her earrings and put them in her small bag. She turned to a new page in the album and pasted in four photos from today's lighting tests: backlighting, glass refraction, the side corridor boundary, and him in the distance. Next to them, she wrote only a few key points: 0.35 delay, added warmth at the end, and the boundary ends here. In the corner, she wrote: "Here."

My phone vibrated; it was that number again: "Progress update. Don't keep me waiting."

She didn't reply, but closed the sketchbook, pushed it to the edge of the table, then pushed it back half an inch. The night breeze blew in from the balcony, and the heat on her shoulders subsided a little.

The security supervisor's message popped up in the middle of the night: "The contact person for the temporary worker has been found. He registered under a false name; his phone number has been cancelled, but his whereabouts remain near the outer fence."

Mu Tianlang simply replied, "We'll discuss the details tomorrow morning."

At the same time, her phone lit up again—a text message with only two lines: "If you don't move, I will." There was no signature or profile picture; it was like a sentence thrown from a dark corner.

She stared at it for two seconds, swiped the message away, tapped the corner of the album with her fingertip, and turned back to the page "Here". She drew another stroke next to the small boundary marker, very lightly, as if saying in her heart: I will wait for you, wait for you to say that it is okay to cross.

A public opinion warning popped up in the lower right corner of his screen: the keywords "opening", "safety" and "doubt" were being relayed in an unusually concentrated manner, as if someone was queuing up in advance.

His eyes turned cold, and he only replied to the PR person with two words: "Handle it."