After the light is extinguished, before the critical point
[Morning in the Resort President's Office]
The sky was still gray when he woke up on the leather sofa. On the table lay the unfinished whiskey from the night before, a finger's width of amber still lingering in the short glass. The air conditioner was blowing softly, the second hand on the wall ticked away, and the emotions from the previous night slowly dissipated.
He got up and went into the bathroom. He changed out of the shirt he wore last night, turned on the shower, and let the hot water wash over his shoulders and back, washing away the lingering effects of the night. His skin was flushed a light red under the water—not from injuries, but from the effort he had put into the sandbag. He dried himself with a towel, shaved in front of the mirror, and pulled a perfectly ironed white shirt from the closet. He buttoned the shirt up, tucking the hem into his waistband; the cuffs were aligned and gathered, and the watch strap clicked shut. His posture seemed to be tightened again by an invisible thread—forward, steady, and firm.
His phone lit up three times. He opened the chat window with her, typed "Good morning," paused, and deleted. His fingertip hovered on the glass for half a second before moving away.
[Morning at the resort staff dormitory]
The alarm clock's second reminder pulled her back from the brink of sleep. Outside the window, the shadows of the trees moved across the wall like thin pages turning backward. She smoothed out the coat she'd draped over her shoulders the night before and hung it back on the hook behind the door. The weight of the coat as it fell was palpable, like a hand removing itself from her shoulder, leaving a little empty space.
She picked up the frosty white glass, her fingertip gently pressing a small circle on the thin mist around the rim, without wiping it away. She touched the corner of her lips, still feeling a slight tingling sensation. She tied half of her hair up, changed into a shirt and sneakers that were easy to wear, and as she walked to the door, she glanced back at the jacket, her fingertips pausing on the collar, still without it.
"Don't rush," she said softly to herself in the mirror, as if speaking to the wind, or as if speaking to her own heart.
[Resort Meeting Room, Morning]
At nine o'clock, the digital clock ticked. Design, engineering, operations, security, and supply personnel were all present. The projector displayed the "Opening Ceremony Review and Media Site Visit Schedule."
He glanced at the schedule, his voice steady yet cold: "The inspection will begin earlier than planned. Media reconnaissance will follow the shortest route. The official statement will be consistent: the opening will proceed as scheduled."
He tapped the table with the tip of his pen: "The overall command has the final say on the situation. Those assigned to external posts will only execute orders, not issue them. Each group must sign off by 10:00 AM, and a full inspection of the entire park will be conducted this afternoon. Raise any objections now, otherwise, proceed as planned. Anything after 10:00 AM will be considered as not being in place."
He looked at her, his tone neither too loud nor too soft: "Hu Li, you'll take over the interface design project. If it involves cross-departmental issues, come directly to me."
She nodded: "Received."
As the meeting ended, the doorknob clicked softly. Someone brushed past her shoulder: "Congratulations." She smiled: "Let's get things done together." The smile lingered for only a second at the corner of her eye before vanishing, like hiding a sharp edge in a muslin.
[Resort materials warehouse, near noon]
The supplier delivered the last batch of desktop decorations. She crouched down to unpack them, her palms dusty. She selected three samples, placed them by the window to air them out, and observed the color temperature changes.
He stood in the doorway, glancing at how she had arranged the samples into a thin ladder. "Which set?"
She looked up: "Far right."
He nodded and said, "Reseal the rest and label them 'Spare Supplies'."
She stood up, her hand brushing against the edge of his sleeve, but before she could touch him, he had already slipped his hand back into his pocket, as swiftly as closing a knife. She glared at him, raised an eyebrow, and a smile slowly crept onto her face: "I haven't even touched you, and you're already backing away. What are you afraid of?"
He looked up, his voice barely audible: "It's not that I'm afraid." After a pause, he added, "I shouldn't have." He whispered, "Let's talk about it another time."
She chuckled softly, tapping the corner of the sample with her fingertips: "Then I'll try again another day. When you don't want to give it up yourself."
The voice of the operations control center came through the intercom: "The fire inspection has been rescheduled to 8 pm tonight. Please advise if we can conduct the smoke control test half an hour earlier."
He simply said, "Yes, let's go."
[Afternoon on the east side of the resort, near the beach]
She went around to the back passageway, where a shuttle bus honked its horn lightly at the top of the ramp. The driver, Xiao Zhang, leaned forward: "Want to go that way?"
"That stretch of sandy beach on the east side," she pointed towards the sea, "I want to go and paint a few strokes."
The stone railing sliced the sea breeze into gusts of light. She sat down on the inner concrete pier, opened her sketchbook, and wrote in the corner: Vitex trifolia / East side. She first drew the arc of the railing, then added the tension of the cables, and finally the few purple blossoms lifted by the wind. The colored pencil moved lightly on the paper, like four beats of breathing.
As I drew, the paper seemed to become damp. A wet image from my childhood suddenly surfaced: purple petals stuck to someone's wet sleeve, slowly sliding down their arm. Ahead, there was a boy's back, thin, yet blocking the entire wind. Someone called out a name, but the wind carried it away, leaving only the last syllable spinning on the sea's surface.
She unconsciously drew a small half-circle in the corner of the page—was it a dream, or a memory? She couldn't tell. Waves crashed against the reef, the white fragments like tiny teeth. She deepened that stroke of purple by one line, then faded it back.
Her phone vibrated—a group chat notification: a full park walk at 2 PM. She closed her sketchbook, and before standing up, glanced one last time at the cluster of purple flowers; they nodded in the wind, as if to say: it's not time yet.
Her phone lit up again; it was that same number—"Don't keep me waiting." She scrolled to the bottom of the notification bar, didn't reply, just pressed her sketchbook against her palm and walked towards the inner area. Reaching the top of the slope, her phone vibrated again; it was the same number calling. She let it ring three times, then swiped away.
[Afternoon tour of the entire resort]
The walkie-talkie buzzed, signaling the start of the inspection. The control room operator led the way, followed by the engineering, security, and design teams. She tucked her drawing folder into her arm and quietly joined the group.
At the corner of the outer corridor, the carpet was misaligned with the fire door, and the edges were curled up. She paused, her gaze falling on a pair of high heels just outside the markings. "This is a tripping hazard," she whispered to the control room. "Secondarily secure it with double-sided tape, and add a warning strip along the threshold."
The control room staff responded and turned to call over the engineers to handle the situation.
He stood at the back, not interrupting, only watching her pull the toe of her shoe back half a step from outside the cleavage, as if demonstrating. His gaze lingered for a second, then shifted, his tone extremely brief: "Inside." He added, "Don't step outside the cleavage."
She responded softly, as if she had heard a command meant only for her.
[Nighttime Fire Inspection at the Resort]
The inspection vehicle pulled into the inner courtyard, and firefighters got out to check the inventory. The smoke machine was tested according to procedure. She clipped her mask to her wrist, stood on the inner side of the second floor, and scanned each exit light with her gaze.
The first wave of smoke slowly advanced from the back passage, like a thin river. She lowered her voice: "Group two, take your positions, keep low to the ground, right against the wall."
From the shadows on the other side, he raised his hand, signaling the engineer to open the damper one notch, his words extremely brief: "Open it one notch."
The smoke thickened, reducing his vision to a single green indicator line. She moved around to his side and handed him a mask: "Put this on first."
He didn't take it, his gaze lingering on her fingertip for half a second before he gestured to the stagehand behind him: "He goes first."
She smiled, put the mask on the stagehand first, then put it on herself, her voice muffled by the mask: "Move a little further in."
He reached out and pulled the strap behind her ear up a notch: "It's loose."
She smiled faintly: "Then tie it tighter."
He said, "Stop messing around."
The second round of testing was conducted on the outer edge of the corridor. The wind pushed the smoke back, creating vortices at several corners. She raised her hand and made a small gesture. He nodded, and a sentence came through the intercom: "Pause the sprinklers in Zone 2 for thirty seconds." The fine mist stopped, the river of smoke was cut off, and the field of vision opened up.
The fire safety supervisor checked his watch and noted: "Escape indicators and movement routes are clear, and smoke control is functioning normally."
She took off her mask, revealing a ring of fine hairs pressed against her forehead by sweat. Just as she was about to speak, his gaze fell first on the red mark on her wrist, and his tone remained brief: "I wiped it off."
She glanced down and smiled, "It doesn't hurt."
He didn't look at her again, but said to the project manager, "Close the ventilation door one."
[Night at the Resort's Back-of-House Supply Warehouse]
After the inspection, she went to the warehouse to check the supplies. Two temporary lamp stands were stored on the top shelf. She looked up at them and said to the person next to her, "Could you please help me down?"
The construction workers were moving a ladder. He stood in the doorway, not coming in, and said in a flat voice, "Slow down."
She stepped onto the second step, reached for the light fixture, and the cardboard box beside her wobbled. The construction worker quickly steadied it. She turned back towards the door, raising an eyebrow, her tone like she was teasing a tense wolf: "See, I didn't do anything reckless."
He neither stepped forward nor left, his knuckles clenching and unclenching in his palm, finally uttering only one sentence: "Let's talk about it when I get down."
She handed over the lamp stand, then climbed down the ladder, her heels landing firmly on her feet. His gaze lingered on her shoes for a moment, then shifted away: "Let's go."
She didn't leave. She looked up at him, as if continuing from the previous question: "You were wearing a mask just now, and your voice sounded even colder."
He said casually, "It's a habit."
She took a half step closer and lowered her voice: "Then what if you don't wear it?"
His gaze fell on her fingertips, then looked away: "Not here."
She laughed, then quickly changed her mind: "Shall we go somewhere else?"
He paused for two seconds: "Clear the warehouse first."
She responded and casually straightened the labels: "I can stay with you until you don't need me to remind you anymore."
He said, "I know."
She looked up, her tone even softer: "Knowing isn't enough, give me a seat."
He glanced at her position and said simply, "To the inside."
She obediently took half a step closer, her shoulder almost level with his: "Like this?"
He raised his finger and drew an invisible line in the air between them: "Here."
She stared at the line, her voice soft: "Then I'll come here every time from now on, and wait for you to say it's okay to cross."
His Adam's apple bobbed slightly as he looked away. "Not now." It wasn't that he didn't want to, but that it wasn't possible now.
She blinked: "That means it's possible in the future."
He didn't take it, but simply stepped aside to make way: "Go back."
She stopped beside him, her voice as soft as turning the pages of an account book: "Mu Tianlang, if I truly intend to get closer, will you back down?"
He looked at her for two seconds, then gave a short answer: "No retreat. No movement tonight."
She smiled and said, "I've got it. I'll wait for you to do it."
He whispered, "Don't force me."
She nodded: "Then I'll wait. But I'll wait on your end."
The freight elevator dinged in the distance, and the white lights in the warehouse flickered slightly. He told her to go first, but she turned her head and said, "Together." The two walked out of the warehouse side by side, the distance between them just right.
[Late Night at a Club in Beijing]
The lights in the city clubhouse were colder than those by the sea. The Xu family representative pushed the terms forward a page: "We can add an observer seat, but we hope for veto power."
He closed the folder, his voice brief: "No."
The other party smiled without saying a word, and then said in a different tone: "Then let's renegotiate the valuation."
"That won't work either."
The meeting ended quickly. As I exited, my mother's car was parked at the bottom of the steps. Her voice remained calm: "I said, learn to exchange." She added, "Cooperation can be closer. Your aunt said Miss Xu studies architecture, has a stable temperament, and has a good impression of you."
He replied with only one word: "Late."
She glanced at him and said, "You look like your father." Then, changing the subject, she added, "Let's talk tomorrow."
The night wind blew down between the tall buildings. He paused on the steps for half a second, his fingertips tightening and loosening around the edge of his phone before finally turning the screen black and walking towards the parking lot.
【Night travel on the coastal expressway】
The return driveway stretched like a cold beam of light. The driver in the front seat drove steadily, while he sat in the back, his knuckles tapping on his knee before stopping. Several tasks lined up in his mind: factoring agreement signing, deposit into the segregated account, re-inspection report, tomorrow morning's meeting. He put each thought back in its place, but his chest felt even more chaotic.
He opened his contacts, stared at them for three seconds, and then pressed dial.
"Hello?" Her voice carried a hint of wind.
He didn't bring up business first, only paused for two seconds, and then asked, "Are you asleep?"
"Not yet." She smiled faintly. "Why are you calling at this hour? Do you want me to be white noise, or do you want me to comfort you?"
He leaned back in his seat and said very briefly, "Listen for a while."
She went along with him, lowering her voice, "Okay. Listen. The wind is blowing now, so I've drawn the curtains halfway."
His breathing eased slightly, and he whispered, "Tomorrow...towards."
"Okay," she replied quickly, then added, "You should go to sleep early too. Otherwise, I'll feel sorry for you."
He stopped himself, saying, "No need."
She laughed and said, "Then I'll take the liberty of feeling sorry for you for a minute."
She lowered her voice: "Then dream about me standing to your left."
He: "Mm."
He didn't answer, only saying, "Goodnight."
"good evening."
He turned the screen black, fiddled with the watch strap for a moment, then let go. The streetlights outside the window appeared as lines receding into the distance.
[Night at the Resort Staff Dormitory]
She removed her earrings and placed them on a porcelain plate. She opened the sketchbook; on this page, instead of drawing wolves and foxes, she drew a tide gauge and a small lighthouse, with only the top section of the gauge illuminated. In the corner of the page, she wrote: Waiting for the tide.
My phone lit up again; it was that number: "You didn't do as I said. This is your last reminder—if you don't take action, I'll do it myself."
She didn't reply. She closed the sketchbook, pushed it to the edge of the table, then pushed it back half an inch. She stood on the balcony, the night breeze dissipating some of the heat from her shoulders. In her heart, she whispered to someone, "I know."
[Resort CEO's Overnight Office]
He returned to his office, poured himself some water, but didn't drink it. The water was poured into a matte black glass, leaving a faint mark on the table at the bottom. He didn't wipe it, but simply moved the rim of the glass outwards half an inch, as if making room for someone.
That evening, the revised version was sent out: "Add lights to the outside, brighten the corners, keep everything else simple." Only after sending it did he move the cup back. An email flashed in the lower right corner: Alternative investors replied, the letter of intent terms are reserved at the bottom line.
The sea outside the window was a deep, still black. The wind slipped through the cracks, like an invisible hand pressing down on something, then slowly releasing it.
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