Sea Breeze and Shadow: Quest and Trial
As dawn broke, the wind in Beijing carried a dry, salty scent, like some unseen dampness blowing in from the street corner. When Hu Li woke up, a thin line of white seeped through the curtains. The person beside him had already gotten up, and short bursts of water and the buzzing of an electric toothbrush came from the bathroom.
She draped his shirt over her shoulders and went into the kitchen, heated up the small pot of leftover oatmeal from last night, and cut the egg whites into small pieces, just as they had agreed yesterday—he would eat breakfast before leaving the house.
Mu Tianlang came out in his suit, buttoning it up one by one. Asceticism, aloofness, and domineering presence were the armor he had prepared for the day. He picked up his bowl and ate quickly, his movements concise, occasionally glancing down at her: "Don't go out alone today."
"I know." She handed over the spoon, smiling brightly. "I work from home."
He hummed in agreement, wrapped his arms around her waist from behind, and gently touched the top of her head with his forehead: "I'll pick you up tonight."
"good."
The door closed behind her, and she quietly returned to the room. The room was large, and so was the quiet.
The small lamp in the living room was turned off very late last night. Hu Li sat at his desk, his palms still warm from when he left, but a chill seemed to seep into his heart—his mother's words from yesterday were like the tide, receding only to rise again: "That year, Mu Tinglang's accident. You were there too."
She closed her eyes, the salty sea air filling her nostrils; a gust of wind swept by, and purple vines clung to her damp sleeves before sliding off. A thin boy stood in front of her, blocking the wind. Someone called out a name, but the sound was scattered by the wind, leaving only the last syllable swirling on the sea. It was hard to tell if it was real or not; she needed to confirm it again, and for the time being, she wouldn't put any more pressure on him.
She turned on her computer and typed in: "Mu Tinglang," "accident," "seaside." The search results were few and mostly covered by reposted articles and marketing posts. A few old news items were only briefly mentioned: "childhood accident," "sudden rain at the beach," "details unknown." She scrolled down, but found nothing.
She changed a few keywords: "purple vine," "coastal city," "place and sea," "childhood," "adolescence." Still, there were no words she could grasp.
She stared at the blank space for a while, then suddenly thought of the cultural center—of Director Luo Du and Xu Jia.
IV. Call Director Luo
She picked up her phone and opened her contacts.
"Director Luo, this is Hu Li."
There was a pause on the other end of the phone, then a laugh: "Hey, Xiao Hu! Your last set of works got really good reviews at our exhibition. What are you busy with now?"
"I'm working on a new piece." She continued the conversation, subtly shifting the topic, "I recently saw your collection of old photos and newspaper clippings—'Place and Sea'—at the cultural center. I'd like to research some clues about coastal oral history and incorporate them into my next piece. Where can I find these materials? Or is there anyone I could interview?"
Director Luo pondered for a few seconds: "The original copies of the 'Local and Maritime' archives are in the city library's 'Local History Archives,' as well as the microfilm from the old newspaper office. If you want to do oral history, go find the retired coast guard officers in the old port area community compound; they have extensive connections. Also... I'll give you a friend's phone number; he used to work on the layout for the Morning Post and is very familiar with the coastal accident lines."
"Thank you so much."
"Don't thank me yet. You'd better come to the center so I can make a copy of the file catalog for you. I'll be waiting for you in the archives at 2 PM."
"good."
After hanging up, she jotted down a few points he mentioned: the city library's local history archives, the old newspaper microfilm archives, the old port area's maritime patrol, and the morning paper's editorial staff. She squeezed her pen—her palms were still cold.
V. Information given to Xu Jia
She sent Xu Jia another message:
"Are you there? I wanted to ask you a question about the exhibition. You mentioned that the old photos in the Cultural Centre's 'Locality and Sea' collection were borrowed from the local history archives. Could you help me inquire about the borrowing process? Also, do you know any elderly people or teachers from the harbor area who could talk about the sea for that generation?"
Xu Jia replied quickly: "Yes. I'll handle the procedures for you. I have two people here with you, the old man: one is a ship repairman, and the other is a retired elementary school teacher by the sea. Which angle do you want?"
She said, "I want them both."
Xu Jia sent a friendly emoji: "Ruthless."
It takes quite a drive to get from Beijing to the port city. Hu Li sent Mu Tianlang a message: "I suddenly had an inspiration and want to go to the port city to take a look at the works I left at the cultural center."
He quickly replied, "Should I arrange transportation and security? Is it a day trip, or a stay of several days?"
She thought for a moment and said, "It might take a few days to gather the outline of the data. I'll stay for a few days before going back."
He said, "Okay, I'll book a resort for you. Go early and come back early, and report back to me every day."
She replied, "No need for security, I'll be careful myself."
He only replied with two words: "I remember." Then he added: "Send your location when you get to Gangcheng."
She quickly packed her bags and called her best friend Xiaomin before leaving: "I'm going to Gangcheng."
Xiaomin laughed: "What a coincidence, I'm also going to Hong Kong on a business trip the day after tomorrow, so we can meet up if our schedules match."
The high-speed train headed south, the gray-blue cities outside the window forming a line. Hu Li pulled her hat brim down low, her headphones silent, listening only to the wind rushing through the gaps in the train. She couldn't understand—why her mother had said that. Her father's betrayal was his fault, not Mu's mother's. But if the accident really was related to "her"...was it Hu's mother, or someone else? Then what should she and Mu Tianlang do? How should they face him?
She rubbed her temples, poured herself a sip of water, and her phone screen flickered on and off. She didn't want to bring this chaos onto him; she needed to figure out his features first.
It was 2 PM in the Cultural Center's archives. Ginkgo leaves outside the window were sparsely scattered, and the heater hissed out warm air. Director Luo pushed over a photocopied catalog and pulled two reader cards from a drawer: "One is for the city library, and the other is for the old newspaper office. They can be used today."
"Director, you're amazing!"
"Don't thank me yet." He lowered his voice. "You're asking about 'coastal accidents,' which is a tough topic. Don't try to be brave. You're an artist, not an investigator."
Hu Li nodded: "I know what I'm doing."
Director Luo looked at her, as if remembering something: "Last time in the exhibition hall, you stood in front of that photo of 'Two Boys and the Sea' for a long time. What's your story with that sea?"
She smiled and said, "It probably tastes overcooked."
"smell?"
"Salty." She lowered her eyes, put the card into the compartment, and said, "Thank you, Director."
The old newspaper office's hallway smelled of musty paper. She stuck her reader card on the access control, and the door lock beeped green. A staff member led her to the microfilm reader and showed her how to focus and archive the files.
She locked the years to the year the accident occurred, flipping through the "Social Issues" section all the way to "Local Observations." The text was small and dense, like waves crashing against the shore. She stared until her eyes ached, finally spotting a tiny, almost blurry photo in an inconspicuous corner—a clump of purple vines lay fallen by the roadside in the damp wind, next to which stood a thin boy with a coat draped over his shoulders, his back to the camera. Further out at the edge. The caption read only four words: Sudden Rain at the Seaside.
She archived this page. The cursor hovered there for a long time.
"I've made an appointment for those two elderly people for you," Xu Jia said on the other end of the phone. "The ship repairman's surname is Lian. He'll be at the small dock in the port area at four o'clock this afternoon. Don't wear anything too thin. The elementary school teacher is there on Friday. Go to Mr. Lian's place first."
"good."
"Also, regarding the large reproduction of 'Two Boys with the Sea' that you requested, the museum needs to go through some procedures. I'll submit the application for you today. Please take care of yourself."
"Um."
The wind was strong at the small dock in the harbor, scraping the water's surface into tiny, shimmering flakes. Master Lian stubbed out his cigarette and raised his chin: "You're the little girl who asked about the sea?"
"yes."
Master Lian's hands were roughened by salt and engine oil, his knuckles resembling old tree roots. He spoke slowly, word by word: which year the tides were higher than usual, which reef was the most treacherous, which bend in the river where cars often stopped to watch the waves. Halfway through his story, he suddenly stopped: "You're asking about accidents?"
Hu Li nodded: "I'd like to know some background information. I'm going to create a piece."
Master Lian looked at her for two seconds, as if she were a piece of wood soaked in the sea: "The young ones are gone, the old ones are still watching the sea. That year it rained, then suddenly a strong wind blew. Some say it was an accident, some say it wasn't. Which answer do you want?"
She paused for a moment, then said, "I just want the facts."
Master Lian smiled and said, "It's true." He pointed into the distance and said, "Look over there, the purple vine isn't blooming right now, just dry stems and withered leaves. When the wind blows, the withered leaves stick to your clothes. Whether it's true or not, the wind decides."
She looked in the direction he pointed, and sure enough, behind a low wall by the dock, there was a small patch of purple thorns. The flowers had faded, leaving only withered stems and fallen leaves, stubbornly swaying in the cold wind.
At the same time, on the other side of the city. On the twelfth floor of the Mu Group headquarters, the conference room was as cold as ice. Mu Tianlang uttered no nonsense, slamming the authentication report of the anonymous audio onto the table: "A composite, highly likely fake. The law firm's letter has already been sent out. Anyone who dares to forward it before today will be held responsible."
Someone tried to speak, but a single glance from him silenced them. His aloofness was a blade; his domineering nature was its sheath. After the meeting, he didn't linger, only telling Xiao Zhou, "No visitors before 2:30."
His phone lit up. It was her—a brief update: "Scooping for material, inspiration's alright." He stared at it for two seconds before replying:
"Watch out for the wind."
She replied, "I know. You eat first."
He put down his phone, pressed his temples, and his throat moved almost imperceptibly.
Before evening, she returned to the cultural center to photograph another folder in the archives. Director Luo handed her a paper bag: "These are photocopies from the 'Local History Archives.' The originals cannot be lent out. Take the photocopies with you first, and I'll send you the electronic version of the catalog to your email later."
She added in a low voice, "Please keep the information I found confidential for me and don't mention it to anyone."
Director Luo nodded: "Understood, I'll make a note of it internally."
She hugged the paper bag and almost bumped into someone as she turned around.
The person was wearing a mask and a baseball cap, revealing only their eyes. A plastic-sealed card lanyard peeked out from their collar, like a badge lanyard. When their eyes met, the person's gaze flickered, and they quickly stepped aside, but followed her with two quick steps. Her heart tightened, and she gripped the paper bag tightly as she walked out, sending Xu Jia a text message: "I'm in the records room, I'll contact you later."
She walked along the first-floor corridor, the sound of her heels clicking clearly on the floor. Footsteps followed her, sometimes near, sometimes far. She didn't turn around, quickly reaching the main entrance, where a security guard was patrolling.
"Could you please call me a car?" she said to the security guard with a smile. The security guard nodded, his gaze sweeping over the person behind her. The person paused for a moment, then walked around to the other side.
When the car arrived, she got in and gave the resort address. She pulled her mask up and glanced through the reflection in the glass doorway—the person wearing a hat was standing in the wind, head down as if on the phone.
She texted Xu Jia: "Someone at the cultural center looks like they're following me. Could you please help me check the surveillance footage? Please don't spread the word about the information I found this time."
Xu Jia replied: "Received."
She sent him another message: "I'm staying at a resort today, and I just discovered that reporters are following me. I'll be careful."
The other end quickly replied: "The front desk has already instructed you to remember to turn on location services. Don't walk alone at night, and contact me immediately if anything happens."
She gripped her phone, took a deep breath, and changed the location to the resort. The car drove onto the elevated highway, the sea breeze receding towards the city. She pulled her hat down low; the chill in her heart hadn't dissipated, but was instead covered by a thin layer of vigilance—perhaps a reporter, perhaps not. Whoever it was, she had to be even more careful.
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