When the tide returns to shore
Chapter One: The Scent of Sea Salt on the Suitcase
The June wind, carrying the dampness characteristic of the plum rain season, brushed against Lin Xia's face as she squatted on the steps of the high-speed rail station exit, struggling to untangle the seaweed tangled in her suitcase handle. The dark green seaweed, carrying a salty, damp smell, had been caught three days earlier in a crevice in the rocks of the Shengsi Islands. With her movements, it dripped a few strings of water droplets mixed with fine sand, leaving a small, dark stain on the dusty ground.
"Lin Xia! Over here!"
Chen Mo's voice came from not far away, hoarse from just waking up. Lin Xia looked up and saw him leaning against a rusty lamppost, two bottles of chilled mineral water in his hand, the hem of his white T-shirt billowing in the sea breeze like a faded sail. Behind him, Su Man was standing on tiptoe, looking towards the subway station, the strap of her canvas bag slipped down to her elbow, revealing a red mark on her forearm from a mosquito bite on the beach—a mark left when Su Man accidentally rolled into the grass while trying to take a picture of the sea of clouds while watching the sunrise at Dongya Cliff.
"This rotten weed is like a leech." Lin Xia finally tore off the seaweed, and her knees made a soft "click" as she stood up. She rubbed her aching joints and suddenly noticed that Chen Mo's eyes were different. Three days ago, when they met at the airport, this programmer, who spent most of his time in front of a computer screen, had thick bloodshot eyes. Now, those bloodshot veins had faded, like ink washed away by seawater, and his pupils even reflected the sky above that had been washed by rain.
"Su Man, do you still have any wet wipes in your bag?" Lin Xia pointed to the sticky residue on the handle. Su Man said "Oh," turned around and rummaged through her bag. As her ponytail swept through the air, a few tiny water droplets flew from the ends of her hair. Lin Xia suddenly remembered yesterday evening, when the three of them sat on the terrace of the guesthouse, watching the sunset dye the sea a molten gold. Su Man suddenly said, "Have you ever thought that seawater is actually the tears of the earth?" At that time, Chen Mo was stuffing a seaweed biscuit into his mouth and coughed when he heard this. Lin Xia, watching the fishing boats returning in the distance, suddenly felt that Su Man's words were like a pebble thrown into a lake, the ripples of which had not yet dissipated.
"Here you go." Su Man handed over a wet wipe, and both of them paused for a moment when her fingertips touched the back of Lin Xia's hand. Only then did Lin Xia notice that Su Man still had bits of peeling blue nail polish on her fingernails—it was the "deep sea blue" they had bought for ten yuan at the fishing village market on Gouqi Island. Su Man had insisted on painting it on both her and Chen Mo, saying it was "the mark of the sea." Now, that touch of blue appeared somewhat mottled in the sunlight, yet it resembled some kind of stubborn star, embedded in her fingertip.
The crowd rushed past them, carrying the city's distinctive smell, a mixture of perfume and exhaust fumes. Someone dragged a suitcase along, the wheels churning on the ground like urgent drumbeats. Lin Xia suddenly remembered leaving three days ago, also on this platform. She had carried a backpack, feeling like a dud thrown by life, utterly exhausted and numb. Back then, Chen Mo was constantly refreshing his work emails, while Su Man stared blankly out the window, her fingers unconsciously picking at the loose threads on her backpack strap.
"Let's go, the subway's going to be packed." Chen Mo unscrewed the cap of his water bottle and gulped down a large mouthful, the water trickling down his neck and into his collar. Lin Xia took the water, the cool bottle pressed against her forehead, and suddenly smelled the sea salt scent emanating from her hair. That scent was like a gentle reminder, reminding her of fishing boats rocking at sea, little crabs peeking out from the crevices of the rocks, and campfires lit on the beach late at night, sparks crackling and rising into the star-studded night sky.
Chapter Two: Reflections on Office Building Glass
At nine o'clock on Wednesday morning, Lin Xia stood outside the revolving door of the office building, looking at her reflection in the glass. A white shirt, black trousers, her hair neatly tied back—she was a completely different girl from three days ago, chasing the waves at the beach, her skirt covered in sand. But as she adjusted her tie, a faint brown mark inadvertently appeared on her cuff from rock climbing the day before—moss on the rocks. Chen Mo had shouted "Watch your step!" from below, and she, clinging to the rock face, had suddenly noticed a seashell embedded in a crevice, its shell etched with the marks of time.
The elevator was packed with people in suits, the air thick with the smells of coffee and printer ink. Lin Xia huddled in a corner, listening to her two colleagues discussing the quarterly report. Suddenly, the numbers seemed like a school of fish swimming around, creating a chaotic mess in her mind. Just then, her phone vibrated in her pocket. It was a WeChat message from Su Man, with a photo attached: a chubby orange cat perched on a windowsill, its paws fiddling with a seashell wind chime—they'd bought it in the fishing village; Su Man said she wanted to hang it in front of her studio window.
Good morning, Lin Xia.
The department manager's voice came from behind her. Lin Xia turned around abruptly, almost bumping into the coffee cup in his arms. The manager frowned, his gaze sweeping over her cuff, where the moss stain stood out starkly against the white shirt. "Give me the client data I asked you to compile yesterday by ten o'clock." His tone was as stiff and unyielding as ever.
“Okay, Manager.” Lin Xia lowered her head and quickly stepped out of the elevator. The harsh white light in the corridor made her feel dizzy. She walked to her workstation, and as soon as she put down her bag, she saw an unread email pop up on her computer screen. The red number “27” looked like a swollen wound. She took a deep breath, her fingertips hovering over the keyboard, but suddenly she remembered that morning in Shengsi, when she, Chen Mo, and Su Man squatted on the beach collecting seashells. The beach, where the tide had receded, was densely covered with seashells of all shapes and sizes, shimmering like pearls in the sunlight. At that time, Su Man held a conch shell to her ear, saying she could hear the sound of the sea, while Chen Mo put a scallop shell on Lin Xia's head, laughing like a child.
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