The wind on the deck was a little lighter than yesterday.
Sunlight leaked through the gaps in the clouds, cutting long, thin golden stripes across the teak floor.
I stood by the railing.
My tea‑coloured shoulder‑length hair was blown by the wind, one side tucked behind my ear, revealing the clean line of my cheekbone under light makeup.
The white cropped JK top ended just below my ribs. The navy pleated skirt had a few fine creases at the hem from sitting too long.
Royal blue over‑the‑knee stockings. The cuffs stopped eight centimetres above the knee.
Dianzi stood beside me.
Light grey JK top with a wine‑red tie, white pleated skirt.
Lake blue over‑the‑knee stockings. The cuffs at the same height.
She took Lychee out of her bag and placed it on the railing post, facing the sea.
"Lychee, look," she said. "Today the sea is green."
Lychee tilted its head, its expression blank.
"Good afternoon, my treasures." Dianzi opened the floating interface and aimed the lens at the sea. "Today we're dancing on the deck. Sheep Dance."
[chat] Good afternoon ☀️
[chat] What dance is Sheep Dance?
[chat] Looking forward to it
I stood in the middle of the deck, toes on the ground, arms raised.
Music flowed from the interface – light, fast, with the rhythm of tambourines.
I rose onto my toes. My skirt lifted and fell with the movement, like a low‑flying bird. My arms traced soft arcs in the air, opening from my chest to both sides, fingertips slightly upturned.
Dianzi slid into the frame from the side. Her movements were half a beat slower than mine, but lighter.
When she spun, her white pleated skirt bloomed like a flower. The tips of her purple‑pink hair drew arcs in the air.
My jet‑black skirt stayed quietly at my ankles, swaying only slightly when I turned.
We faced each other. Our palms met in the air above the deck – not touching, but we could feel the warmth of each other's hands.
Our toes touched the ground at the same time. Our skirts lifted and fell together.
[chat] What dance is this?
[chat] So cute
[chat] Sheep Dance?
A young man walked over from the other end of the deck.
White shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows, collar unbuttoned. A camera bag was slung across his shoulder, the strap digging into the shirt fabric.
He stopped a few steps away and watched us dance.
The music stopped. I caught my breath and pushed my hair behind my ear.
He walked over. Camera in hand. The lens cap was still on.
"Young ladies, would you like me to take some photos for you?" he said. His voice was not loud, with a hint of hesitation. "I need the practice."
I looked at him. His face didn't show much expression, but his eyes were bright – not the kind of brightness that comes from energy, but the kind that comes from always watching, always remembering.
"All right," I said.
He raised the camera, framing me in the viewfinder. The shutter clicked once, then again.
"What's your name?" Dianzi came over and held Lychee up to him.
He lowered the camera and glanced at the squirrel with its crooked‑stitched mouth and tilted head.
"Lin Yuan," he said.
"Lin Yuan, are you a photographer?" Dianzi asked.
"Part‑time," he said. He turned the camera over and adjusted a setting. "I take photos for passengers on the cruise ship. Room and board included."
He didn't look up when he said this. His finger turned a dial, once, then again.
[chat] This guy is so quiet
[chat] A photographer?
[chat] So calming
"What do you usually photograph?" I asked.
"Everything," he said. He raised the camera, aimed it at the sea, and pressed the shutter. "Scenery. People. Cardboard boxes."
When he said "cardboard boxes", his finger paused on the shutter for a moment. He didn't press it.
"You've photographed cardboard boxes," I said. It wasn't a question.
He lowered the camera and looked at me.
"Yes," he said. "The ones outside the conference centre."
He didn't continue. He turned the camera over and started scrolling through the photos. The screen showed those cardboard boxes, the resumes, the pages whose corners were lifted by the wind.
He scrolled quickly. Images jumped past one after another.
"Ivy League graduate," he said suddenly. His voice was flat, like someone reading a menu. "Sent over three hundred resumes. Three interviews. Zero offers."
He lowered the camera and looked up at the sea.
"My family wants me to go back and take the civil service exam," he said. "But if I go back, I'll never come out again."
When he said this, his finger rubbed the camera strap. Rub, pause, rub again.
[chat] Sigh
[chat] So hard
[chat] This is so frustrating
I watched his hand as he scrolled through the photos. His fingers were long, the knuckles clearly defined. But his nails were cut very short – cut‑to‑the‑quick short.
"You photographed the cardboard boxes," I said. "And you photographed the sea. You know the difference between the cardboard boxes and the sea."
His fingers stopped on the camera.
The shutter sound paused for a moment.
A seagull flew past the lens. Its wingtip almost brushed the railing. He didn't look up.
Then he pressed the shutter.
"This one is good," he said.
He turned the camera around. The screen showed the photo he had just taken. I stood by the railing, my tea‑coloured hair blown by the wind, my skirt frozen mid‑air.
The background was the sea, and a patch of light cut into fragments by the clouds.
But I wasn't looking at myself.
I was looking at the background.
In the upper right corner of the photo, at the edge of the deck, stood a figure. Very blurry, the face unrecognisable – just a silhouette, facing the sea, standing very straight.
"Who is that?" I asked.
Lin Yuan glanced at the screen, then looked up at the edge of the deck. That spot was now empty.
"I don't know," he said. "I didn't notice when I took it."
He lowered the camera and didn't scroll back to that photo.
——She said "you know the difference between the cardboard boxes and the sea." His fingers paused. He knew.
[chat] That's a great photo
[chat] The light and shadow are amazing
[chat] There's someone in the background
Dianzi held Lychee in her arms and walked to the railing, looking down.
"Sister," she said. "There's no one down there."
Only waves on the sea. Layer after layer, breaking into white foam at the ship's side.
I turned my gaze back to Lin Yuan.
"When do you get off the ship?" I asked.
"Modu," he said. "Tomorrow morning."
He paused.
"Then I'll keep sending them out," he said.
He put his camera bag back on his shoulder, turned, and walked away.
His pace wasn't fast, but each step was steady. His shoulders slumped a little, but not all the way.
He reached the other end of the deck, stopped, raised his camera, and took a photo of the sea. Then he kept walking and disappeared around the corner.
Dianzi came over and stood beside me.
"Sister," she said. "He said if he goes back, he'll never come out again."
"What he can't go back to isn't a place," I said. I reached out and put my arm around her shoulder. My fingertip touched the clear crystal on the chain around her neck – a cool sensation travelled up from my fingertip. "It's the self that hasn't sent out those resumes yet. But at least he's still moving forward."
"Then if he doesn't go back," she said, "can he come out?"
I looked at the sea. The sunlight had completely leaked through the gaps in the clouds, turning the whole sea white. The wake line in the distance disappeared into the mist, with no end in sight.
"I don't know," I said. "But if he doesn't go back, at least there's still a possibility."
I turned off the interface.
[chat] Hope he finds a job
[chat] Hang in there
[chat] That photo is really beautiful
I closed the interface and put my phone into my cross‑body bag.
"Let's go," I said.
As I passed the edge of the deck, I stopped.
There were a few wet patches on the teak floor, not yet dry. A thin white thread was stuck to the railing beside them, blown by the wind and pressed against the iron rail.
The spot where that person had stood.
No one was there now.
Dianzi pulled my hand. I looked back once more. The wind lifted the thread, it floated for a moment, then fell onto the deck and lay still.
Back in the room, Dianzi went to shower.
I sat by the window.
Outside, the sea had darkened. The navigation light had started blinking.
On.
Off.
Like some ancient signal.
I opened my phone and scrolled to my profile page. Under the photo Lin Yuan had taken earlier, comments were flooding in quickly.
The top comment read: "The light is beautiful."
Someone else asked: "Is that guy a professional photographer?"