Later on, Ban Sheng formally came to pay a visit as Lin Weixia’s boyfriend. He specifically changed into a formal suit, reined in every trace of his usual irreverent and nonchalant air, and arrived at the door holding both hands full of gifts.

Even the unflappable Ban Sheng felt a flicker of anxiety at the bottom of his heart. He hesitated for a beat before knocking on the door. In no time at all, someone came to open it. Before Ban Sheng could get a single word out, her aunt took one look at his face, turned a different color, and immediately drove him off.

Her aunt kept ushering him out as she spoke: “You must be Ban Sheng — I saw you once when you walked my girl home in high school and thought rather well of you, but I heard she spent the whole of college chasing after you, and you still put her through the wringer! You whisked her away over winter break without once sending her home…”

The words were barely finished when — “bang” — the security door slammed shut, nearly catching Ban Sheng’s nose.

Lin Weixia tried to stop her from behind but couldn’t manage it, and said with some indignation: “Aunt, what are you doing — that’s not how it happened, didn’t I already explain everything to you?”

Her aunt sat on the sofa serenely drinking her tea, and chimed in when she heard Lin Weixia speak: “I tell you, child — you haven’t even been handed over yet and already you’re taking his side. I’m testing him. If he can’t even take a little of this, I’m not going to feel comfortable handing you over to him.”

Lin Weixia let out a quiet sigh and wanted to go downstairs to find Ban Sheng. The phone in her hand let out a “ding” notification chime. She tapped it open.

Ban: [Stay inside, I’ll stand here downstairs for a bit — I’m fine.]

Ban: [I deserve it.]

And so Ban Sheng stood downstairs for five hours — from midday all the way until nightfall — before her aunt finally opened the door for him. It also meant that Lin Weixia’s family had accepted him.

Another summer arrived.

They were invited to attend Shengao’s centennial anniversary as distinguished alumni of the school. When they set out that morning, the weather was oppressively hot, the cicadas crying like a lullaby. Lin Weixia sat in Ban Sheng’s car, her eyelids drooping lower and lower, until she fell asleep.

When they were nearly there, Ban Sheng didn’t drive into the grounds. He called out to wake her. Lin Weixia opened her eyes in a daze, and at the sight of the four gilded characters reading “Shengao No. 1 High School,” her gaze froze.

It felt like a lifetime ago.

All at once, so many people came flooding back to her.

She thought of the times they had cried, laughed, made trouble, run through the rain together, played truant to go to the coast.

The two of them got out of the car and walked into the campus. Behind them, a steady stream of girls in school uniforms — their pale legs showing, youthful and fresh — came past with books tucked under their arms, murmuring about a newly released manga and occasionally dropping gossip about the school’s most talked-about boys.

The male high schoolers wore their ties loosely, walking in groups chatting idly, and whenever they spotted a girl they knew they would childishly tug at her hair — earning chases and scoldings — then insist they hadn’t done anything, too proud to own up.

Completely insufferable.

As Ban Sheng and Lin Weixia walked through the campus, their looks and bearing were so striking that students kept turning to look at them the whole way.

They went first to see their homeroom teacher Liu Xiping. Old Liu’s hair had gone a little whiter, and at first he didn’t recognize them. Only when Lin Weixia called out to him did Old Liu put it together — he then asked about how they were getting on.

They had long since graduated. Lin Weixia had become a psychologist, focusing on adolescent development and cognitive disorders in children with special needs. As for Ban Sheng — there was no need for him to say a word; Old Liu already knew. His name was the first on the school’s list of distinguished alumni.

After graduating, Ban Sheng had joined an audiology research institute in Jingbei. He led a team dedicated to the research, development, and application of medical devices such as cochlear implants, securing multiple invention patents, updating domestic cochlear implant technology, and advancing independent domestic speech coding systems.

“Wonderful. You’ve both become very fine people,” Old Liu said, looking at them with feeling.

“It’s rare to hear you say something kind about me,” Ban Sheng replied with a lazy smile, still as easygoing as ever.

The school’s leadership received them all, but after a short while Ban Sheng slipped away and stood out in the corridor, having a leisurely cigarette.

Before long, Lin Weixia came out after him. From the far end of the corridor she spotted the tall, loosely composed man leaning against the railing, cuff of his shirt rolled up to expose a stretch of wrist bone.

Lin Weixia walked over: “Old Liu asked me to remind you — don’t forget the speech you’re giving later.”

“Can I get out of it?” Ban Sheng chuckled.

“Who knows, but—” Lin Weixia narrowed her eyes, reaching back through memory, “—don’t forget what happened during the hundred-day countdown speech in third year. You nearly gave Old Liu a stroke.”

That was true enough. Ban Sheng had gone on stage with his tie yanked off and his name pin missing, looking utterly unrestrained, and had said a very short piece before walking off.

“I’ll head back in,” Lin Weixia said, turning to go.

But Ban Sheng caught her hand, removed the cigarette from his lips, and said: “When I give my speech later, don’t go wandering off — stay right there in the audience.”

Lin Weixia looked at him with a puzzled expression.

“Help me take some photos. The institute needs them.” Ban Sheng’s tone paused briefly.

“No problem.” Lin Weixia smiled and agreed.

Shengao’s centennial anniversary kicked off at ten o’clock in the morning. The plaza was packed full of people — a sea of young, lively faces, like the light of a newly risen sun. Several reporters were also on hand.

To photograph Ban Sheng, Lin Weixia had borrowed a camera from someone and was sitting in an inconspicuous corner of the audience. After the school leadership had given their speeches and cut the ribbon, the distinguished alumni were invited to the stage to speak.

The sun was beating down fiercely, the hot wind making everyone drowsy. By the time the later speakers took the stage, the students’ patience had run out, and they began to lean against each other’s shoulders and murmur in low voices about going to get cold drinks from the school canteen or convenience store once this was over.

Ban Sheng was the last to appear.

“Wake up — Senior Ban Sheng is on,” said one girl.

“Oh wow, the king of cool — he can absolutely get it,” someone piped up.

“His face is literally bewitching. He is so insanely good-looking.”

“Hey, did you all hear — that senior spent all of high school chasing a girl and apparently never managed to win her over. Who knows how that turned out.”

Lin Weixia sat in the audience listening without making a sound, still wearing that quiet, gentle smile, her eyes on the man up on stage. He stood in his black suit and delivered his speech with easy composure, his throat moving as he spoke, his features even sharper and more defined than before — and compared to high school, there was now a certain steadiness about him, though his eyes still carried a trace of that youthful spirit. The top two buttons of his collar were casually undone, giving him the air of someone spirited, unhurried, and unapologetically himself.

He began by briefly describing what he worked on, then offered his warm wishes to the alma mater and all the students. When the open question segment arrived, things lightened up considerably.

“Senior, have you ever skipped class?” someone asked.

“Yes,” Ban Sheng answered, then added unhurriedly: “And I skipped with my girlfriend.”

A ripple of laughter broke out below. Old Liu started with a sigh and then laughed helplessly along. Lin Weixia let herself smile too. At that moment a reporter in the audience chose a good time to speak up. Her question was significantly more professional:

“Senior, hello — I’m a Shengao alumna, two years below you. I’ve also been looking into the cochlear implant you developed, the one called ‘Listening to Summer.’ The fact that it’s slim-profile and capable of processing noise across different environments while preserving residual hearing goes without saying — but I’d like to ask something off-topic: is there a story behind it?”

Ban Sheng’s tone was unhurried, deflecting from the reporter: “The story is long. I’ll have to save it for another time.”

The students below let out a collective “tsk” of disappointment. Then the Ban Sheng up on stage shifted, his tone turning serious:

“That said, there’s something today I’d like everyone here to witness.”

Lin Weixia was holding the camera carefully, lens focused on the strikingly handsome face in her frame, when Ban Sheng looked out from the stage at the audience. The crowd below became unsettled. He seemed to be looking for someone, his jet-black eyes colliding directly with her lens — gazing straight at her.

Her heart pulled inward involuntarily, then began to race.

In an instant the school’s wide-angle camera found its target, and Lin Weixia’s face appeared on the large screen. She felt a flash of panic. She had only done simple makeup today — simple white T-shirt, blue jeans — and had just grabbed her hair into something quick on the way out the door that morning.

“The girl in the fourth row from the back, third seat from the left, with a butterfly birthmark at the corner of her eye,” Ban Sheng said slowly. “Please help bring her up to the stage.”

The entire crowd turned to look. Countless examining and envious eyes settled on Lin Weixia’s face. Her face grew warm, and her scalp prickled. That morning, Ban Sheng hadn’t given her the slightest hint that she should dress up.

And yet up on stage he still had that unhurried, spectator-who-loves-a-good-show expression on his face, even managing to crack a joke:

“Yes — that very good-looking girl is my wife. Stop staring.”

Laughter erupted in the audience, and in an instant the crowd was worked up into a frenzy of excited catcalls. From all directions voices rose, and Lin Weixia was swept up by a wave of students and guided onto the stage. She stood there, nervous throughout, a layer of sweat gathering in her palms.

She looked up in a daze at the man in front of her. He looked back at her too. Neither of them spoke. The audience below went utterly still. Ban Sheng gave a small smile, looked at her, and suddenly spoke:

“Lin Weixia. You are not a fish tank — you are a lighthouse.”

He was a solitary shark, who had been swimming alone in the sea for a very long time. And Lin Weixia was the lighthouse, illuminating his way home.

They spoke words that left the audience baffled, floating somewhere in the clouds — but Lin Weixia smiled. She understood.

Ban Sheng’s throat moved, and though he had spoken before countless large crowds, this time he found himself a little nervous. He looked at Lin Weixia, his tone serious and sincere:

“Last week I was on a business trip in another city and didn’t get to sleep until late. When I woke up in the morning and saw a toothbrush standing in the cup, I suddenly wanted to get married.”

“With you.”

The audience erupted again below. The students were cheering at the top of their lungs, and amid the unbroken waves of screaming, Ban Sheng raised his hand and wiped a tear from the corner of her eye, then continued:

“This morning on the way out, you were sitting in my car doing your makeup, and a few drops of nail polish dripped onto the seat. The center console had the paper sharks you fold when you’re bored. The whole car was filled with your presence, and in that moment, I only wanted to spend the rest of my life with you.”

Ban Sheng reached into his trouser pocket with one hand and held out a ring in front of her. At a distance, the audience couldn’t see — but Lin Weixia could see that his fingertips were trembling. Her eyes turned red in an instant.

The man let out a self-deprecating smile and drew a deep breath:

“This person is a mess and has been through a lot of bad things, and he has let you down before. But I hope you’ll give me the chance. I want my toothbrush to stand next to yours. I want to eat celery stir-fried with beef for the rest of my life. I love summer more than winter. In winter I’ll warm your hands, and only yours, and I’ll make you warm milk.”

“Everything you want — I will give everything I have to get it, and then give it all to you.”

“Lin Weixia, I will love you always.”

Up in the audience, what had started as an atmosphere of playful excitement was now awash in emotion. Several people had tears gathering in their eyes, and a few were quietly weeping.

Lin Weixia stood on the stage, crying too hard to speak, moved beyond words — and at the same time, so grateful. Grateful they had held on until now.

She smiled and extended her hand. The ring slid slowly into place, her lashes damp:

“Yes.”

The moment she said yes, the cheering and applause from below broke loose in a torrent. Birds startled from their perches and flew up into the treetops. The flame tree blossoms were in their most vivid bloom, and the school’s palm trees stood as lush and full as ever.

On this day, summer in Nanjiang stretched long and blazing.

Everyone was blessing them.

That afternoon, Ban Sheng drove Lin Weixia out to the sea — to that very same Moon Coast where he had confessed to her.

The tires crunched over small stones as the car sped along the open road, an endless expanse of blue stretching beyond the window. The convertible roof slowly retracted and tucked away, and a salty, damp sea breeze rolled in — cool and wonderfully comfortable.

Ban Sheng put on a song called “I Want to Go to the Sea.” The volume was turned up high, the melody light and breezy, perfectly suited for the moment. He couldn’t help humming along in his casual, unhurried way:

Wait for a naturally clear day I want to take you to the sea Hold on to this moment before it’s too late to reach back

The car curved around until it reached the coast — coconut palms swaying, the blue of the sea and the black of the reef rocks running in a seamless line. Ban Sheng suddenly accelerated, his finger touching the volume control, and the music swelled louder, riding the sea wind and wrapping around her completely:

Can we run with all our strength together Toward the horizon Until the last light fades — that’s not where it ends That’s the sea I always wanted to take only you to

Once the car was parked, the two of them walked down to the beach, stepping on the soft, slightly rough sand. Lin Weixia got close to the water’s edge, and the occasional surge of tide came rolling over — refreshing, wonderfully cold.

Lin Weixia, in a fit of playfulness, splashed a little water at Ban Sheng. He had just taken a drag of his cigarette when the water droplets came down from nowhere, and with a sizzle, the glowing tip went out.

Just like old times.

Ban Sheng grabbed her by the back of the neck and started teasing her. Lin Weixia buried herself in his arms, laughing and begging for mercy.

After playing around for a while, the two of them walked along the beach side by side.

Ban Sheng wore a black T-shirt and walked at his usual unhurried pace a step ahead of her. Just then a blazing red sun hung low over the sea, its fierce light pouring over him, his silhouette the upright, youthful one she remembered.

The summer sea breeze was cool, the light fierce and warm. Lin Weixia felt a movement in her heart, and called out:

“Ban Sheng.”

He turned his head out of habit, answering lazily:

“Here.”

Lin Weixia stood there, looking across the distance at him, and just like that, she smiled.

It was like one of those evenings back in high school when Ban Sheng had been chasing her — she had been getting repeated harassing calls from her drunk father, cursing at her in an endless stream of filth, and then after school she found her bicycle tire had been deliberately punctured. She had caught the sideways, privately mocking glances of students passing by.

Her mood had been at rock bottom.

She hadn’t wanted to say a word to anyone.

Lin Weixia walked home alone with her bag, and as she was passing the narrow alleyway beside Yutan Road, she instinctively checked the time.

9:40 p.m.

In the next instant, the curtain of the pool hall with the faded sign was pushed aside, and a young man ducked his head slightly under the frame as he stepped out. He was wearing a black hoodie, the black lily tattoo on his ankle visible, the air around him heavy with something dangerous.

Not early, not late — every evening at this hour, Ban Sheng would send her home, always keeping a step behind her until she was safely at her door, then retreating.

Lin Weixia was in a bad mood and walked straight ahead.

The young man followed at an unhurried pace behind her, crunching on a preserved plum candy — the very picture of a hooligan.

That night, something in Lin Weixia broke. The suppressed feeling inside her had reached a tipping point. She stopped abruptly and turned around to face him, her tone distant:

“Why are you following me?”

“Walking you home.” Ban Sheng met her gaze and said simply.

Lin Weixia felt a sudden rush of irritation. For the first time, she let her impatience show on her face, her tone cold: “Stop following me. It’s annoying.”

A shadow passed over Ban Sheng’s face, the angle of his jaw tightening. For a moment there was a flash of not knowing what to do. His straight, composed frame stood motionless.

Lin Weixia looked away from him and walked straight on.

After she had gone a stretch of road, the young man caught up and moved to walk ahead of Lin Weixia.

She had barely begun to frown when — as if he had already known exactly what she was going to say — the young man said with an air of complete indifference: “My place is this way.”

It was as if the shadow that had passed through his eyes a moment ago had been Lin Weixia’s imagination.

Just before reaching Shuiwei Lane, Lin Weixia had to pass through a narrow alleyway. As bad luck would have it, the streetlight in this stretch had broken, and the way ahead was pitch dark — she couldn’t see the road. Her footsteps halted, and a wave of unease swept through her.

The young man kept walking forward at his steady, unhurried pace, his long arms swinging loosely at his sides.

Just as Lin Weixia had no idea what to do, a beam of white light appeared ahead of her — coming from his direction. Dust motes floated in the beam. Ban Sheng said nothing throughout, and with his phone’s flashlight, he led her forward.

When the last bar of the phone’s battery drained and the screen went dark on its own —

Ban Sheng reached into his pocket and pulled out a silver lighter. With a sharp “click,” a small flame leapt from the heel of his hand, leading her forward. Because a lighter can’t be held open continuously — that would be dangerous — the flame kept going out, and he had to flick it open again and again.

The night was very quiet. Now and then a draft of wind blew through the alley — cool air — and from somewhere in the distance came the sound of a car horn. Ban Sheng led her through that dark alleyway the whole way.

Lin Weixia stared at the burnt, bright-red skin across the web of his thumb, a blister already forming.

He said nothing.

Lin Weixia stared at the dark figure ahead of her, and regret for having snapped at him welled up inside her. She called out softly: “Ban Sheng.”

The young man turned back instinctively to look at her. He wasn’t angry — he answered unconditionally:

“Here.”

It had been that way before. It was still that way now.

The distant sound of the waves drew Lin Weixia’s thoughts back. The sea wind carried its thick, salty dampness and rolled in around her, like a glass of green lime water knocked over, making Ban Sheng’s black hem billow.

I love him standing ahead of me in all-black clothing, like a silent shadow that guards me.

Whenever I call out, whether in the chaos of a storm or the calm of still water, however things may be —

My boy will always, out of habit, turn around,

And look only at me.

We are each other’s day and night.

The sea is always there. The boy’s great, boundless love will never cease.