For a moment, everyone on the boat was at a complete loss.
Yan Hong Sha had been quietly sobbing, sometimes staring blankly, sometimes perhaps suddenly remembering her uncle’s kindness in certain matters, tears streaming down her face. However, what worried her most was Old Man Yan, constantly murmuring: “What will Grandfather do when he finds out?”
There was a clanging sound, as if the winch on the boat railing had slipped. Yi Wansan shuffled out to secure it, taking steps while hissing with each breath, the pain not yet subsided.
Luo Ren had been slightly moving the Water Eye up and down, and after looking for a long time, finally said: “There are no wounds on his body, at least none that I can see clearly. I suspect he was still alive when he reached the seabed.”
He pointed to the oxygen tank in the image: “This type of oxygen tank can normally sustain for about two hours, but the deeper the water, the shorter the duration. I assume at this depth, he could use it for about an hour.”
Yan Hong Sha was suddenly startled, jerking her head up: “One night, my uncle called me. My phone…”
She habitually reached out to check, wanting to show them the call record, only then realizing her phone had long fallen into the sea.
She tried hard to recall the scene that night.
It was in the middle of the night, as she had already been asleep. She seemed to see her uncle on the seabed, desperately trying to crawl out, his hands deeply embedded in the sea sand, his face pale, eyes filled with bloodshot veins, calling to her in a tearful voice: “Hong Sha, I don’t want to die here…”
She had jolted awake from her dream, discovering that her phone was in a connected state, and on the other end, the sound of waves was extremely loud.
This was the first time Mu Dai had heard about this. Yi Wansan had also come in at some point and was leaning against the doorframe, listening intently.
Luo Ren asked her: “Then what happened?”
Yan Hong Sha bit her lip: “There was no answer on the other end. After a while, it disconnected. When I called back, sometimes it was powered off, sometimes it said out of service area. In any case, I never got through again.”
Afraid they wouldn’t believe her, she added: “Really, I also thought I was dreaming, but that call was actually on my phone…”
She was extremely frustrated: that was the best evidence, and now her phone was lost.
Luo Ren pondered for a moment, then said: “The speculation makes sense.”
Everyone looked at Luo Ren.
“Some close relatives, at critical moments of life and death, can have similar telepathic connections. Before seeing the Water Eye’s images, we could say that Hong Sha was dreaming about what she thought about during the day. Since her last call with Yan Jiuxiao was when he was by the sea, this scene was reflected in her dream, and her subconscious might have felt that Yan Jiuxiao had drowned.”
“But after seeing the Water Eye’s images, this dream becomes very intriguing.”
He asked Yan Hong Sha, “In the dream, did you see your uncle crawl a distance on the seabed, or was he just desperately trying to crawl out?”
Yan Hong Sha wiped away her tears: “Trying to crawl out, seeming to use a lot of effort, but it didn’t look like he moved.”
Mu Dai made a short “ah” sound.
Yi Wansan expressed her thoughts: “Assuming, just assuming, that the oyster dragged your uncle underwater. During this process, extreme struggling and terror would consume a large amount of oxygen. At that point, with the oxygen tank nearly depleted, your uncle would have been in a state of severe oxygen deprivation. At the same time, his legs were trapped, so you saw him trying to crawl out using the sea sand, appearing to use a lot of effort, but never moving.”
Yan Hong Sha’s body trembled: such a scene was too terrifying. Had her uncle not drowned, but died from the gradual depletion of oxygen?
Luo Ren felt somewhat reluctant to continue and sighed softly, turning the topic in another direction: “Making a phone call is also reasonable. Your uncle had previously filmed a video of the old oyster basking in the moonlight. After preparing diving equipment, the phone would also have been properly treated for underwater filming—his phone was probably in a pressure-resistant underwater case and waterproof bag, meaning he could make calls underwater. But there’s one thing he might not have considered: underwater signals are weak, and to maintain a connection with nearby base stations, power consumption would be high. Additionally, seawater’s heat comes from solar radiation—the deeper from the surface, the less light, the lower the temperature, which would also greatly consume power.”
Yan Hong Sha was stunned: so the power depletion was reasonable? She had previously blamed her uncle in her heart, thinking that before diving, he should have at least fully charged his phone.
Her vision suddenly blurred: so her uncle, at that time, was indeed on the seabed and dialed her number?
Yi Wansan was somewhat puzzled: “If he could make a call at that time, why didn’t… why didn’t he call Old Man Yan? A son is usually closer to his father, right?”
The night before, Luo Ren had briefly explained Yan Hong Sha’s background to him, so Yi Wansan knew the general situation. Initially, he had wanted to ask why Yan Jiuxiao didn’t call 110 for emergency rescue, but then realized that the situation must have been extremely urgent. After all, being on the seabed, the location would be difficult to determine. Yan Jiuxiao knew that even if he called, rescue would be impossible, so he saved the last bit of battery to say goodbye to a loved one.
Yan Hong Sha explained with a choked voice: “My grandfather’s eyesight isn’t good. We rarely let him look at electronic screens. Phone screens are so small…”
Understood—that’s why he chose to call Yan Hong Sha.
Yan Hong Sha burst into tears: “It’s all my fault. I sleep too deeply at night. Otherwise, I could have spoken with Uncle…”
Luo Ren interrupted her: “That’s not it. After your uncle dialed your number, the phone was no longer in his hand.”
“Because you heard the sound of waves on the phone, and it’s impossible to hear waves on the seabed. This means that the phone had at least reached the sea surface or the shore.”
Yi Wansan’s heart skipped a beat, and he blurted out: “The old oyster basking in the moonlight?”
Luo Ren said, “Under normal circumstances, the phone would be hung around the neck with a strap. I suspect that after your uncle made the call, for some reason, the old oyster passed by him, and some part of its shell caught that strap, taking the phone along with it.”
“So, if I’m not mistaken, this old oyster is dragging a phone with it.”
Where is this oyster, then?
Mu Dai suddenly thought of something and quickly grabbed Luo Ren, extending one hand first vertically, then flat, her voice struggling: “Water Eye… horizontal…”
Luo Ren understood but was still somewhat confused: “You mean, the Water Eye should point downward, horizontally?”
Yi Wansan realized: “That’s it. The Water Eye can now see 360 degrees around, but it can’t see the seabed. We should turn the Water Eye—besides, when an oyster rests, half of its body is buried in the sea sand, so we can’t see it. It’s very likely just on the seabed!”
Luo Ren walked out of the pilot house and looked up at the sky. Darkness was pressing down; the sun had only a final trembling line of light left, like a dangerous bridge spanning the clouds, about to collapse at any moment.
“It’s too late. The seabed has no light now. We’ll have to wait until tomorrow.”
Everyone agreed to dock the boat on the beach. No one dared to sleep on the sea: with such a creepy old oyster in the deep, what if it punctured the boat while they were asleep…
The thought alone was chilling.
This suited Mu Dai perfectly. After disembarking, the first thing she did was retrieve her luggage.
Luo Ren lit a bonfire on the beach. Yan Hong Sha ignored everyone, pushing her wheelchair to the seaside, staring blankly at the dark sea under the night sky. Yi Wansan, holding a flashlight, said he was going for a walk in the village.
Even though it was empty, it was still the village where he was born.
Mu Dai sat with Luo Ren by the bonfire, nibbling on compressed biscuits.
Luo Ren gazed at the sea, feeling dissatisfied: “There’s nothing in this sea. Otherwise, we could roast fish, crabs, scallops…”
Mu Dai picked up a tree branch and wrote in the sand: Have they all been eaten by the old oyster?
Luo Ren replied: “Do you think small fish and shrimp are as foolish as you, obediently waiting for the old oyster to eat them? Can’t they run away?”
Mu Dai uttered one word.
Hmph.
Luo Ren looked at her with a smile, then suddenly said: “Do you know how we used to roast fish before?”
Mu Dai wanted to reply with another “hmph,” but Luo Ren had a “you’ll never guess” expression, which made her very curious.
Her eyes brightened.
“When I was in the Philippines, on an old island, there was a beach we often visited. There were reefs on the beach, I can’t say what kind of stone, but it was a flat piece. We found a way to hollow out the underneath, making it look like a ring at first glance.”
He used his hands to gesture the shape of the stone: “Then, we would light a fire under the ring, heating the stone until it was scorching hot.”
A smile slowly spread across his lips.
“Many good brothers, brothers who had been through life and death together. Some were responsible for catching fish, while I was specifically in charge of roasting because my knife skills were the best.”
He pulled out the straight-bladed knife from behind his waist, removed the leather sheath, and the blade reflected the firelight, emitting a clear brightness. Luo Ren extended his finger and flicked the blade.
A clear, long sound rang out, like what the ancients called the sound of metal and stone.
“Once the fish was caught, skinned, and scaled, I was responsible for slicing the fish. The blade would go down flat like this, and that slice, as thin as a cicada’s wing, would be spread on the stone. Salt grains sprinkled on, quickly followed by a layer of cumin and chili flakes, or local spices, instantly lifted.”
He gently closed his eyes, as if smelling an intoxicating aroma.
“I don’t know if it was because of the firelight, but the fish meat was golden, its texture distinctly fibrous, curling slightly. The spices on top, each grain, were like enticing hungry insects. Extending your tongue, wrapping the fish slice, rolling it to the root of your tongue, savoring it carefully—it tasted so good it felt like it would explode.”
“Then, a large mug of German beer, gulped down, so refreshing you had to get up and sing or dance.”
Mu Dai gazed at Luo Ren, entranced. His face was reddened by the firelight, his contours half-bright and half-dark, like a sculpture with distinct lines, yet with more tenderness than a sculpture.
“At that time, there was a good friend, a Japanese man named Aoki, who could play the ukulele, the Hawaiian small guitar. He would sing songs from his hometown for us to hear. I can’t sing that song, but he translated the lyrics for me.”
Luo Ren’s voice lowered: “It’s about a young fisherman who would go fishing at sea the next day, not knowing when he would return. His beloved beautiful girl secretly met him at night, then hurried back before dawn.”
“The song says, ‘Tonight I lay my head on a silk pillow, tomorrow at sea I’ll be resting on waves. I ask the pillow if I’ve slept or not. The pillow speaks, saying I’ve already fallen asleep. Pillow, oh pillow, don’t say anything, don’t tell anyone about the relationship between that lovely person and me…'”
Luo Ren picked up a branch and added it to the bonfire.
“At that time, the beautiful girl in Aoki’s song was our shared dream lover.”
Mu Dai was surprised: “Ah?”
This surprise seemed to be within Luo Ren’s expectations. He said: “I know, from your perspective, it’s just a story of a girl secretly meeting her lover behind her family’s back. Moralists would elevate it to a higher level, but we didn’t see it that way.”
Yes, they didn’t see it that way.
In their lives, blood and death were commonplace. Stacks of cash-filled cabinets; closing them at night, not knowing if you’d live to open them tomorrow. In dreams, a gun blasting your head—you wouldn’t even know if it was a dream or if you had truly ended it all.
Sleeping on mountains, swamps, forests buzzing with mosquitoes, using tree stumps as pillows, drops of water from leaves seeping into your neck. Waking in the middle of the night to see a foreign moon—even if the whole world truly shared one moon, the moonlight shining here would certainly be especially cold.
At those times, he wished that upon opening his eyes, he would see his beloved girl.
Secretly, coming just to meet him, barefoot, carrying her shoes, fearing to make the slightest sound, crossing a cold river bank, passing through dark, dense forests, coming only for him, with eyes only for him. When seeing him, her gaze was as gentle as if melting into the moonlight.
He would certainly rise to welcome her, kiss her passionately, caress her soft, long hair—a body in hell, kissing heaven.
He looked up at Mu Dai. Through the firelight, her hair seemed to be gilded with golden light.
The girl in his dreams.
Mu Dai continued writing in the sand: What about your friends?
What about your friends?
Luo Ren stared at those words, his eyes gradually becoming misty.
It was as if he were back in that misty morning in the forest, alone, having packed his equipment and opened the door, suddenly freezing in place.
They were all there, having woken earlier than him, as if the drinks he had arranged the night before hadn’t knocked them out at all.
They carried their gear, looking at him with smiles, saying to him:
—”Luo, count me in.”
—”Count me in, too.”