Letter from the Seaside

White Whale Town later stopped selling mermaid tickets.

Half of the old aquarium was torn down, and the remaining glass exhibition hall was converted into a marine rescue station. The shattered main tank was never repaired; the glass walls were replaced with an open seawater pool, where injured seabirds, stranded calves, and turtles entangled in fishing nets were brought. A handwritten sign hung at the entrance, drawn by Xiaoman: Only Save Fish, No Fairy Tales.

Jiang Yue thought the words were too cheesy.

But she went there every day to wipe the dust.

The Hunter Guild disbanded.

The files left by Lady Bai were made public—transfer orders, auction lists, Remnant Song experiment records—posted page by page on the town hall bulletin board. Many didn't dare to look, but some, after reading, placed flowers at the aquarium entrance. Qin Yan survived, losing one arm, and later voluntarily handed over the guild's secret accounts. Xiaoman said this was a belated atonement, not enough to erase the past, but at least worth writing into a bonus chapter.

Lu Wenchao resigned from his hunter identity and moved into the lighthouse.

Every day he recorded the tides, repaired the seawall, and locked the silver harpoon at the bottom of his cabinet. When asked if he still believed in mermaids, he only said, "I believe in the sea."

He never touched a hunting net again.

Occasionally, when he saw fishermen hauling up something they shouldn't, he would go over and release it. The fishermen scolded him for meddling, but he never explained. Xiaoman said he was now like an uncertified marine enforcement officer. Jiang Yue said he was as insufferable as his father had been when young.

Lu Wenchao didn't argue.

He placed that seashell on the windowsill of the highest floor of the lighthouse. The shell was very quiet. In the first few days, he held it to his ear every day. Later, it became once a week, and then once on the day of the spring tide. Inside, there was only the ordinary sound of the sea.

Jiang Yue said that the song of the Tide-Keeper Clan, having returned to the sea, needed time to grow back.

"How long?" he asked.

Jiang Yue took a puff from her pipe. "Can't afford to wait?"

Lu Wenchao looked at the sea. "I can afford to wait."

He said he could wait, and so he truly did.

In spring, White Whale Town reopened its port. In summer, Xiaoman's comic was published, titled The Shoes That Bite and the Little Mermaid. Lu Wenchao stared at the title in silence for a long time, then bought ten copies, all hidden in the lighthouse drawer. When Xiaoman found out, she laughed so hard she nearly rolled down the stairs.

In autumn, Jiang Yue slightly improved the recipe for her Seaweed Soup.

It was still awful.

In winter, the first snow fell by the seaside. Standing beneath the lighthouse, Lu Wenchao saw a child stuff a snowball into his mouth, and suddenly recalled Coral asking: Are they eating snow that melts?

He smiled.

That smile was brief, like a glimmer of light on the ocean.

Tide Cove never reopened.

Sometimes at night, a blue light would skim across the sea outside the lighthouse. Lu Wenchao would throw on his coat, go downstairs, and walk to the beach. Most of the time, there was nothing there. Only the waves, washing over his feet again and again, then retreating.

He didn't rush.

Human waiting always counts the days, but the sea doesn't measure time that way.

A year later, on the day of the spring tide, a bottle drifted up to the lighthouse entrance.

The bottle was old, its mouth tied with red string. When Lu Wenchao saw it, he was repairing a storm lantern. The lantern fell to the ground; the glass didn't break, but he stood there for a long time before walking over.

Inside the bottle was a crumpled piece of paper.

The handwriting was crooked.

Lu Wenchao:

I've learned how to write back, and I've learned how to come home.

Do the shoes still bite? Does the candy still rise with the tide? Did Xiaoman draw hearts as danger signs? Is Granny Jiang Yue's soup still that terrible?

I found my song again.

If you're still on the shore, please listen to the sea.

Lu Wenchao took the letter and walked to the beach.

The dusk tide washed over his feet. A blue glow rippled across the sea surface, circle after circle, as if someone had lit coral lanterns underwater. The waves pushed a small shell forward, then receded. Lu Wenchao crouched down and placed the shell from his own palm into the tidewater.

The two shells gently touched.

Click.

Like a pocket watch beginning to tick again.

A familiar figure emerged from the waves.

Silver-blue hair clung wetly to her cheeks. She was brighter than in his memory, her eyes still innocently curved. Her song was complete now, carrying the echoes from deep within Tide Cove, along with that hint of a smile he knew best—the one that always twisted human words around.

"Lu Wenchao," Coral said. "I didn't go off-key, did I?"

He walked into the sea.

The water rose past his knees, past his waist—cold, familiar. He reached out and held her, just as he had caught her on the boat a year ago, just as she had fallen toward him every time the strange rules of the human world baffled her.

"No."

Coral buried her face in his shoulder and was silent for a long time.

Lu Wenchao closed his eyes.

He thought he would ask her where she'd been, if she was in pain, why she had taken so long to return. But when he finally held her, all those questions ebbed away.

She was back.

That was enough.

Coral suddenly whispered, "Is this also one of the rules of human love?"

Lu Wenchao laughed.

"No," he said. "This is my rule."

In the distance, the lighthouse lit up. Xiaoman came screaming and running along the shore. Jiang Yue stood at the lighthouse entrance, muttering "So noisy," but her eyes were red.

Coral lifted her head from the sea and waved at them.

Her tail flicked up a spray of seawater, splashing Lu Wenchao from head to toe.

Lu Wenchao looked down at her.

Coral blinked. "This is a mermaid's rule."

The tide kissed the shore, like a letter finally delivered.