A red glow spread across the sky, painting the sea crimson. It was a beautiful sight.
Wearing a bamboo hat, Li Ping'an sat in a little boat, a fishing rod in hand, leisurely humming a tune.
That was how the sea was: sometimes calm, sometimes raging with waves.
Sometimes its scenery was too beautiful to take in; sometimes torrential rain arrived, with black clouds bearing down like they would crush a city, making everything feel terribly oppressive.
In motion, it was like rolling thunder; at rest, like fine rain.
But the sea truly could open a person's heart in an instant, leaving it free and unbound.
Different people gazed at the sea in different states of mind; different people felt different things.
"Moo!"
Old Ox suddenly called out.
In the distance lay a stretch of bleak, cold earth, with countless seagulls circling along the shore.
Fog had risen over the sea, so thick it would not disperse, making the distant mainland seem hazy and unreal.
Li Ping'an stood up and quietly gazed at a corner of the mainland.
Above the horizon, the solemn, splendid sunset was like ten million arrows of light, whistling through the clouds in the sky.
Four years and eight months had passed since he set out.
Over these years, he had experienced far, far too much.
Li Ping'an and Old Ox were like a leisurely cloud drifting through the Nine Provinces, sometimes staying for a while, then leaving for a while, like a point of light with no string tethering it.
Sometimes, Li Ping'an would stare blankly at the surging sea, watch the breeze in the treetops, the stars in the night sky, the clouds overhead, watching it all without moving.
Yet there was no loneliness in his expression, but rather a long-absent sense of belonging,