I returned to the city. Months passed. No one spoke of Shilei again. When I tried to write it all down, my hand trembled.
My memory blurred.
I forgot the inn's name, Lao Xie's face, even where the village had been.
But every night at 3 AM, I dream of that sea.
It draws closer to my bed each time.
And I still hear what it told me:
> "You will be my recorder.
Because once you have seen me…
you are mine forever."