Chapter 55 - 2#
An He called the interview number on a whim, never expecting to get the job so effortlessly.
Originally, he worried it might be a scam—until planes turned into large boats, and large boats turned into small ones that finally landed him on the island. Only then did he realize such a job really existed.
Ping’an Island was over four hours by sea from the nearest mainland.
As early as the last century, the island’s population had already dwindled drastically. Now, the permanent residents numbered fewer than a hundred, most of them elderly.
On the island stood a hundred-meter-tall lighthouse—the very heart of the place.
The so-called island keeper was really just someone who watched over the lighthouse day after day, ensuring it lit and dimmed on schedule. It was the only beacon for miles around that ships could use to navigate.
As luck would have it, the current lighthouse keeper on the island was also named An He—but he was an old man nearing seventy.
After Young An He arrived and learned the truth, he realized he’d been tricked—
The promised monthly salary of ten thousand was a complete lie! The local government only offered three thousand!
As for room and board: the food was plain coarse grains, and the living quarters were the cramped interior of the lighthouse.
Because of its remote location, the island had terrible signals. There was only one telephone for the entire island! Even the supply boat only came once every half month!
Wasn’t that essentially forced isolation? What young person could stand it?
So for years, Old An He’s position had no replacement.
In desperation, Old An He asked his grandson to write a help-wanted ad, but the grandson was unreliable and never took his grandfather’s request seriously.
The monthly salary on the ad was made up randomly, and the phone interview was pure nonsense.
Young An He immediately said he wanted to go home, but the boat had already left. He’d have to wait half a month.
To keep this hard-won young man, Old An He promised: if Young An He stayed on the island for one full month and worked alongside him, he would pay the ten thousand monthly salary out of his own pocket.
And so, caught between harsh reality and the lure of cash, Young An He chose to stay.
Even though Old An He knew the young man would most likely leave in the end, he still taught him everything about “keeping the island”—
For example, since the communication signal was weak, he had to manually record the number of passing ships and their routes each day.
Another task: constantly watch for sea weather patterns. If a storm, gale, or heavy rain was coming, he had to manually control the lighthouse switch to send out emergency signals—whether or not any passing ship could see them.
And, of course, the one thing he had to do every single day: climb the hundred-meter lighthouse.
The story wasn’t complicated, and the plot was easy to guess—
On the night before Young An He was supposed to leave, an unexpected storm hit. Old An He fell from the lighthouse and was critically injured. Meanwhile, a fishing boat was lost in the raging waves!
Forced to take responsibility, Young An He finally understood the meaning behind this island and this lighthouse.
Years later, the island was equipped with more modern facilities.
The old lighthouse and its handwritten logs were compiled into precious archives, stored in a mainland island museum so the world could learn about that isolated history.
At the end of the film, a boy’s voice asked, “Mom, the front page of this archive—isn’t it a letter?”
In the darkness, an innocent child’s voice rang out, joined by an aging voice behind it, both reading the beginning of that letter:
“To An He.”
The movie was only sixty-nine minutes long. It ended in no time.
Jing Shun sank back into that well-polished, familiar story. It took him a long time to pull himself out and share with the person beside him, “Chi Gui, you know what? This story isn’t fiction.”
“During my sophomore year summer break, I traveled along the coast alone. In the museum, I saw that thick archive and the letter on its first page.”
After learning the whole story, Jing Shun had the idea to turn it into a film.
“I spent a whole year polishing the script, but it was rejected by many investment companies one after another.”
Scripts determine the market, the market determines box office, and box office determines profit.
Jing Shun understood why he was rejected, but after so many failures, he couldn’t help doubting himself—
He was just a young actor. If he tried hard, he could pick up roles and make money. Why was he doing something so thankless? It was like forcing hardship for no reason!
Fortunately, heaven never seals off all exits.
Song Yu’s appearance solved his funding problems, approved of his script, and gave him the motivation to keep going during production.
“…”
Jing Shun snapped out of his memories and suddenly noticed the content on the projection screen.
The movie had ended. Next to the loop button, the film’s duration was displayed:
69 minutes, 47 seconds.
Jing Shun stared at those numbers and couldn’t help testing the person beside him, “Chi Gui, can you guess the meaning behind this movie length?”
This was a little Easter egg Jing Shun had deliberately added during the final editing stage.
But even after the film was released, screened, and even won international awards, the only person who ever noticed this Easter egg was… once upon a time, Song Yu.
Jing Shun thought Chi Gui would be stumped by this random question. To his surprise, Chi Gui hit the answer right away: “Old An He’s age when he died, and his birthday.”
Jing Shun could barely hide his amazement, “You can see it too?”
“Too?”
Chi Gui caught the key word and shot back, “Who else besides me?”
Jing Shun didn’t hide it, “The Mr. Song Yu I mentioned to you last time—remember? He spotted it instantly, even before I could ask.”
“…”
Chi Gui froze.
Jing Shun thought about the Song Yu he had never met, and a hint of regret flickered in his heart. In a way, he felt that the other man was his soulmate in filmmaking.
Pity—they never had the chance or fate to meet in person.
Chi Gui noticed the fleeting disappointment in Jing Shun’s eyes and raised an eyebrow subtly, “You seem to care about him quite a bit?”
“Huh?”
Jing Shun was stunned.
A few seconds later, he hurried to explain, “No, don’t misunderstand. I’ve never even met Mr. Song. I don’t have those kind of feelings for him!”
“…”
“Chi Gui, I only like you! Really!”
“…”
Chi Gui suppressed the bittersweet complexity in his heart and gave a fake cough.
Jing Shun tried to steer the conversation back to the movie, “Actually, there’s another film script I want to write and direct.”
It was a regret from his past life.
Even in the end, he and Song Yu had never been able to settle on a proper ending for that story.
“If you want to write it and shoot it, then go ahead,” Chi Gui met his gaze with support. “If there’s a chance in the future, I can be the investor for your film project.”
A playful thought sprouted in Jing Shun’s mind, and he joked, “How about you direct it for me? Director Zheng said you were already amazing back in college.”
Chi Gui didn’t immediately agree, but he didn’t refuse either, “Let’s see your script first.”
Seeing that this might actually happen, Jing Shun’s already stirring heart grew even more restless. “I’ll write it then! I have rehab anyway, and no outside appearances. I can find time to write whenever~”
“Mm.”
Chi Gui remembered something else. He stood up, “Oh, wait a moment.”
Jing Shun didn’t know what was happening, so he just sat obediently on the sofa.
Chi Gui went into the master bedroom and came out less than a minute later, holding something in his hand. “Open it. A birthday gift for you. Yesterday… yesterday I didn’t have time to give it to you.”
“For me?”
Jing Shun took the flat square black brocade box. When he opened it, he found a light blue cufflink. The gems on it were specially arranged to form the shape of a whale.
Jing Shun understood immediately. Then he heard Chi Gui say, “Last time at the yacht auction, you wanted those two cufflinks, but we didn’t get them.”
“This one is from the same designer. I commissioned her to make it specially.”
As for the whale pattern, it was to commemorate their successful whale-chasing on the yacht.
Jing Shun looked at this exquisite little gift and asked knowingly, “Just this one? I recall the auction pair came as a set?”
Chi Gui played along, “Mm, those were a couple’s set.”
Jing Shun looked up and countered, “Then didn’t you get one custom-made for yourself too?”
Chi Gui teased him, “It’s a birthday gift for you—why would I get one for myself?”
In fact, Chi Gui had asked the designer to make a matching couple set. His own was in a different box, which he hadn’t brought out yet.
“…”
Jing Shun thought about it and tried to remedy, “Then I’ll get you one next time? I have some spare money now.”
Hearing the mutter in the second half of the sentence, Chi Gui finally told the truth, “No need. I have one too.”
It was a deep blue sapphire inlaid to form ocean waves.
For the whale, the ocean was its home, its support, inseparable.
“Okay.”
Jing Shun’s fingertips traced over the whale cufflink, suddenly feeling he had been careless. “Compared to this, wasn’t my gift yesterday too shabby?”
If you’re chasing someone, you should spend generously.
But Chi Gui said, “The value of a gift lies in the thought.”
Everything Jing Shun had given him last night was something he had long craved and was worth more than gold.
Buzz.
The electronic clock on the coffee table vibrated on the hour.
Chi Gui knew Jing Shun’s rehab schedule inside out. “You have a heavy rehab session tomorrow. You need to rest up early. Time to go back to sleep.”
Jing Shun wasn’t sleepy. Instead, he gently tugged at Chi Gui’s wrist, “Chi Gui, how about I give you a return gift?”
Chi Gui looked down at him without pulling away, “What?”
Jing Shun didn’t answer. He adjusted his breathing, mustered his courage and strength, and quickly—gripping Chi Gui’s wrist firmly—stood up. Then, in the softest gesture, he embraced the man before him.
“Chi Gui, thank you for the gift. I really like it.”
“…”
The strands of hair brushing against his collar stirred ripples in his heart.
Chi Gui couldn’t bear to push him away. He reached out and gently circled the waist of the person in his arms, “Is this your return gift?”
Jing Shun felt a guilty conscience but said nothing, knowing he was taking advantage.
Through the fabric, he could feel Chi Gui’s warmth, smell his scent—everything about him made Jing Shun greedy and mesmerized.
No wonder Yu Zhen had said that sometimes a hug was enough.
Jing Shun’s legs couldn’t hold out much longer; they were starting to tremble. So he hugged the man even tighter, muffling his voice, “Chi Gui.”
“Mm?”
“I like you.”
Repeated confessions, over and over—they were Jing Shun’s sincerity and honesty, and also Chi Gui’s long-awaited, undeniable stir of emotion.
“…”
Chi Gui’s whole body tensed. The moment Jing Shun’s strength gave out, he instantly pulled the other in, pressing him close.
Chi Gui imperceptibly turned his head and kissed the hair of the man in his arms, “Baby.”
Jing Shun’s ears instantly burned. He murmured a response, “Mm?”
“Your return gift… I like it very much too.”