Chen Sanshui knocked the oar against the side of the boat, and the sunset splashed on the water like broken pieces of porcelain. The bamboo rafting roof of the awning boat was bleached white by the sun, and the tung oil on the stern glowed with amber light in the afterglow. This was the first time he had returned after twelve years of leaving Bianshui Town. The old locust tree beside the dock was still there, but the four words "Sanshui arrived here" carved back then had long been pockmarked by time.
"Three, three waters?" Yaomei, who was squatting on the dock peeling clams, shook her hands and the clam shells fell into the water, scattering the swimming medaka. Her bamboo hat was tilted to one side, revealing the dark red birthmark on her left cheek, like ink dripping on rice paper. Chen Sanshui remembered this birthmark. When he helped Yaomei snatch the kite from the water ghost twenty years ago, she did not have this mark on her face.
"Yao Mei," Chen Sanshui jumped ashore, his straw sandals making a rustling sound on the bluestone, "Where's your brother?" His eyes swept over the fishing boats on the shore. Most of them were wrapped in plastic sheets, and the bottoms of the boats were covered with green moss. Only three or four boats still had fishing nets hanging on them. Yaomei didn't answer, but pointed to the fish drying rack in the distance, where dozens of dried mandarin fish were drying, and their scales made a crisp sound in the wind.
Chen Sanshui's throat suddenly became tight. When I left twelve years ago, the pier was crowded with fishing boats unloading, and the aroma of fish and rice wine floated in the air. But now there are only two or two old people sitting on bamboo chairs and taking a nap. He touched the water-dividing knife at his waist. The red rope wrapped around the handle had faded. It was given to him by his mother before she died, saying, "If you encounter a water ghost, chop its head."
