Luming Island is like an emerald inlaid in the East China Sea, and the salty sea breeze has carried the fishing songs of our ancestors for hundreds of years. Wen Dong's hand holding the net rope was scratched with blood from an oyster shell. His father, Old Wen Tou, was pouring today's third net of swimming crabs into the ice cabin. Ten years of offshore fishing experience have allowed this young man who graduated from a maritime university to see the reality clearly - traditional fisheries are being pushed to the edge of the cliff by the modern aquaculture industry.
Three hundred meters away in Baisha Bay, Tian Lihong took off her straw hat and rubbed the temperature of the century-old coral wall with her fingertips. As the only master of folklore on the island, her decision to transform her ancestral home into a "Shihaiju" B&B made her mother, a primary school teacher, red-eyed. When Wen Dong knocked on the wooden door late at night, holding up the blue and white porcelain fragments from the Ming Dynasty that he found on his way to the sea, and said he wanted to hold an island cultural and creative market, the moonlight was flowing along the gaps in the shells and wind chimes on their overlapping shadows.
