The night is like ink pressing on the seaside town.
The light from the street lamp reflected circles of cold blue halo on the slippery stone road, and the sound of distant waves hitting the rocks was dull and hollow.
Gu Zhu was sitting in the old cafe where she was the only regular customer. The sketchbook in her hand was open, and half of the page was filled with unfinished lines—almost all black blurred by the ink pen. Like the projection of a deep well, it is so deep that one cannot discern the boundary.
There was a piercing cry of seabirds outside the window, as if floating from the cracks of a distant reef, with an indescribable sense of foreboding.
Intention:1