South Wind

People across the world woke up at sea at the same time. Wu Ze clung to a piece of driftwood. A line had been carved into it: The nearest person is still twenty-seven nautical miles away. She didn't cry. She licked a finger: salty. The sea tasted exactly like the one her father had sunk beneath all those years ago. She took half a ration biscuit from her pocket, broke it into three pieces, and drew a circle on the driftwood. When the waves receded, the three pieces had turned into a blue crab. She called the act “feeding the sea.” More people drifted her way over time: Old Chen, Nurse Lin, Xiao Zhou, Scarface, and others. With half a pot of water, a packet of biscuits, and a simple “You can't,” she turned a scattered crowd into a team. She set the rules, kept the books, and decided who could live and who had to sink. What she didn't know was this: From the very first day she woke, on a piece of wreckage twenty-seven nautical miles away, a drenched and wounded man had been taking a disaster in her place every day. He was the one who nudged her blind-box luck in her favor. He was the one who helped the crab she drew come to life. He was the one who bore the tsunami alone on the night she rode a whale north. He couldn't speak, couldn't show himself, and couldn't let her know. Until she drew half a seashell. Inside it was her father's voice: “Keep an eye on her for me.” Only then did she learn: her father had died for her once. He had died for her a second time. Now it was her turn.