Ice and Fire Island.
Two days later.
It was late May, the season when the sea breeze courted the sun.
The season of the ocean.
The season belonging to men.
The tide, like a playful lover, kissed the beach time and again with waves as layers of white chains.
A huge wave crashed, wildly rushing onto a man with a body like layers of hardened muscles, resembling a rock, shattering into thousands of sprays of snow spreading out. The seawater reached his motionless feet, cool and comfortable, as sand slipped past from beside his feet, tickling.
Facing the waves, Jiang Dali rolled up his pants high, like a steel giant standing in the water.
