Bright city lights don't guarantee warmth.
Every dreamer must learn to understand their own breathing in the darkness.
Sometimes, within that breath, you can hear a different voice.
The day I failed the interview.
Lin Ziang stepped in a puddle, his briefcase damp from the rain and the corners of the papers curling. He had just returned from an interview at a small advertising agency. The interviewer smiled politely, but their tone was full of demurrals: 'We'll get back to you.'
Ziang could tell from that tone of voice that it was a polite refusal.
He stood at the bus stop, the headlights sweeping across his face and casting a damp glare. He looked down at his scuffed leather shoes with mud-spattered uppers and water-soaked soles. His watch ticked, mocking him.
The sounds of rain, traffic and voices moved forward in the rhythm of the city, leaving him alone.
Ah Hui sent a message: 'Brother, how was your interview today?'
Ziang thought for a moment and replied: 'Pretty good.'
His words hung in the air like scattered paper ashes.
He picked up his bag and headed towards his rented house. The neon lights along the roadside were reflected in the puddles, shimmering like broken dreams.
The night market had just opened and the air was thick with the aroma of cooking oil and garlic. He looked at the vendors selling fried noodles and suddenly felt the urge to sit down. But when he searched his pockets, he only found two coins. So he kept walking.
By the time he returned to his small, 10-square-metre room, it was already dark. Ah Hui was sitting on the bed playing games, the sound of intense gunfire filling his headphones.
'You're back?' Ah Hui turned around and saw him, completely soaked. 'Wow, did you come back from swimming?'
'It's raining,' Zi'ang said simply, taking off his coat and draping it over the back of a chair.
'Ah, the rain in the city is much heavier than back home,' said Ah Hui, pulling a pack of instant noodles from a drawer. 'Do you want some?'
Zi'ang hesitated, then nodded. 'Okay.'
They squatted by the induction cooker as the gurgling sound of boiling water filled the air. Steam rose and the aroma of instant noodles filled the small room, making it feel a bit more alive.
"How was your interview today?" Ah Hui asked tentatively.
'Hmm...' Zi'ang stirred the noodles. 'Probably not.'
'It's okay. You've only just arrived in the city.' Ah Hui smiled and patted his shoulder. 'I was the same way back then. Let's just focus on surviving for now."
'Yeah,' Zi'ang muttered.
He took a bite of the instant noodles and his eyes watered from the heat. He couldn't tell whether it was the spiciness or something else.
Midnight Dream
Late at night, the wind blew in through the open curtains, casting a swaying shadow from the streetlights onto the wall. Ah Hui slept soundly, snoring softly.
Zi'ang, however, tossed and turned, his mind filled with fragments of the interview he had had that day. The polite smiles and distant words made him feel like an outsider who had wandered into the wrong place.
Exhausted, he finally drifted off into a dream.
In his dream, the faint sound of the tide filled the air.
He was back in the seaside town, where the sky was dark and the sea breeze smelt of fish. On the beach stood an old temple with half-closed doors and red lanterns swaying slightly in the breeze.
It was a place he had often visited as a child: the Mazu Temple.
He heard a gentle, low female voice from within: 'Son, the sea is rising outside. Remember this.'
He walked forward, feeling the cold sand beneath his feet. Inside the temple, incense smoke curled through the air and a red-robed statue of Mazu was partially obscured by the mist. 'What do you remember?' he asked.
Mazu's face was blurry; only her eyes gazed tenderly at him.
Then, in the shadows behind the temple, a figure emerged — a hazy, ancient figure like an old man shrouded in mist, his eyes gleaming with a faint golden light.
'Your ancestral bloodline is still alive,' the voice boomed like the tide. 'Don't be afraid. You're just not awake yet.'
Zi'ang's heart trembled. 'Ancestors? Bloodline? Awaken — what does that mean?'
Before he could finish the question, the lights in the temple suddenly brightened and the entire dream collapsed.
He opened his eyes abruptly.
The room was silent.
The curtains billowed and drooped in the wind. Dim light from the street lamp filtered in and illuminated the wall beside his bed.
Ah Hui was still asleep.
But the air lingered with the faint scent of incense.
He sat up, his palm pressed against his forehead, breathing rapidly. The dream had felt too real. He could still smell the damp and feel the touch of incense ash in front of the Mazu Temple.
When he lowered his head, he suddenly noticed a faint red mark on the palm of his hand.
a faint red mark on the palm of his hand.
Like a branded mark.
Fear and Comfort
The symbol was small and resembled ancient script, with interlaced lines that looked like a tiny wave.
He rubbed it vigorously a few times, but the mark remained.
'What the hell is this?' he muttered.
He got out of bed, walked to the sink and switched on the light. The dim bulb flickered twice before illuminating the room. His reflection in the mirror showed dark circles under his eyes, and his hair was dishevelled.
He reached out to touch the symbol, which was still faintly red.
Suddenly—
— the shadow in the corner seemed to move.
He turned his head sharply, but saw nothing. All he could hear was the wind outside the window and the distant din of the night market.
'It must be an illusion,' he said to himself.
But he could feel a slight warmth from the symbol, like a heartbeat, with every breath.
He suddenly remembered the words from his dream:
'Son, the sea is surging outside. Remember this.'
The voice reverberated in his mind like the tide.
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. At that moment, he felt a strange sense of peace.
Maybe someone was really watching him after all.
Maybe it wasn't a nightmare, but a reminder.
He didn't know what it meant, but he knew that from that moment on, the neon glow of the city at night would never seem cold again.
Something was awakening deep within that light.
The wind is coldest before dawn. The street outside is still wet and the sound of a refuse truck's bell echoes from the alleyway.
Lin Ziang sits on the edge of the bed, staring at the pale red talisman on his palm.
Ah Hui hadn't woken up yet; his snores were steady.
Lin Ziang gently closed his hands as if holding a secret.
A strange feeling arose within him — as if this city wasn't completely unfamiliar anymore.
He whispered to himself:
'Mazu, the ancestral spirit... what exactly do you want me to remember?'
No one answered.
But the talisman still radiated a faint warmth in his palm.
like the lingering warmth of the tide.
What he didn't know was that the shadow in the corner behind him had shifted slightly, as if it were watching or waiting for something.