"What is love, really? If we are all born just to die, then what's the meaning of being alive?"
—Mike, Island Journal, Page 299
———
The evening breeze was soft and damp, like the creases on an old letter that had been opened too many times. The ocean glowed with a deep golden-red hue under the sunset, and the waves rolled in and retreated with a weary but relentless rhythm against the rocks.
Jane had taken off her shoes and was walking barefoot on the warm sand, silently turning over the words of the letter in her mind.
George walked beside her without speaking. Their footprints overlapped and then vanished with the tide.
"You okay?" he asked gently at last.
Jane nodded, then shook her head. "Women in that era… they had no choice, no say over their own lives. I can't imagine what comes next in the letter. I just hope—this isn't her final page."
They sat down on a large rock near the water. The sea breeze lifted a few strands of hair from her forehead.
"I never thought reading a letter from a century ago would shake me this deeply, make me question what it means to be a woman, to have a life of your own," she said. "My mom used to tell me how lucky we are—that we can study, choose, be free. I never really understood it before. But today... I do."
George stayed quiet, watching her.
Jane stirred the shells with her toes. "You know, when I was a kid, I dreamed of becoming a journalist. I wanted to travel the world and give voice to the unheard. But life is like a web—it wraps around you layer by layer."
She gazed toward the horizon where the sun melted into sea. "Mei's story—it lit something in me again. A dream I thought had died."
"Maybe that's why you came to this island," George said softly. "Not to escape, but to begin again."
Jane smiled faintly. "You're getting good at this. Guess that linguist training paid off."
They both laughed. In the distance, the sun finally dipped below the horizon. Jane stood, brushing sand off her dress. "Let's head back."
———
Meanwhile, in the cabin.
Mike sat at his desk, staring out at the sky tinted red with dusk. Mei's letter lay open beside him, but his eyes were somewhere far beyond the inked words.
That dream returned—
The ancestral hall. The bitter medicine. The girl kneeling. The mother sobbing. The man turning away.
These images had appeared in his sleep before he ever read the letter. He had thought they were remnants of war trauma, echoes from a damaged mind. But now, every word in the letter seemed to mirror those dreams precisely.
He hadn't told George or Jane.
It was too strange. Even he couldn't explain it.
But more and more, he felt the bottle that crossed the sea wasn't just a coincidence. This letter. This girl named Mei. This boy called Ah Shun. And himself.
Something was connecting them—a thread of fate not yet untangled.
Maybe, just maybe, this was why he was still alive.
He reached forward and turned the final two pages. A gust of wind blew through the window, lifting the edge of the letter. He quickly held it down, as if afraid to miss a single word.
The light cast a long shadow across his face. He closed his eyes once, then opened them, ready to face what came next.
———
Night had fallen. The lights were warm and gentle.
Jane had showered and changed into clean clothes. She sat back at the table, let out a long breath, and unfolded the fourth page of the letter.
She began to read softly:
———
Mother, I still remember your hands trembling as you combed my hair that day. Your voice was choked with tears.
"My poor daughter... you couldn't escape your fate after all. I was strict with you because I hoped you'd marry well one day. I didn't want you to live like me, always beneath others."
I knew it was your way of loving me. But fate… who can escape it?
That day, I wore a bridal robe embroidered with magpies and plum blossoms. Staring into the bronze mirror, I barely recognized myself.
If I died once the night Ah Shun left me, then I died again the day I climbed into that wedding sedan.
Father hired a full procession of musicians. He said Mr. Lin wanted me to marry with glory. Everyone said I was lucky—that even as a concubine, I was treated better than a proper wife.
But I knew it was just Father's final gesture of pride—perhaps for me, or maybe for himself. He didn't come to see me off. He sent someone to escort me to the dock and told the carriage to go slow, to keep the sedan steady.
Only you came, Mother. You held my hand all the way. You wouldn't let go.
From inside the curtain, I watched you standing at the gate, tears streaming down your face, silent.
In that moment, I knew—this life, I'd have to walk alone.
The boat to Hong Kong rocked violently, like my out-of-control life. We arrived at the Lin estate late at night. The two wives were waiting. They welcomed me with words, but their eyes were cold as deep wells.
The master didn't visit my room that night, and I didn't dare sleep. The next morning, he came. He sat at my bedside and said softly:
"Xiaomei, I know this is hard for you. Your father saved my life. I know everything. Don't worry—if you're not ready, I won't touch you."
In that moment, I understood why Father entrusted me to him. And why he severed our bond without another word.
Mr. Lin had two wives already. But he was calm, thoughtful, educated abroad—rare for a man in our world. Still, the madams never looked kindly on me. Perhaps that's the fate of a concubine.
Today marks six months since I came to Hong Kong. Yesterday, the master said China's civil war is worsening. Business is failing. The flu is spreading. He's decided to move the entire family to America.
We'll go through Southeast Asia, he said, and eventually reach a place called San Francisco.
I don't know what kind of world that is. I don't know where fate will take me. But before we leave, I want to send you this letter—if the master can find a way to deliver it to you, Mother, then at least you'll know I'm alive. You won't have to worry every day. And I… I'll feel a little more at peace.
If you ever do receive this letter, please forgive me for being an unfilial daughter.
———
Jane didn't speak for a long time.
She folded the letter gently and looked out the window.
The night was quiet. Stars were scattered across the sky. The palm leaves hung low, swaying as if sighing in sorrow for an unfinished goodbye.
"Maybe… maybe her mother never found out what happened to her," Jane whispered.
George didn't respond. His coffee had long gone cold. He simply looked at Jane's reddened eyes with soft concern.
Mike sat in the shadowed doorway, silent from beginning to end.
But in his chest, a single line echoed like a splinter:
"If I died the night Ah Shun left me, then I died again the night I married."
It wasn't his memory. But it pierced into his bones like a frozen needle.
He asked quietly, "Did she… write anything else after this?"
Jane wiped her eyes and didn't answer. "Tomorrow," she said. "There's still one more page. But I need time. Some of it... I need to think through."
The three of them sat in silence.
Night draped gently over the cabin like a curtain of fate, slowly falling.
To be continued...