“Tomorrow afternoon, my private plane will come to pick you up. Be ready,” Schuman said before hanging up.

The busy tone echoed in the receiver, like a strange reverberation, swirling aimlessly in Tang Mi’s mind. Arthur’s death anniversary? She hadn’t realized until now that, without noticing, he had been gone from her life for 363 days. Time passed both quickly and slowly.

Time, like an ancient, unchanging train, rushed forward with its constant speed and rhythm. She was bound to the tracks, unable to move, letting the massive wheels of time roll over her, each second in pain stretched into what seemed like an eternity, and the endless cycle of life and death continued without pause.

Tang Mi hadn’t attended Arthur’s funeral a year ago. The sea rescue team and MI6 had told her that the storm had been too fierce and the currents too swift, so they couldn’t recover Arthur’s body. How could they claim someone was dead without a body? How could a funeral without a corpse even be considered a funeral?

She could never speak a tearful eulogy in front of an empty coffin because she couldn’t believe he was really gone from this world, even though everyone around her told her she had to accept the reality.

“A person without a life jacket or flotation device has only a 0.06% chance of surviving in the sea, especially if they’re also injured by gunshot wounds. Besides, no one can stay in water below 4 degrees Celsius for more than an hour, and the rescue team didn’t arrive until three hours had passed,” the rescue team leader had said to Tang Mi.

His voice was calm and deep, his words measured but clear. It was the tone of someone professionally trained to deal with grieving family members.

But to Tang Mi, every word felt like a nail, each syllable, each word, pinning her to the cold reality of the cross, leaving her immobile. Her chest ached as though it had been crushed by a truck, her body still intact, but her insides torn apart.

“But there was still a 0.06% chance, wasn’t there?” In the midst of the agonizing pain, she heard her own weak voice.

“That’s just a statistical figure,” the rescue team leader frowned, delivering the final judgment.

That final blow landed heavily on Tang Mi’s heart. She fainted, but before losing consciousness, the number 0.06% was burned into her mind. After emerging from the initial grief, she returned to her life as a photographer. Constantly selecting topics, shooting, packing her bags, shipping equipment, rushing from one destination to the next, she nearly circled the globe, chasing each new place and then fleeing from it. She stubbornly confined herself to that tiny 0.06% of hope.

She put down the phone, leaned against the edge of the bathtub, watching the water gently ripple. She reached down, as though trying to fish something out, but grasped nothing, only waves of sorrow.

24 hours later, Tang Mi had arrived at the small town by the Mediterranean Sea, aboard Shuman’s private plane.

Compared to the icy landscapes of Northern Europe, the Mediterranean winter was as warm as summer.

The sun lazily shone on the white houses of the town, the narrow alleys deep and picturesque, vibrant flowers scattered on rooftops and windowsills, a few cats lay on the steps, basking in the sun, and the distant church spires shimmered with a soft golden light.

Everything was as it had been, peaceful and unchanging.

Tang Mi walked up the hillside behind the church, passing through a few low trees, until she finally saw the black marble tombstone. It was simple, with no excessive decorations, just a boat anchor carved into its surface. Quietly, it lay under a laurel tree, overlooking the vast sea below the hill.

She bent down and placed a bunch of bellflowers on the grave, then crouched and quietly gazed at the tombstone.

The tombstone, besides Arthur’s name and birth-death dates, also had an inscription: “He was just tired from walking, so he went home to rest. My brother has a bad temper, so please try to walk lightly if you pass by.”

Tang Mi couldn’t help but smile softly as she read the words. Westerners, unlike Easterners, preferred to leave something more lighthearted and humorous on tombstones instead of solemn praises. They would often make one last playful remark about themselves or their loved ones, facing death with a sense of humor and ease.

It was needless to say that this epitaph was written by Shuman. Tang Mi could easily imagine how her dignified brother, with each word and sentence, wrote his final commentary for his stubborn and headstrong younger brother. His tone was vivid and open, making one feel no sorrow, only a gentle warmth and indulgence.

Tang Mi smiled, lightly tracing the inscription with her fingertips, but tears began to fall.

The wind rustled through the treetops, and the waves below gently sang. Arthur was born by the sea and returned to the ocean, spending his life drifting and wandering in foreign lands. His tumultuous childhood, the harsh military academy, and the dark and dangerous career had left him little peace or stability. Now, perhaps, this was the most contented time of his life, finally able to rest quietly.

“Darling, maybe you’re free now, but what should I do without you?” Tang Mi pressed her forehead against the marble, the cold, smooth sensation like touching Arthur’s lifeless face. The chill slowly seeped into her pores, as though a small spoon were hollowing her out. She knew there was no body beneath the tomb, and she stubbornly believed that he was still alive somewhere in the world. That almost nonexistent 0.06% hope was something she had never given up.

But the real world was still cruel. She had traveled across the globe, visiting countless places, yet still could not find his shadow.

The waves struck the rocks at the shore, the tide came and went, the sound monotonous like a tedious exercise, making one feel disheartened. Tang Mi clung to the tombstone, an indescribable fatigue creeping up her spine like a small snake, then turning into a desperate rope that tightened around her neck.

She collapsed to the ground, feeling as though she was sinking deeper into the sea with every rise and fall of the tide. She didn’t want to think, didn’t want to cry—she just wanted to rest, leaning against the stone in her arms and sleep deeply.

“Arthur, let me see you again, even if it’s just for a glance,” she whispered in her mind, lost in the haze.

Countless times, she had woken in the night, burying her face in her arms, letting her longing be drowned by desperate tears. She would always fantasize that maybe he was standing just behind her, slowly walking towards her, then gently placing his warm palm on her shoulder, whispering softly, “Hi, my dear honey.”

Maybe obsession could really turn into a miracle. As if by telepathy, footsteps suddenly sounded behind her, someone was approaching.

Tang Mi’s heart raced. She suddenly snapped awake, turned around, and saw a man in a black suit standing behind her. In the backlight, she couldn’t make out his face, but she could see a pair of green eyes staring intently at her.

“Arthur?” she asked in a daze.

The man took a step forward, the light falling on his face, revealing steady and indifferent eyes, a neat beard, and tightly pressed lips.

“Yise?” Tang Mi stared at the person behind her in complete disbelief. It wasn’t Arthur, but his former teammate and instructor, Yise.

Yise nodded at her, then walked to the tomb and placed the bouquet of flowers down.

“From the look on your face just now, it seemed like you thought someone else was coming,” Yise said as he turned to look at her, his tone clearly implying something.

“That was just my foolish fantasy, wasn’t it?” Tang Mi slightly turned her face away, not wanting Yise to see the tear stains on her face.

She didn’t like Yise. Although it was him who, along with Simon and JR, saved her in the Bering Sea, she could never forget that it was also him, that cold, emotionless man, who had been hunting Arthur down back then.

“It was indeed a fantasy, but sometimes thoughts can have an incredible power,” Yise replied indifferently, though it was unclear if he was mocking or comforting her.

Tang Mi was in a terrible mood and had no interest in continuing the conversation, especially with someone she disliked. She nodded and said, “Sorry, I have to go. Goodbye,” and tried to turn away.

“I heard you’re looking for a photography assistant?” Yise suddenly asked, halting her steps without warning.

“Yes.” Tang Mi hesitated for a moment, then turned back and answered.

“Coincidentally, I have the perfect candidate,” Yise said, staring at her, but the sunlight on his face failed to warm his demeanor in the slightest.

Tang Mi found it strange. Why was he suddenly concerned about her matters? And offering to recommend someone for a job?

She hesitated for a moment, then responded somewhat dismissively, “Maybe you can send that person’s resume to my email.”

“No, this person doesn’t have a resume. He just went through a major accident, not only losing his job but nearly losing his life as well. He doesn’t have much experience, and he’s not very bright, but he’s quick on his feet. I think he’s exactly the kind of person you need,” Isaac continued calmly, ignoring her coldness.

“No photography experience? That might be difficult,” Tang Mi said absentmindedly, glancing at the grass near her feet. She didn’t want to accept anyone Isaac recommended; she just wanted to end this pointless conversation as soon as possible.

“If I told you that this person survived a life-and-death experience in the Bering Sea, wouldn’t that make up for his lack of experience?” Yise’s voice was like a bomb, and the words exploded in Tang Mi’s mind, leaving everything empty except for her heart, which seemed to be suspended in mid-air. Her surroundings became blurry, and the sounds felt distant, as though she were dreaming.

“What… What are you saying?” Her voice was soft and fragile, as if afraid that a single wrong word might shatter the dreamlike illusion.

“I’m saying that MI6 has already fired me. Would you be willing to hire a jobless spy as your photography assistant?” Yise said suddenly, and then with one finger, he ripped off the beard on his lips, slowly pulling the skin of his face along his chin as if peeling off a face mask.

Tang Mi stared in horror at Yise’s movements. The dark, wrinkled skin he had been wearing began to peel away piece by piece, revealing a pale, smooth cheek underneath. His sharp jawline, thin lips, and high nose gradually emerged before her, as if by magic.

When deep, laughing green eyes met hers, Tang Mi immediately covered her mouth, and a strangled voice, mixed with tears, escaped: “Arthur!”

“Darling, do you think I’m still good enough to be your assistant?” After peeling away his disguise, Arthur stared intently at Tang Mi, his gaze fiery and focused, as if it were a strong net holding her captive, afraid that if she blinked, she would disappear.

The two of them stood there silently, gazing at each other for a long while without speaking.

Tang Mi wiped away the tears on her face and suddenly chuckled. She took a step towards Arthur, who was disguised as Isaac, as if walking towards a bright and splendid tomorrow.

When she reached him, standing just half an arm’s length away, she stopped, then looked up at his face and softly smiled, saying, “I think you still need more training, starting with carrying the tripod.”

Before she could finish, his body suddenly tightened around hers, and his warm, solid chest pressed so hard against her that she could barely breathe. “Never leave me again!” He buried his face in her neck, desperately inhaling every bit of breath from her body, as if a person who had been suffocating for too long was greedily drawing in air.

“Yes, never again!” Tang Mi hugged Arthur tightly, responding with equal force.

The fiery sunset on the horizon reflected off the vast sea, creating the most vibrant and dazzling display, like huge, gentle wings surrounding the two who were holding each other close.

The sea wind remained fierce and biting, but with each other, Tang Mi and Arthur knew: in the long years ahead, winter would no longer be cold.

(END)