The ferry left the harbor behind the cliff, following a narrow band of water where the rock turned from gray to white. Lian sat beside the ferrywoman, Suyin, and spoke only when the channel changed. Dark roofs clung to the cliff above them. The first village had no gate, but its people watched the boat approach with the stillness of people who had already decided not to be surprised.
Yan expected questions about the mainland. No one asked his name. A fisherman lifted a basket from the dock and continued sorting it while their ferry tied up. Two women carried water up the stair without pausing to stare. A child watched the visitors from behind a stack of nets, then went back to tying a loose cord.
Suyin stepped onto the dock and helped secure the line. Her father stayed aboard, hands folded over an oar. He looked young enough to be her older brother, but when he spoke of a storm that had stripped roofs generations ago, he described the waves as if he had seen them himself.
Qinghe looked at him, then at Suyin. “May I check his pulse? Only if he agrees.”
Suyin’s father smiled without warmth. “People usually decide what I need before they ask.”
