<Lighthouse>

Chen Cheng worked as a lighthouse keeper for forty years. This lighthouse stands on the northernmost cape of Taiwan, with no human habitation within a five-kilometer radius. His daily routine was simple: light the lamp at sunset, extinguish it at sunrise, perform regular maintenance on the equipment, and record sea conditions. The rest of the time, he was alone. He was twenty-five when he first arrived, freshly discharged from the military, and didn't want to deal with people. The villagers thought he was strange, saying he abandoned a perfectly good city to guard a lighthouse. He didn't explain. He had his own reasons. On New Year's Eve, thirty years ago, a dense fog rolled in from the sea. That night, he lit the lamp as usual. The fog was so thick that the light couldn't penetrate it, and nothing was visible on the sea surface. He stood at the top of the tower, faintly hearing a ship's horn in the distance, intermittent, as if calling for help. He panicked and grabbed the radio to report, but the signal was weak, and no one responded. He stood at the top of the tower all night, staring at the blankness in the thick fog, unable to do anything. When dawn broke, the coast guard arrived. A fishing boat had run aground nearby. All five people on board perished. The captain was his brother. His brother had called him before setting out that day, saying he'd be back early for New Year's Eve dinner. He had said, 'Okay, I'll wait for you.' He didn't wait. Since then, Chen Cheng never left the lighthouse again. He lit the lamp every day, more punctual than anyone. He adjusted the lighthouse's brightness to the maximum and polished the lens cleaner than anyone else. The villagers said that for several years, the lighthouse beam was abnormally bright, as if trying to burn through the entire sea. He never spoke, just lit the lamp. Forty years, over ten thousand nights. He guarded that light, as if guarding an empty...