Sleeping to the Sound of Waves at "Sea Cliff Resort Hotel" on Gouqi Island

Su Xiaoming's song "Military Port at Night" has a line that says "with head resting on waves, showing a sweet smile in dreams" that has always captivated me. What would that feeling be like? Before visiting the island, my friend mentioned we would stay at the cliff hotel on Gouqi Island for two days, and I was really looking forward to it. Upon arriving at the "Sea Cliff Hotel" near the meteorological station, I saw a building that seemed to grow out of the sea, closer to the water than any cliff or seaside hotel I've stayed at before. Its foundation is anchored directly into the reefs at the edge of the azure waters. The gray-white walls nestle against the dark reefs, as if they have been companions for thousands of years. My room seemed suspended above the sea, with nothing but endless blue beyond the balcony. That blue changes its appearance throughout the day—misty blue-gray in the morning, dazzling sapphire at noon, and by evening, it transforms into rippling golden-blue wavelets. Standing on the balcony of my second-floor room, I could see the azure sea with white buoys from the mussel farm neatly arranged. The water below the hotel endlessly rushes toward the reefs and flows between them, leaving glistening traces in the rock crevices when the tide recedes. Most indescribably wonderful is the sound of the tide after nightfall. When dusk completely envelops the sea, the waves begin their nocturnal sonata. The distant tide first brews at the horizon, gradually gathering into silver lines, then surging toward the reefs. First comes a deep rumble, like whispers from the depths of the earth; then crisp breaking sounds, as if countless crystals are shattering simultaneously; finally transforming into delicate foam whispers, gently caressing every moonlit rock. As I fell asleep, I felt these sounds penetrating through the glass, flowing into the room, lingering by my pillow. Sometimes passionate like the climax of a symphony, sometimes gentle like the final notes of a bassinet lullaby. Closing my eyes, I could almost see the sound waves materializing as flickering silver lines in the darkness, rising and falling with the rhythm of my breath. In such tidal sounds, even dreams take on the color of seawater. Sometimes I dreamed of becoming a fish, gently swaying with the rhythm of the tides; sometimes a seabird, soaring on sea breezes above the wave crests. Upon waking, my pillow seemed to still carry the scent of sea salt, while outside the window, the tide continued tirelessly singing its ancient ballad. When dawn first appears, the tide sounds become much gentler. The night's surging transforms into morning murmurs, like the sea talking in its sleep. The distant mussel farm gradually awakens, with buoys gently swaying in the ripples. A speedboat skims across the water, drawing a beautiful arc on the calm sea surface. For two mornings, one with a brilliantly blue sea and one with a misty sky, I stood on the balcony lost in thought. Suddenly, a small boat came rowing directly toward me. Wanting to capture the dynamic rowing posture, I pressed the shutter several times. Only when it came closer did I see clearly—it was a rectangular white foam board covered with blue fishing nets serving as a boat, with a thick foam cushion as a seat, and a basket in front. Ah! A basket of fish, including golden-yellow croakers. The fisherman moored his small boat on the hotel's private beach just below my balcony. In his joy of harvest, he dropped two separately packaged striped groupers while carrying his basket. I had only one thought: what a feast tonight!