In March 2023, I started a period of observational living on Huanniao Island in Zhoushan using a handheld DV camera. Interestingly, the DV camera opened a channel for dialogue between me and the islanders and also broke down the boundaries between people. Like a sudden outsider intruding, I asked the islanders about their decades-long daily lives. My relationship with the islanders gradually evolved from distant and tense to deeply involved. Every day, when I took the camera out, chance conversations and glances would lead me into their lives. Of course, this brief glimpse also helped me understand the island’s unique social relationships and the impending changes — once this generation of islanders passes away, the place will become a paradise for tourism and tourists. Carrying the DV camera and chatting everywhere, I gradually became a link between the old islanders, workers, and new residents. The elderly who depend on fishing for a living are idle and can only live in memories; the workers who sweat to build dams must endure the island’s scarce resources and lonely lives; newcomers who smell business opportunities or seek solitude do not consider this place home. Even though everyone’s identity and world of meaning are completely different, they must depend on each other on this island soon to be influenced by capital. After all, the only thing they all share is the “sea.” But for the elderly, the sea means livelihood; for the workers, it is fear; for urban visitors, it is romance. Even in such a context of prominent social issues, I intentionally centered the dialogue around human life, death, love, and desire, gradually unfolding a timeline: the stagnant life memories of the old islanders represent our past, the vast, drifting, and struggling working class is our present, and the false landscapes bred by capital may be the future of the world.