处暑一到，文登的风便换了性子。清晨推开窗，海风带着凉意漫过昆嵛山的轮廓，往日黏在皮肤上的暑气悄然敛去，街头巷尾的树影里，蝉鸣也稀疏了三分。

　　南海新区沙滩上，赶海的人渐渐多了。退潮后的滩涂泛着湿润的光泽，小螃蟹在沙窝里探头探脑，赶海人提着小桶弯腰捡拾贝壳，裤脚沾着细碎的沙粒，脸上却带着秋获的轻快。渔民们说，处暑后 “秋汛” 渐起，渔船归港时，舱里的海货总比盛夏时沉实些。

　　傍晚的广场上，老太太们早早摆开了广场舞的阵势，音乐声里混着卖糖球的吆喝。孩子们举着刚买的小吃跑过，食物的甜香混着街角烤地瓜的热气，在渐凉的空气里酿成独属于文登的秋味。

　　As the End of Heat solar term arrives, the wind in Wendeng takes on a new temper. Push open the window at dawn, and the sea breeze, carrying a chill, drifts over the outline of Kunyu Mountain; the sticky summer heat that clung to the skin fades quietly. In the shadows of trees lining streets and alleys, the chirping of cicadas grows three parts sparser.

　　On the beaches of Nanhai New Area, more and more people come to gather seafood as the tide recedes. The exposed tidal flats glisten with a moist sheen; small crabs peek out from their sand burrows. People bent over, carrying buckets to pick up seashells, their trouser cuffs dotted with fine sand, yet their faces wear the lightness of an autumn harvest. Fishermen say that after the End of Heat, the “autumn fishing season“ gradually begins—when fishing boats return to harbor, the seafood in their holds is always heavier than in midsummer.