Chapter 671: Boat

Chapter 671: The Boat

“What rules?” Upon hearing the boat captain’s words, Yang Xiaohai couldn’t help but feel curious. The farmers on shore had no such rules.

“What rules? The rules of the sea, of course. We boat people have our own set of customs—certain surnames aren’t allowed to board, certain words are taboo aboard. But the Wandering Fishermen (Danchi) have even more rules. Even going to the bathroom requires checking the feng shui.”

“I don’t know much else,” the boat captain said. “When you get home, be sure to ask your elders. Don’t offend any taboos.”

“Oh.” Yang Xiaohai tried his best to picture in his mind what these Wandering Fishermen looked like, based on the boat captain’s description.

“But there’s one thing about them,” the captain continued, “no matter what else they lack, they do have one thing right: anything floating on the water—whether alive or dead—they must retrieve it. They say if they don’t, their ancestors will curse them.”

At this, the boat captain tugged hard on his fishing rod, and a sea fish, its body a deep green, was pulled out of the water, still glistening with briny seawater.

Satisfied with his catch, the captain nodded and drew a dagger from his waist. He slit open the fish in one swift motion, slicing it into translucent pieces of raw fish.

As soy sauce was poured over the fish, it seemed as though the flesh trembled slightly, as if it still possessed sensation.

The captain picked up a few slices with his fingers and stuffed them into his mouth, chewing contentedly. “Try some? You’ve got to eat fresh fish. Anything that’s been out of the water for more than a quarter-hour is only fit for the landlubbers who can’t tell the difference.”

“No thanks, I don’t eat raw,” Yang Xiaohai shook his head gently.

“You’re missing out. This is when the green-bellied fish is at its fattest,” the captain said, then picked up another piece and shoved it into his mouth.

“You were looking for Wandering Fishermen, weren’t you? You’ve arrived. Do you see those clusters of boats? That’s where you need to go.”

Hearing this, Yang Xiaohai widened his eyes and looked in the direction the captain pointed.

Just above the surface of the sea, stood rows of houses built on stilts, surrounded by a ring of wooden boats—some new, others old and weathered.

“Is that my home? The place where I was born?” Yang Xiaohai stared at the scene, his emotions swelling. After all the hardship he’d endured, coming back from Daliang to rear Shu just for this moment!

As the flat-bottomed boat approached the wooden island, he finally understood why the boat captain had thought he wasn’t a Wandering Fisherman.

Their skin, worn by years of sun and wind, was dark as obsidian. They wore blue-black clothes dyed from hemp cloth, loose-fitting trousers, and men went bare-chested and barefoot. On their smooth, dark skin were intricate tattoos of scales—men and women alike, even women with tattoos across their faces.

Though the Wandering Fishermen regarded him with hostility, Yang Xiaohai felt oddly drawn to them.

“Excuse me, uncle,” he asked carefully of an elderly man on the boat, “do you know someone named Chi Bai Shui?”

But the old man frowned, closed the window shutters, blocking Yang Xiaohai’s friendly gaze.

Seeing no response, Yang Xiaohai turned to ask another, and then another, but none answered. Everyone seemed to harbor deep suspicion toward him.

Just as his anxiety began to rise, someone finally responded. “What do you want with Chi Bai Shui?”

It was a middle-aged man, his beard still damp, as if he had just emerged from the sea.

Yang Xiaohai gestured excitedly before blurting out, “I’m Chi Bai Shui’s son! I’m his son!”

“His son?” The man looked at him doubtfully. “I don’t recall Chi Bai Shui having a son like you.”

“Can you take me to see him? Just let him see me—he’ll know! I really am his son!”

After hearing Yang Xiaohai’s words and seeing the flat-bottomed boat beneath him, the middle-aged man waved his hand. “Come here. I’ll take you.”

Yang Xiaohai nodded, gave a few instructions to Zhao Xiumei, and leaped into the water to swim after him.

Under the man’s guidance, Yang Xiaohai leapt from boat to boat, weaving through the cluttered vessels. Most were old and patched, but to Yang Xiaohai, they felt strangely familiar.

In the time it took to burn one incense stick, the man stopped before an old, weathered vessel.

At the bow sat an elderly woman with white hair. Her face bore the same green-scale tattoos as the others, and the lines of her wrinkles intertwined with the inked patterns, giving her a strange, almost grotesque appearance.

She looked at the middle-aged man with confusion. “What’s wrong? Jiang Erlang, who is this child?”

“Is Uncle Bai Shui around? This fellow says he’s your son,” Jiang Erlang said, gesturing toward the old woman.

Upon understanding what was being said, the deaf old woman’s eyes widened, and she turned to look at Yang Xiaohai behind her. “You… you… you… you’re… Wuwa?”

Confused and trembling, Yang Xiaohai stepped forward, staring at the woman in disbelief. The information he had gathered earlier said his mother was deaf—this woman matched exactly.

“Mother?” he hesitantly asked.

The old woman seemed to understand what he meant and staggered forward, embracing him tightly.

Then, she rolled up his left sleeve, revealing a faint mark on his elbow.

As tears welled in her eyes, she let them fall. “Wuwa! It really is you! I never thought I’d see you again!!”

Realizing that this woman was truly his mother, Yang Xiaohai threw himself into her arms, holding her close.

Feeling the warmth and scent he had only dreamed of, in that moment, he knew every hardship along the way had been worth it. He finally had a mother.

If anyone ever called him a bastard, he could now retaliate with pride!

“Wuwa!!! Mother’s sorry! Mother’s so sorry!!!” the old woman cried out, sobbing and shouting.

The son sold away by the Chi family had returned. Once Yang Xiaohai’s identity shifted back to that of a Wandering Fisherman, the expressions of others softened.

Even when he struggled with how to transport the cart from the flat-bottomed boat back home, many Wandering Fishermen offered their boats to carry him.

After a flurry of activity, Yang Xiaohai, Zhao Xiumei, the three monkey children, and their cart were finally brought to the Chi family’s boat.

“Mother! This is my wife, Zhao Xiumei,” Yang Xiaohai excitedly gestured, trying to make his deaf mother understand.

“Good! So young and already married, you’ve got real talent!”

“Mother, this is Qingqiu lamb. Try it—it tastes great!”

As Yang Xiaohai joyfully spoke to his mother, the other Wandering Fishermen gathered around, smiling warmly at the tender scene, occasionally whispering among themselves.

Jiang Erlang, realizing this man was truly seeking his family, softened his expression.

He quietly asked his younger son, “Where has Uncle Bai Shui gone? He should have come back for something so important.”

“He seems to have taken his son to the Dragon King Temple.”

“Go tell him. Tell him that the five-year-old boy they sold is back.”

(End of Chapter)