Chapter 1: Husband-Gazing Cliff, the Boy Fishing

Donghua State. Nanxing Province. Fuling City. Ting’ao Town. Along the coast near the Husband-Gazing Cliff.

It was shortly after 5:00 PM, nearing 6:00, and the typhoon that had raged throughout the day still held sway. The sky was thick with dark, ink-like clouds. The wind howled, carrying sporadic but powerful bursts of rain. Beneath the clouds lay the dark, churning sea, its waves surging and moaning.

The clouds gathered, growing ever more ominous. Suddenly, a brilliant flash of lightning tore through the sky, momentarily illuminating the gloomy world. Under the flash, a cluster of reefs, previously hidden in the wind and rain, was revealed against the cliffside. One enormous reef stood out from the rest, shaped uncannily like a human figure—with a head, a torso, and distinct protrusions, all facing out to sea.

This was the famous Husband-Gazing Rock. Local lore imagined it as a woman waiting for her sailor husband to return; in time, both the stone and the cliffside came to bear the name. The cliff extended northeast into a headland, where the rocky terrain gave way to a crescent-shaped beach.

Local fishermen usually frequented this beach to catch fish, gather shellfish, dry seaweed, and mend nets. Today, due to the harsh weather, all vessels had retreated to the safety of the harbor, save for one small, dilapidated boat. This silence gave the beach a rare tranquility.

Another flash of lightning revealed that the small boat was not empty. At the bow sat a lean, small figure, holding a fishing rod, remaining perfectly still amidst the storm and lightning.

As night deepened, the light faded, casting the world into a realm that felt almost supernatural, save for the occasional lightning strikes that anchored it to reality. Suddenly, in the strobe of a flash, the figure flickered their rod, and with a splash, a lively fish was hauled aboard.

The fisherman was a boy. He had short hair with a small braid at the nape of his neck. His large eyes were sharp, bright with both intelligence and determination.

His lips were pressed together, looking pale in the damp chill. He wore a short-sleeved T-shirt with frayed seams at the collar and faded light-blue beach shorts patterned with palm trees, which were worn and torn at the sides. On his feet were a pair of cheap flip-flops from the local market, their blue color faded and their soles worn smooth and cracked.

Wearing a pair of old, worn-out work gloves, he deftly unhooked the fish and tossed it into the live-well in the cabin. Inside, a dozen fish swam about, though two had already turned belly-up. He rebaited his hook and cast it back into the water, returning to his quiet vigil. Aside from the raging elements, the boy and his boat seemed as still as a painting.

Beside him lay another rod, a short raft rod for bottom fishing. After another ten minutes and two more catches, the boy, perhaps restless from sitting, stood up to stretch and shake out his wrists and ankles. Fishing during the transition to night was prime time, as the fish were hungry. He glanced at the live-well, feeling satisfied.

He planned to fish for another twenty minutes before heading back to the village; he hadn't had dinner yet.

Suddenly, the tip of the raft rod plunged, the line pulling taut as if gripped by a powerful force. The boy grabbed the rod and set the hook. He felt a massive weight resisting him, engaging in a true tug-of-war. His heart leapt—he had hooked a monster. Planting his feet wide to steady his center of gravity, he began to play the fish, managing the tension with his left hand.

The fish lashed out, and with a loud "crack," the old rod snapped in two.

The boy remained unflustered. Retaining the line in his left hand, he deftly wrapped it around his gloved palm. The rod was broken, but the line held. He couldn't let the fish escape. As the creature surged again, its strength was so immense that it began to drag the small boat along with it.

The boy grabbed a two-pronged spear from the deck and leapt into the water. His entry was effortless, creating barely a ripple, rivaling an Olympic diver. Once submerged, he moved with the grace of a sea spirit, his left hand constantly reeling in the line to close the distance.

He had possessed a unique gift since childhood: an extraordinary affinity for the water. He learned to swim instantly and moved through the ocean as easily as walking in a garden. His underwater vision was impeccable, allowing him to see everything clearly for dozens of meters. He could hold his breath far longer than his peers or even most adults, and even at depths of several meters, the pressure never bothered him.

After a few seconds, he saw his target: a marbled grouper, half a man’s length, struggling at the end of the line. It was a twenty-pounder—no wonder the pull was so vicious.

As he closed to within ten meters, the grouper sensed the human’s approach. Realizing the boy was the source of the tension, the fish turned, lunged like an arrow, and opened its jaws to strike at the boy’s neck—a predatory instinct it had honed over years.

Just as the fish came within a meter, the boy thrust his spear. It pierced the grouper’s heart, the tip emerging from the other side. The fish lost its strength, struggling briefly before falling still, its eyes wide with lingering defiance.

The boy kicked his legs, lugging the catch to the surface. He hauled himself onto the boat and pulled the massive grouper up after him. Collapsing into the cabin, he gasped for air; despite his gift, he had been underwater for over ten minutes.

He looked at the dying grouper with delight—a valuable catch indeed. After catching his breath, he drew a small knife and slit the fish’s gills to bleed it, letting the blood flow through the deck grooves into the sea to keep the meat fresh. Once done, he placed it into a large cooler already containing four or five other fish.

He stripped off his soaked shirt, wrung it out, and tossed it aside. After a moment’s rest, he stood up to weigh anchor. It had been a good day, and with his clothes soaked and a storm likely imminent, it was time to return.

High atop the cliff, several figures stood watching the boy. The cliff, which stretched into the sea, was shaped remarkably like a woman in silhouette—the Husband-Gazing Cliff. In the dim light, it truly looked like a fisherman’s wife waiting for her husband’s return.

Leading the group was a man in his late twenties, wearing gold-rimmed glasses. He had long, arched brows, phoenix eyes, and a refined nose and lips. He was dressed in a tailored blue suit with a red-and-black patterned tie, his leather shoes polished to a mirror shine. Beside him stood a chubby, red-cheeked boy with a buzz cut and small eyes, wearing a simple undershirt and baggy shorts—the redness of his face a testament to years of exposure to the sea wind. Behind them stood four men in black suits, clearly the blue-suited man’s entourage.

"There," the chubby boy said, pointing. "The one still fishing on the boat—that’s the guy you’re looking for. Shuisheng."