Chapter 4

Miguel spent the entire morning pondering the topic of “loneliness and life,” which would have been perfect for an 800-word essay.

As noon approached, the sun grew fiercer. While the small bucket at Miguel’s feet was gradually filling with little fish, another man on the boat was impatiently turning over for the eighth time.

Big Dog, having spent over a decade at sea, had never felt a moment as unbearable as this—cramped in a tiny wooden boat where he couldn’t even stretch his legs, his head resting on a tattered fishing net instead of soft silk, accompanied only by a tone-deaf, handsy pervert of a fisherman (…) and a stifling, windless, utterly miserable weather.

“Tch.” Clicking his tongue in irritation once more, the man finally couldn’t take it anymore and sat up forcefully. He groped forward, accurately grabbing the wrist of the man squatting on the small stool at the bow, fishing. Raising an eyebrow, he commanded imperiously, “Go back.”

Miguel’s lips curled into a smile as he calmly freed his wrist. He looked up at the windless, azure sky. Not far away, a flock of seabirds flew by, seemingly chasing a large school of fish. The sea surface became less calm—occasionally, a seabird would dive into the water, swiftly catching its prey before breaking the surface again.

For a moment, the sounds of fish breaking the water and seabirds calling created a chaotic symphony, bringing rare liveliness to the quiet sea.

“Let’s head to the reef,” the young man patted the man’s shoulder, gently pressing him back into place. Miguel frowned, organizing his thoughts before speaking as clearly as possible, “A thunderstorm is coming. We can’t set sail tomorrow.”

A thunderstorm? Big Dog almost thought his ears were playing tricks on him.

Clearly unaware of what Miguel was up to, he reluctantly sat back in the boat, feeling it begin to move slowly—the oars slicing through the water made an enticing sound. If it weren’t for his injuries and impaired vision, he would have stripped naked and jumped into the sea to cool off. This was a hellish weather—the stifling, salty humidity rising like steam, making even rowing the boat feel uncomfortably warm, as if they were trapped in a giant steamer.

Sweat trickled down the man’s muscular back, eventually disappearing into the crevices of his abdominal muscles.

After the boat had been moving for a while, it stopped. A faint noise came from the bow, and suddenly, a slightly cold hand rested on his own. Big Dog instinctively tried to pull away, but he quickly remembered that it was just him and the pervert fisherman on the boat. Reluctantly, he allowed his hand to be guided forward, where it touched a smooth, wooden pole. After a moment of thought, he realized it was an oar.

“Wait here.”

The accented, awkward Arabic sounded, tinged with amusement.

Before the man could sneer at the command, a loud splash came from the side—seawater sprayed up, wetting the arm he was using to grip the oar.

Big Dog froze, his lips pressed together as he listened intently, hearing only the sound of splashing water.

A wet hand reached out from beside him, wiping away the water droplets on his arm. At the same time, the pervert fisherman’s voice sounded very close, “Be back soon.”

Seeing Big Dog nod perfunctorily, Miguel smiled contentedly, unable to resist taking another look at the man before hoisting himself out of the water. He deftly grabbed the dagger from the bow, holding it between his teeth, and with a graceful flip, swam toward the reef like a fish.

It was a reef hidden beneath the azure sea. Usually, people came here to collect shellfish—old sailors said that deeper behind the reef was a coral forest, where clams decades or even centuries old grew. On full moon nights, these clams would open their mouths to reveal priceless pearls, absorbing the essence of the moon. At that time, the sea would shimmer with pearl light, as bright as day.

Unfortunately, this enchanting story had never been proven.

First, the reef made it impossible for professional fishing boats to approach.

Second, alongside the legend of the coral forest was the legend of mermaids. These creatures, also fond of the full moon, would gather here when the pearls were exhaled. If sailors appeared at this time, the mermaids would drag them into the depths, drown them, and then mate with them.

This story obviously had a flaw—how could they mate if the person was already dead?

But that wasn’t the point.

Because…

The sea is always full of all sorts of magical stories╮(￣▽￣”)╭.

As he neared the reef, Miguel finally slowed down. Even though he was a strong swimmer, he didn’t dare venture too deep into the reef. Despite it being broad daylight, no one could guarantee what dangerous sea creatures lurked in the dark crevices of the rocks. He stayed in the shallowest, clearest waters at the outer edge, treading water and squinting as he occasionally approached the reef walls to pry off oysters with his dagger.

These cunning creatures, which blended almost perfectly with the rocks, could only be located by the occasional bubbles they released when breathing—if it weren’t for Old Fante’s son generously teaching him this skill, Miguel wouldn’t have been able to handle these things that cost two and a half yuan apiece at night markets back home, complete with garlic sauce.

He worked quickly, tossing each oyster into the tattered net on his back. After collecting a dozen or so, the blade of his dagger was starting to dull, and his hands had been nicked a few times. As faint traces of blood dispersed in the water, Miguel became extra cautious, checking his surroundings every five seconds like someone with OCD to ensure no strange sea creatures were approaching—even though this was near the shore, small sharks could still lurk in the reefs.

About twenty minutes later, when the weight on his back began to affect his swimming, Miguel looked up at the sky—still blazing with sunlight. In the distance, the small wooden boat bobbed like a tiny dot on the sea. Thinking of the man waiting for him on the boat, Miguel grinned foolishly, wiping the salt crystals from his face left by the evaporated seawater.

There was a sense of satisfaction in nurturing something.

The young man tucked the dagger back between his teeth, pushed off the reef wall, and swam back as fast as he could.

Big Dog heard the sound of water growing louder, followed by a thud as something like a small bag of stones was thrown onto the boat. The pervert fisherman’s heavy breathing sounded close to his ear.

“Extra meal tonight.”

The pervert fisherman said, sounding somewhat excited.

Faced with the eager tone, the man, who had heard this kind of thing countless times over the years, remained silent for a moment. In his usual manner, he offered an honest evaluation from a superior: “Your stamina is terrible.” He’d only swum for a short while and was already panting.

“…”

The oar was roughly snatched from his hand. Big Dog cooperatively let go, a smirk tugging at his lips.

The journey back was silent.

…

After handing the boat over to the dock workers, Miguel stuffed the net full of shellfish into Big Dog’s large hands. He picked up the bucket filled with the fish he’d caught, freeing one hand to firmly grasp Big Dog’s wrist as he carefully guided him through the bustling market.

He traded a few fish for a roll of bandages and some dried herbs, got a lemon from the sailors at the tavern, and used the last of his coins to buy some low-quality anti-inflammatory medicine from a black-market dealer. Whenever communication failed during his transactions, he’d push Big Dog forward—this guy was practically telepathic, understanding what he needed with just a single word. Best of all, his Arabic was decent, so why not make use of it?

Miguel happily decided to take his Big Dog along whenever he went shopping in the future—

A portable translator, always by his side. Pretty awesome, right?

By the time the two returned home with their haul, it was already afternoon. The sun was at its fiercest, and only when passing under the occasional tree shade did their exposed skin escape the searing heat. Miguel, however, hummed off-key tunes the whole way, forcing Big Dog to endure the terrible singing for the entire journey.

Just as the two finally stepped into their little home, a single, massive raindrop fell from the sky without warning.

Then, as if God had kicked over a basin of water, the rain poured down—

Before Big Dog could even react, a thunderclap roared across the sky.

Outside, the sounds of merchants hastily packing up their stalls and people scrambling for shelter from the rain filled the air.

Miguel, who had just put away their things, walked out of the house and saw Big Dog standing motionless by the door. Puzzled, he asked, “What are you doing there?”

But the man by the door remained as still as a statue.

“Contemplating the life of a dog?”

“…”

“Don’t get wet,” Miguel reached out to pull him inside, “You’ll get sick.”

This time, Big Dog obediently turned around. His eyes were covered by yellowed bandages, but for some reason, Miguel felt as though the man was staring intently at him—an overwhelming, domineering aura pressed down, making it hard to breathe.

“How did you know there’d be a thunderstorm? By watching the clouds?”

It took Miguel a moment to figure out what the man meant, but by then, he was clearly growing impatient. Miguel pouted, used to his brusque demeanor. After some thought, he recalled the lessons from his university days, particularly from the book The Classic of Sea Routes: “When the air is still and oppressive, thunder will surely follow. When birds frolic in the waves, wind and rain will rise.”

…The wisdom of the ancestors, so poetic, so worthy of boasting. Unfortunately, his vocabulary insisted on keeping it simple!

So, the above was summarized into a standard reply: “No air. Birds fly, fish swim, thunderstorm.”

“…” Big Dog’s mouth twitched, thinking, what kind of nonsense answer is this? Still unwilling to let it go, he asked again, his voice low and unreadable, “Can you read the sea conditions?”

Miguel was momentarily confused, unsure what the man was getting at. He nodded dumbly, then remembered Big Dog couldn’t see and added honestly, “A little.”

Big Dog seemed somewhat satisfied and nodded. “People like you are rare, and you’re still young. If you became a sailor, you could earn a lot of gold.”

But Miguel remained unmoved.

Pulling the man into the house and firmly shutting the door, the young man’s lazy voice finally rang out—

“I told you, I get seasick.”