The morning sun had barely crested the horizon, painting the sky in bruised shades of purple and orange. Zhao Xu woke to the sound of persistent coughing. He sat up, his body aching from the previous day's unaccustomed labor.
In the corner of the room, Dalang, the eldest son, was trying to suppress a cough, his thin frame shaking. Beside him, Erlang slept on, oblivious. Zhao Xu frowned. The approaching winter was unforgiving, and the house was full of cracks that let the cold sea breeze whistle through. They needed firewood, warm clothes, and most importantly, food that provided more than just a full stomach—they needed nutrition.
He stood up quietly, careful not to wake the girls who were huddled together on the straw pile. He found his worn-out shoes by the door. They were barely holding together, the soles flapping like the mouth of a hungry fish.
"Father?"
Zhao Xu turned. Dalang was awake, watching him with wary eyes.
"Go back to sleep," Zhao Xu whispered. "I'm going to check the traps."
"Traps?" Dalang sat up, confusion knitting his brow. "We don't have traps. You sold the nets last month..."
"Not anymore," Zhao Xu said, his voice firm. "I made some last night. Rest."
He stepped out into the cool morning air. The village was still asleep, save for a few roosters and the distant sound of waves crashing against the shore. Zhao Xu made his way toward the mangroves, his stride purposeful.
Yesterday, after bringing home the crabs and fish, he had spent the evening weaving. Using strong, flexible vines he had found in the woods bordering the village and some discarded twine from the main family's trash pile (a habit of the original Dazhu that finally proved useful), he had crafted three simple funnel traps. They were crude, shaped like cylinders with inverted cones at the ends—based on a modern design for catching crustaceans. He had baited them with the entrails of the catfish he had caught earlier and placed them in a hidden tidal creek deep within the mangrove forest, securing them to the roots with thick vines.
As he reached the muddy banks, the tide was low, exposing the intricate root systems of the mangroves like a tangled web of fingers. He navigated the mud carefully, his eyes scanning for the markers he had left—a broken branch stuck in the mud.
There.
He reached the first trap. The water inside was murky, but the weight of the basket told him everything. It was heavy. A smile tugged at his lips. He pulled it up, water draining through the gaps.
Inside, three large Mud Crabs snapped their claws aggressively. They were fat, heavy, and full of meat.
He moved to the second trap. Even better. A mix of smaller crabs and a large, spotted grouper that had swum in, likely chasing the bait, only to find itself trapped. The third trap held a surprise—a moray eel, slippery and ugly, but prized for its rich, oily meat in soups.
"Good harvest," he muttered, storing the catch in a woven basket he had carried on his back. In the modern world, this would be a casual hobby catch. Here, in a poverty-stricken fishing village, it was a fortune.
He returned to the shack just as the sun began to light up the yard. The children were awake. Yiniang was trying to start a fire with damp wood, smoke stinging her eyes. The twins were sitting in the dirt, looking grumpy.
"Yiniang," Zhao Xu called out, setting the basket down.
She looked up and gasped. "Father! So many?"
"Clean the crabs and the fish," Zhao Xu ordered gently. "Keep the eel alive in a bucket of water for now. We'll sell it fresh later. Prepare the stove. We feast first, then we sell."
"Sell?" Erlang asked, stepping out of the house, rubbing sleep from his eyes. "We usually give everything to Grandmother..."
Zhao Xu's expression darkened. "That was the old me. We work, we eat. If we give everything away, your sisters and brothers will starve. Do you want the twins to cry from hunger again?"
Erlang straightened up, his eyes flashing with a rare defiance. "No."
"Then help your sister. Dalang, you come with me."
Dalang nodded, following his father to the back of the yard. There was a small patch of land overgrown with weeds.
"We need to clear this," Zhao Xu said. "But first, we go to the village head's house. I need to pay my respects."
"To the Clan Leader?" Dalang asked, surprised. Their family's reputation was rock bottom; the village head usually avoided them.
"Exactly," Zhao Xu said. "If we want to survive, we need to stop being invisible pariahs."
***
An hour later, washed up and wearing slightly cleaner clothes, Zhao Xu and Dalang walked toward the center of the village. The settlement was bigger than a hamlet but smaller than a town. It centered around a large well and the ancestral hall. The village head, Uncle Zhao De, was also the Clan Leader. He was a fair but stern man in his fifties.
They stopped at the Headman's gate. A servant greeted them with a sneer, recognizing Zhao Xu.
"What does the gambler want? No more loans, Dazhu. The Headman said—"
"I am not here for loans," Zhao Xu interrupted, his voice calm but projecting the authority he used in boardrooms. "I have fresh catch from the sea. A live moray eel and fat crabs. I wish to offer the best to the Headman first, as a gesture of respect."
The servant hesitated. Fresh eel was a delicacy, often sold to the restaurants in the town, not usually seen in the village market. "Wait here."
Minutes later, the servant returned, looking slightly less hostile. "Come in."
The courtyard was neat, with a large banyan tree providing shade. Zhao De sat on a stone bench, sipping tea. He looked at Zhao Xu with critical eyes.
"Dazhu," Zhao De said slowly. "I heard you fell into the water and knocked your head. You look... different."
"I did, Uncle," Zhao Xu said, bowing respectfully. "The water washed away the confusion in my mind. I realized I have a family to feed. I caught these this morning."
He opened the bucket lid. The moray eel thrashed, and the crabs clicked their claws.
Zhao De's eyes widened slightly. He picked up a crab, weighing it. "Mud Crab. Hard shell. Good meat. And this eel... lively. You caught these in the mangroves?"
"Yes. Hand-caught and trapped."
"Trapped?" Zhao De was intrigued. "I haven't seen you weave a net in years."
"I improvised," Zhao Xu said vaguely. "Uncle, I know my past reputation is... poor. But I wish to change. I ask for nothing but a fair chance. If I bring goods to the village, let them be judged on their quality, not my past."
Zhao De stared at him for a long moment, searching for the familiar laziness in Zhao Xu's eyes. He found none. Instead, he saw a sharpness he hadn't seen since Dazhu was a boy.
"A man who changes his ways is a man to be respected," Zhao De finally said. "I will take the eel and two crabs. How much?"
"Market price, Uncle. Whatever is fair."
Zhao De nodded, impressed by the lack of greed. "The market price for a live eel this size is 15 copper coins. These crabs are large, 5 copper each. That's 25 coppers." He signaled a servant to bring the coins.
He handed the coins to Zhao Xu. It wasn't much—less than a tenth of a tael of silver—but to Zhao Xu, the heavy clink of the copper coins in his palm felt like the sound of hope.
"Thank you, Uncle," Zhao Xu bowed.
"Wait," Zhao De called out as they turned to leave. "There is a fishmonger from the town restaurant coming to the dock at noon. He buys fresh catches. If you have more... bring it there. Don't let the village gossip scare you off."
"I understand. Thank you."
***
As they walked back, Dalang couldn't take his eyes off the money pouch tied to his father's waist.
"Father... that is real money," Dalang whispered.
"It is," Zhao Xu said. "And with it, we buy rice. Real rice, not the husk-filled gruel we've been eating."
They passed by the main family house. The gate was open, and Zhao Xu's Second Brother, the Scholar Zhao Erhu, was reading a book under a pavilion, looking every bit the elegant intellectual. His wife was feeding their son snacks.
Seeing Zhao Xu, Second Brother sneered. "Brother, I heard you were groveling at the Headman's house. Did he give you alms? How pathetic. You should be focusing on finding work at the docks carrying sacks, not playing in the mud."
Zhao Xu stopped. He looked at his brother—the brother who had drained the family coffers to buy books and ink, while his own children starved.
"Second Brother," Zhao Xu said politely, his face a mask of indifference. "Carrying sacks is honest work. Unlike some who carry the weight of their family's sacrifice on their backs while eating their fill."
Zhao Erhu's face flushed red. "You! An illiterate like you dares to mock me? Don't forget, Father's birthday is in three days. You better have a gift prepared, or you'll be punished for unfilial conduct."
"I remember," Zhao Xu said. "Don't worry."
He walked on, ignoring the sputtering behind him.
***
At the market, Zhao Xu bought ten catties of coarse rice, a small bag of salt, and a few inexpensive leafy vegetables. He even splurged two coppers on a small piece of pork fat to render for oil. It was a luxury, but the children needed the fat.
When they returned home, the transformation in the house was immediate. The smell of cooking rice filled the air. Yiniang looked at the rice bag with wide, tear-filled eyes.
"Rice..." she whispered.
"Cook it," Zhao Xu said, handing the pork fat to Erlang. "Render this. We need strength."
While the food cooked, Zhao Xu sat on the doorstep. He took out the remaining money—fifteen coppers. He kept five for emergency savings and handed ten to Dalang.
"Father?" Dalang asked.
"Take this," Zhao Xu said. "Go to the old tailor at the edge of the village. Buy whatever sturdy cloth you can for cheap. Your sisters need winter clothes. We can sew them ourselves."
Dalang gripped the coins, his knuckles white. "I will go now!"
He ran off, energy fueling his steps.
Zhao Xu leaned back, watching the smoke rise from the chimney. It was a small victory. A meal of rice and pork fat. But it was the foundation. Tomorrow, he would tackle the deep tidal pools. And soon, very soon, he would need a boat.
He looked at the horizon. The sea was calm today, but he knew its temperament. It was a beast that could swallow men whole, but for those who understood it, it was a treasury.
*A boat,* he thought. *I need a boat. But a new boat costs at least 5 taels of silver. 500 copper coins. I have 5.*
He sighed, but he didn't despair. Rome wasn't built in a day, and a fishing fleet wasn't built in a morning.
"Father! The rice is boiling over!" Erniang shouted from inside.
Zhao Xu chuckled, the sound strange and foreign to his own ears. "Coming."
He stood up, dusting off his pants. The life of a fisherman was hard, but for the first time since waking up, he felt the thrill of the challenge. He wasn't just surviving anymore. He was starting to live.