The morning mist clung to the ground like a wet sheet, chilling the bones of anyone foolish enough to be outside. Inside the Zhao shack, however, the atmosphere was bustling.
Zhao Xu stood by the door, holding a crude hoe he had sharpened against a rock the night before. He looked at his children, who were finishing their breakfast of rice porridge—thicker today, thanks to the previous day's earnings.
"Listen well," Zhao Xu said, his voice cutting through the slurping noises. "The house is full of holes. If we don't fix it, the winter wind will freeze us all. Today, we don't fish. We build."
"Build?" Erlang looked up, his spoon paused mid-air. "Father, we don't have wood."
"We have hands," Zhao Xu replied. "And behind the house, there is a pit of good, sticky clay. Dalang, you and I will dig. Yiniang, Erniang, you two will mix the clay with straw. We're going to seal these walls."
It was an ancient technique, one the original Zhao Dazhu had known but been too lazy to execute properly. Wattle and daub—woven wooden strips coated with a sticky material made of wet soil, clay, sand, animal dung, and straw. It was weatherproof and insulating.
"But Father," Dalang hesitated, wiping his mouth. "The tidal pools... if we don't go today, we miss the catch."
"The sea will be there tomorrow," Zhao Xu said firmly. "But a sick child in winter is a tragedy. We work today."
Just as they were about to head to the backyard, a figure hurriedly slipped through the broken gate. It was Third Brother, Zhao Sanhu.
Sanhu looked around nervously, clutching a small basket covered with a cloth. He spotted Zhao Xu and hurried over, his face flushed with a mix of excitement and fear.
"Big Brother," Sanhu whispered, pulling Zhao Xu aside. "I... I did what you said. The salt trick."
Zhao Xu nodded calmly. "And?"
Sanhu pulled back the cloth. Inside the basket were several large crabs and a mess of wriggling eels. "I went before dawn. The holes... they just popped up! My wife and daughters, we caught these in an hour. It's more than I catch in two days with a net!"
Sanhu's eyes were shining, a stark contrast to his usual defeated demeanor. "Big Brother, I sold them to a neighbor quietly. I bought rice. My daughters... they ate rice this morning." His voice cracked. "Real rice."
Zhao Xu placed a heavy hand on Sanhu's shoulder. "Good. Keep it quiet. If Mother or Second Brother asks, you were farming the rented plot."
"I know, I know," Sanhu nodded vigorously. "But Brother... tomorrow is Father's birthday."
The air in the yard seemed to freeze. Zhao Xu's face darkened.
The 60th birthday of the Old Master was a big event in the village. In the past, the original Dazhu would have been forced to scrape together every coin he had—or steal from his own children's mouths—to buy a gift, only to be berated for it being too cheap.
"Second Brother has been boasting," Sanhu continued, lowering his voice further. "He says he is buying a calligraphy set from the capital for Father. He's telling everyone that the Eldest Son—that's you—is a disgrace who will come empty-handed."
"A calligraphy set," Zhao Xu scoffed. "Expensive and useless for a farmer."
"That's what I thought," Sanhu agreed. "But the family expects you to contribute. If you don't... they might use it as an excuse to take the twins."
Zhao Xu's eyes narrowed. "Let them try."
He looked at the crude mud walls of his house, then at his brothers. "Don't worry, Third Brother. I have a gift in mind. One that money can't buy, but the Old Man can't refuse."
***
Later that morning, Zhao Xu and Dalang made the trip to the town market. It was a risk spending money, but investment was necessary.
The town, named Qinghe, was about an hour's walk inland. It was bustling, far more vibrant than the sleepy fishing village. Stalls lined the streets, selling everything from dyed fabrics to iron tools.
Zhao Xu headed straight for the carpenter's district. He didn't have the money for fine furniture, but he needed tools and raw materials.
He stopped at a shop selling scrap wood and seconds.
"Boss," Zhao Xu called out to a burly man sawing a log. "I need sturdy planks. Knots don't matter, cracks don't matter, as long as they float."
The boss looked Zhao Xu up and down, recognizing the shabby clothes. "Scrap pile is in the back. Two copper coins a plank for the pine. Hardwood is five."
Zhao Xu walked to the back. He wasn't looking for beauty; he was looking for buoyancy and durability. He selected ten planks of a dense, dark wood—Teak or something similar—that were warped or split at the ends. They were heavy, perfect for a raft base.
"Twenty copper coins for the lot," Zhao Xu bargained.
"Thirty. The hardwood is good even if it's ugly."
"Twenty-five, and you throw in a bag of nails and a small pot of pine tar."
The boss grunted, spitting on the ground. "Deal. You building a coffin?"
"A raft," Zhao Xu said, handing over the coins. "And a future."
Next, he went to a blacksmith. He bought a cheap, second-hand hand drill and a bundle of thick hemp rope. He also bought a large burlap sack.
With their supplies loaded onto a makeshift cart (a door they found by the roadside, which they promised to return), they headed back.
On the way, Dalang remained silent, watching his father with awe. The man before him haggled with the confidence of a merchant, selected wood with the eye of a carpenter, and walked with a straight back that defied their low status.
"Father," Dalang asked as they pulled the cart up the village path. "What is the gift for Grandfather?"
Zhao Xu smiled, a mysterious glint in his eye. "Wood and labor."
***
The afternoon was a flurry of activity.
Under Zhao Xu's guidance, the children stripped the bark from the planks and coated them with pine tar to waterproof them. He didn't have the tools to build a proper boat yet, but a sturdy raft—a catamaran style with two pontoons for stability—was within reach.
While the tar dried, they turned to the house.
"Mix the mud!" Zhao Xu shouted, stripping off his outer robe. "Squeeze it with your feet! Make it smooth!"
The children laughed as they stomped in the mud pit, mixing the clay with chopped straw and water. It was dirty, exhausting work, but the laughter was genuine. Even the twins, Silang and Wulang, sat on the edge, slapping the mud with their tiny hands.
As the sun began to dip, casting long shadows across the yard, the western wall of the shack had been re-plastered. It looked ugly and lumpy, but it was solid. No more drafts.
"That is enough for today," Zhao Xu said, wiping sweat and mud from his forehead. "Tomorrow, we finish the roof."
Suddenly, the gate creaked open.
Zhao Erhu, the Second Brother, walked in. He was wearing a clean white scholar's robe, holding a folding fan despite the cold. Behind him stood his wife, holding a plate of sweet pastries—clearly leftovers from their kitchen.
Erhu stopped, his nose wrinkling at the smell of pine tar and mud. He looked at the repaired wall, then at the pile of wood, and finally at the healthy flush on the children's faces.
"Big Brother," Erhu said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "It seems you've been busy. Digging in the mud like a common laborer? How... fitting for you."
Zhao Xu didn't stop working. He continued coiling the rope. "Is there something you need, Second Brother? If not, the gate is behind you."
Erhu's eye twitched. He wasn't used to being dismissed. "I came to remind you of Father's birthday banquet tomorrow. Father says... since you are so poor, you don't need to attend. Just send the twins to help serve the tables. It will save you the embarrassment of having nothing to give."
The yard went silent. The children froze. Sending the twins to serve? They were three years old! It was a way to humiliate Zhao Xu and use his children as servants.
Zhao Xu slowly stood up. He turned to face Erhu. He was taller than his brother, and his months of malnourishment were being rapidly reversed by the spirit of a modern man who worked out daily.
He walked over to the pile of hardwood planks.
"Second Brother," Zhao Xu said, his voice low. "Tell Father I will be there. And I will bring a gift."
Erhu scoffed. "What? That pile of scrap wood? Don't make Father angry. A piece of firewood is an insult."
"This wood," Zhao Xu said, picking up a plank and slamming it against the ground, the sound echoing like a gunshot, "is worth more than your fan. As for the twins..."
He stepped closer to Erhu, looming over him.
"The twins are Zhao descendants. They are not servants. If anyone tries to put a plate in their hands tomorrow, I will flip the table. Now get out."
Erhu stepped back, flustered. He had never seen this look in his brother's eyes—predatory, protective. It was the look of a wolf.
"You... you dare threaten me?" Erhu stammered. "Fine! Let's see what gift you bring! If it's trash, Father will cane you himself!"
Erhu turned and stormed out, his wife scurrying behind him.
"Father," Yiniang said, her voice trembling. "The gift... we don't have money for a gift. The wood is for the raft."
Zhao Xu turned to his children, his expression softening. He pointed to the tidal flat visible beyond the mangroves.
"The gift is in the sea," he said. "Tomorrow, before the banquet, we go to the Dragon Reef. We catch the 'Dragon's Pearl'."
"The Dragon's Pearl?" Dalang asked, eyes wide. It was a local legend, a giant Pearl Fish or a massive Grouper said to inhabit the deeper waters.
"Not a pearl," Zhao Xu smiled. "A fish. A fish fit for an Emperor, let alone a stubborn old man. Now, rest. Tomorrow, we hunt the big one."
He looked at the unfinished raft. He would have to use the original Dazhu's old, leaky small boat—a hollowed-out log basically—but with the new oars he had carved, he could maneuver it better.
The game was changing. And Zhao Xu intended to win.