HLM – Chapter 1075 Coral Stones

Seeing a jet ski recklessly crashing straight toward them, Wang Bo immediately dove into the water to dodge.

He vaguely remembered the horse-faced young man’s identity and even thought the guy was using this chance to murder him in revenge. After jumping into the water, Wang Bo grew extra cautious—he didn’t surface right away. Instead, he dove deeper, opened his sand table, and pulled out a gun.

But when he carefully surfaced again, he discovered that the companion who’d come along was actually trying to save the man. The horse-faced youth had fallen into the sea and was wildly screaming in panic, swallowing a stomach full of seawater. He looked utterly miserable.

They dragged him back up. The fisherman quickly punched him in the stomach to make him vomit the water—that would ease the discomfort.

But after the horse-faced youth coughed up a few mouthfuls of seawater, he immediately kicked the fisherman off the jet ski and yanked the throttle, spinning the jet ski around and speeding away.

“Son of a b*tch!”

The remaining fisherman roared angrily in the water.

Wang Bo’s expression darkened as he looked at him. The fisherman waved his hands frantically, “Brother, grievances have their own owners! Today’s mess has nothing to do with me—not a thing! It’s that bastard Ma Guangbiao and his uncle, and Baldy Xu—they’re the ones who offended you, I—”

“Get lost!”

With that single shout, the fisherman panicked. He swam to the other jet ski, climbed on, tested that the engine still worked, and sped off, not even caring about the front cover floating on the water.

Watching them disappear, Wang Bo blinked. Since when did I become so intimidating?

The guy piloting the open-bow boat checked the damaged hull, heartbroken. “Damn it, a chunk of paint’s gone, and the metal’s dented. I’m screwed. Brother Jun is gonna kill me.”

Wang Bo said, “I’ll deal with it. It has nothing to do with you. Just drive the boat—I’ll explain it to Brother Jun. The responsibility is mine.”

A moment ago, when the jet ski rammed into them, he reacted instantly and jumped first—maybe a bit too dramatically. And leaving the driver behind on the boat like that wasn’t exactly nice.

But the guy was hot-tempered too. He shook his head, said it wasn’t needed, started the engine, and sped toward the fishing boats in the distance.

They didn’t catch up. The fishing boats and the big scow lifted their anchors and left quickly. The closest they got was hearing a tragic scream from afar:

“Damn it all! What kind of cursed ghost is this?!”

They could have caught up if they insisted—the open-bow boat was faster during the fishing boats’ acceleration stage. But there was no need.

Wang Bo and the driver exchanged a look and silently agreed to just let the matter end there.

The sun on the sea was harsh. After changing into his wetsuit, Wang Bo jumped into the water.

Farther from the shore, the water became clearer. Even so, decades of pollution had devastated this coastal region; the water still carried an indescribable murkiness.

Wang Bo swam slowly on the surface. With his face submerged behind the diving goggles, he examined the underwater scenery.

The water wasn’t deep, and the sunlight was bright. He remembered that when he was a child, dipping his head underwater meant seeing the seabed at once—everything clear and vivid.

But not anymore. Beneath him were what should have been brilliant corals—now he could only vaguely make out patches of colorful reefs. Their actual condition was impossible to see clearly.

This was the sorrow of coral. Their survival requirements were extremely strict. If the temperature, acidity, or cleanliness weren’t right, they died off in droves.

Given the pollution in the surrounding waters, the coral colonies here were likely in very poor shape.

Of course, it wasn’t only China’s coastal waters facing such crises. Other countries were no better. Not far from Sunset Town was Australia’s Great Barrier Reef—every year, even more coral died there.

With global warming, ocean acidification had worsened, making it nearly impossible for coral to survive.

Wang Bo swam awhile longer on the surface, then dove down.

There were many seabed stones here, but because the water was shallow, large stone formations were rare. They were mostly scattered rocks or extensions of the island reef—nothing he could take away.

Swimming a few hundred meters, after one breath, he noticed a snow-white antler-shaped reef. This kind of seabed stone was valuable, so he dove to retrieve it.

When he brought it up, he realized it wasn’t a seabed stone—it was a coral stone, the accumulated remains of dead coral polyps over many years.

The Great Barrier Reef in Australia was essentially formed from these very coral skeletons.

These stones were often beautiful, but since they were extremely diverse and abundant, they weren’t worth much.

Wang Bo initially wanted to toss it aside, but after thinking a moment, he put it into the lake.

Haweya Lake’s bottom was too plain—just mud and sand with very few stones. Throwing in some coral stones wasn’t a bad idea.

And so he had something new to do—diving for coral stones to toss into the lake.

He specifically chose the fully whitened ones, which meant the coral polyps were already dead and wouldn’t affect the marine ecosystem.

But inevitably, some still had a bit of red or green. He didn’t sort them out. After all, they would die anyway—if not here, then faster in freshwater. Maybe that was a kinder fate.

For several hours, he indulged in the enjoyment of collecting coral stones.

People were like that—if there were no gains, they quickly grew tired of their work. But even small gains kept motivation alive.

And his gains weren’t small—not at all.

Using the sand table to transfer coral stones into the lake was incredibly easy. Just pick them up and toss them in—that was it. Efficiency was high.

After nearly four hours, he opened the sand table and checked the lake. The bottom was now covered by a large spread of coral stone—it looked much nicer now.

The coral stones added complexity to the lakebed terrain. Many fish, shrimp, and crabs gathered there. Complex terrain helped them hide and feel secure, even if Haweya Lake barely had predators—instinct was instinct.

When he returned to the boat, it was already afternoon. He dried off, lay on a deck chair, and sipped iced cola as he gazed westward.

The slanted evening light poured across the sea. Waves rolled endlessly, the surf slapping the open-bow boat and rocking it like a cradle.

In the distance, dozens of seagulls beat their wings hard against the wind, streaking graceful trails across the sky.

Wang Bo took a sip of cola and sighed, “The long river, the round setting sun…”

No one responded. The driver was watching a movie, laughing nonstop.

When the sun was about to set, they headed back to the salvage ship. They would spend the night at sea. Even though the forecast said there’d be no big waves, it was better to stay cautious.

“Any harvest today?” Eva asked, draping a towel over him.

Wang Bo shrugged. “Pretty much the usual. Nothing too special. But the scenery there isn’t bad. I’ll take you to see it tomorrow.”