HLM – Chapter 96 A Sea Without Fish

In the northern countryside, there are threshing grounds. But in fishing villages, there are drying grounds. There’s an old saying: “Three days fishing, two days mending nets.” It shouldn’t merely be taken as a metaphor for laziness; for fishermen, drying nets is serious work.

Drying grounds serve two main purposes: drying nets and drying the catch. Dried fish, fish fillets, and all kinds of seaweed are hung up here to be sun-dried.

In Wangjia Fishing Village, the drying ground took up nearly half the village. Behind the village lay a vast stretch of flat, open, muddy land lined with rows of smooth wooden racks used for drying fishing nets and catches.

As soon as Wang Bo reached the edge of the drying grounds, he spotted his father.

Old Bo was a fisherman in his fifties. Years of braving the sea wind and waves had turned his skin dark and rough. His hair was graying, and his back was stooped—he looked like he was sixty.

But life at sea had forged a strong physique. Though he looked aged, Old Bo was robust. Wang Bo had always admired his father’s solid, knotted muscles.

The old man was chatting with a few friends while untangling fishing nets. Someone noticed Wang Bo first, instinctively rubbed their eyes, and asked, “Hey, Second Brother, isn’t that Little Bo?”

Without turning his head, Old Bo replied while swiftly loosening a tangled net, “Little Bo’s still in New Zealand. He just called yesterday…”

“It really is Little Bo,” the other two chimed in.

Hearing them all say so, Old Bo quickly turned around. When he saw Wang Bo beaming at him, his face lit up with surprise and joy. He jumped to his feet and shouted, “Son! Why are you back all of a sudden?”

“I got on a plane yesterday—twenty-four hours is plenty of time to fly back! Technology changes lives, Dad!” Wang Bo laughed and went around greeting the elders.

As he rolled up his sleeves to help with the nets, Fourth Uncle said, “What are you still messing around here for? Your son’s home for New Year’s! Go home and get the food ready!”

Of all of them, Old Bo was the happiest to see Wang Bo. Laughing heartily, he said, “Right! The nets are almost done. Old Four, help finish up for me. I’m taking my son home first—later, bring your brother over for some drinks!”

Wang Bo added, “I brought back lots of food and drinks from New Zealand. Uncle, you all should come try it—see how their seafood compares with ours!”

Everyone agreed eagerly, and the father and son headed home in high spirits.

For dinner, his mother had indeed prepared small fried salted fish with cornmeal cakes, along with a steaming pot of mixed small fish. It was an authentic fisherman’s meal.

Wang Bo also steamed some lobster and king crab. He wanted to make a few more dishes, but his parents wouldn’t allow it—they insisted on saving those for New Year’s.

When his father saw the seafood Wang Bo brought home, he scolded him several times. Even though he had spent his whole life fishing, he was stunned by the size of the seafood Wang Bo had brought—especially the king crab, as big as a pot lid, something he’d never even seen before, let alone eaten.

Winter nights fell early. The family of three huddled around the fire. A cast-iron pot sat on the stove, stewing small yellow croakers, flatfish, pomfrets, and the longest—a small mackerel, just a bit longer than chopsticks.

Golden corn cakes lined the sides of the pot, their bottoms brushed with peanut oil. As they steamed, a rich fragrance of oil began to fill the air.

The fish soup slowly came to a boil. The little fish tumbled about in the bubbling broth, and their fresh aroma gradually overpowered the scent of the oil and cakes.

Wang Bo served his parents a bowl of soup first, but his father, puffing on a cigarette, pushed it back toward him. “Your mother and I have had enough of this stuff. You eat it. Eat well.”

There was no need for formality in this family. Wang Bo drank a fragrant bowl of soup, then dipped some corn cake into another bowl, picked up a piece of oily fried salted fish, and ate heartily.

With their son back home, and clearly doing well abroad, his parents were in great spirits and ate more than usual.

Wang Bo showed them pictures he had taken in New Zealand and told them about life there. His parents were amazed—until now, they hadn’t even known some parts of the world were in the middle of summer.

After a good night’s sleep, Wang Bo went out to sea with his father the next day.

With New Year’s approaching, every household in the fishing village would go out to catch some seafood for the holiday, because no one went to sea during the week before and after the Lunar New Year—it was a long-standing tradition.

There were no big boats in the village. Wang Bo’s family had a small shampan—just a simple wooden boat. If the waves got even a little rough, they couldn’t go out. Even on calm days, the catch wasn’t guaranteed.

To most people, it seemed that places close to the sea were naturally richer. But that was a misconception—not every coastline was suitable for building a port.

A coastal fishing village without a port had no way to grow.

Sell the catch? But everyone nearby had access to the same sea—who would you sell it to? And in the past, with poor logistics and freezing technology, fresh catch couldn’t be stored for long. Even if it was shipped out, it wouldn’t fetch a good price.

In Wang Bo’s memory, well into his teenage years, there were few houses with red tiles and brick walls in the village. It was a difficult time.

Fortunately, in recent years, the boom in agritourism and seafood feasts had given the village a chance to develop its tourism economy.

Their boat was a slightly larger shampan. The only modern component was a diesel engine in the back. There wasn’t even a place to shelter from wind or rain. As the sea breeze whipped by, Wang Bo’s face stung from the cold.

Seeing him wince, his father laughed. “How’s that? Feels good, huh?”

Wang Bo grinned. Since college, he’d hardly ever gone back out to sea. He’d almost forgotten what winter sea winds felt like.

Once they’d sailed far enough, Old Bo stood at the stern and cast out a trawl net. The rest depended on experience—to judge where the fish might be. After a stretch of dragging, it was time to haul in the net.

For local fishermen, experience was everything. Most had no sonar or underwater radar. A wrong guess meant wasted effort, time, and fuel.

After fifteen or sixteen minutes of towing, Wang Bo, following his father’s cue, pulled up the net.

Inside were only a few scattered dragonhead fish. The biggest wasn’t even twenty centimeters. The smallest weren’t even worth looking at.

Old Bo lit a cigarette and took two heavy drags, then pulled open the net, tossing the smaller fish back into the sea and keeping just a few larger ones. He sighed, “We’ll stew them with tofu. Sigh, this haul’s a loss.”

Wang Bo remained upbeat. “No worries. Can’t win big with every net, right? Dad, cast again—I trust your judgment!”

Old Bo shook his head. “Experience’s no good anymore. There weren’t many fish close to shore to begin with, and now with a few factories built along the coast these past couple years… there’s even fewer left alive!”