At night, a gentle breeze swept across the Appalachian Mountains. The village, though rebuilt, still carried a heavy sense of lifelessness—after all, many had perished in the recent conflict.
Thanks to the aid of the American government, the homes had been rebuilt quickly. Since they were mostly wooden houses rather than tall structures, construction was fast. Using local materials, the government's construction team finished the houses within two days. Before leaving, they reinforced the walls to guard against future attacks and even installed a solar-powered satellite phone.
Jiang Hai had not stayed long during the reconstruction, and the government workers only departed after most of the work was complete.
Yet despite the new homes and the knowledge that the attackers were wanted men, the faces of the tribespeople remained clouded with sorrow. The men especially carried a deep sense of shame—they had been unable to fight back when danger came knocking. For those considered contenders for the title of the tribe's strongest warrior, the humiliation was almost unbearable.
These days, they brooded in silence, angry with themselves while pushing harder in their training.
After Tarak's brother, Patan, received a gun from Jiang Hai, Jiang Hai never asked for it back. It was just a weapon, and he had promised to bring a better one next time. With it, Patan quickly rose as a leader among the younger men. Meanwhile, the elderly and women worried about something different—not revenge, but safety. Would the tribe remain secure? Would another attack come soon? The thought alone drained their spirits.
Seeing her people burdened with despair, even Tarak felt uneasy. As a woman, however, her voice carried little weight.
That evening, after dinner, the tribe leader summoned her to his room.
Do not misunderstand—the old man's intentions were pure. When Tarak entered, he had her sit at a distance.
"Do you know why I called you here?" the leader asked slowly, gazing at her.
"I don't," Tarak admitted with a shake of her head.
"This is something only you can do. I need you to deliver something to Jiang Hai." The leader ignored her puzzled expression. With a quiet chuckle, he continued.
At the mention of Jiang Hai, Tarak's eyes brightened. Women admired heroes, and though in the modern world women often idolized wealthy men, in their tribe the old traditions endured. Jiang Hai's imposing figure that night had left a lasting impression. Many women whispered that, had Jiang Hai stayed longer, he would have had no shortage of admirers willing to follow him. Tarak herself was among them. More than that, she was the only one who had shared close contact with him—after all, they had spent a night in the same room, though she on the bed and he on the floor.
"Make sure this reaches Jiang Hai, and do as he instructs," the leader said firmly, pulling an envelope from his pocket. He had retrieved it from the police station before returning to the mountains. To the tribe, it was a precious item.
"Yes, I understand," Tarak replied earnestly, taking the envelope with both hands.
The next morning, she quietly packed her belongings and left the tribe. Only two people knew of her departure: the tribe leader and Patan. When Patan learned she was seeking Jiang Hai, he said nothing—he simply handed her a childhood talisman and asked her to deliver it as well.
No one knew how long Tarak would be gone. Jiang Hai had driven straight for two days to reach their land. She would have to walk all the way to Winthrop, a daunting task.
Meanwhile, Jiang Hai faced problems of his own.
"These bastards mean business," Edward Anderson said grimly, staring at the radar. Jiang Hai stood in the dock hut, frowning at the cluster of red dots—each one a ship. His fishing grounds were being invaded.
The trouble had begun three days earlier. Everyone knew Jiang Hai's estate had fish—fish of such high value that word had spread throughout Boston. Money, after all, was enough to tempt anyone.
In Massachusetts, Jiang Hai wielded influence, and in Winthrop he had respect. Neither the state's politicians nor the town's residents dared provoke him. But Boston was vast, and fishermen from neighboring towns—Revere, Chelsea, Somerville, Cambridge, Quincy, and others—saw things differently.
To them, Jiang Hai's waters were vast and abundant. They did not believe fish could truly be considered private property.
It wasn't just Americans, Jiang Hai realized; people everywhere carried a streak of lawlessness when profit was at stake.
By day, thieves dared not approach—helicopters patrolled the waters, and vessel numbers reported to the Coast Guard meant heavy fines. But fines only made the bold more reckless. Soon, whispers spread of using small boats at night, too small for radar to detect. With Jiang Hai's fish selling at high prices, just a few nets could cover their costs.
The Chelsea brothers were the first to try. Three nights ago, they slipped into his waters. Before they could even haul in their second net, Dasha rammed their boat, capsizing it and dragging the men to the depths.
The next day, Jiang Hai's patrol found the empty vessel. The Coast Guard declared the men lost to a large fish. Normally, Jiang Hai would have been fined for deaths occurring in his waters—nearly 100,000 yuan. He balked at the idea. "You come to steal from me, drown yourselves, and I must pay for it? Shameless!" But that was not the end of it.
The Fisheries Association soon stepped in. The two dead brothers were their members, and they demanded justice. To them, it was like a tiger in a zoo killing a man: regardless of fault, the beast must be punished. But fish are not tigers, and the ocean is no cage. How could anyone identify which fish was guilty?
In truth, they wanted Jiang Hai's big fish. They cloaked their greed in legality, insisting the predators be destroyed, but Jiang Hai saw through the ruse. Even if his men blocked them, the fish would die in nets, and he would lose everything.
Two days of fruitless negotiation passed. Jiang Hai refused to yield. Now, a swarm of fishing boats was heading straight for his waters, determined to strip them clean.
"Damn it. Mayor Carlett, you have nothing to say?" Jiang Hai snapped, glaring at the oncoming fleet.
"The mayor says it's a civil dispute," Tommy Charles answered helplessly. "Until blood is spilled, the police won't act. But the Constitution protects private property. If you defend yourself, it's lawful."
Jiang Hai ground his teeth. He understood clearly: the officials wanted him to fight it out. If he struck first, they would turn a blind eye.
But this was not one or two boats—it was dozens, carrying hundreds of men. Could he trust them to come unarmed? Would they not retaliate if fired upon? One helicopter against so many vessels was hardly reassuring.
"We can't count on anyone else. It's just us now," Edward Anderson sighed. They had two choices: do nothing and lose everything, or fight.
Jiang Hai's expression hardened. "Damn it… Overturn these bastards!"
At his command, the fishermen around him rose to their feet. Cowboys and fishermen alike, they were not men of meek temper. Their jobs under Jiang Hai paid well, offered comfort, and gave them hope for the future. Now that outsiders threatened their livelihood, they would not sit quietly.
Bell Lester launched the helicopter while Jiang Hai and the others boarded two fishing boats and sped toward the intruders.
By the time they reached the boundary, it was too late to keep them all out. The leading boats had already cast their nets, preparing to haul in Jiang Hai's fish.
"Boss, what now?" Edward Anderson asked, his face dark.
"Ram them!" Jiang Hai growled, his eyes narrowing.
Edward's face split into a savage grin. With a thumbs up, he relayed the order. The two fishing boats roared forward, engines screaming as they bore down on the intruders.
The enemy never imagined Jiang Hai would strike so boldly—two ships against dozens, ramming head-on. They scrambled to haul up their nets, but Jiang Hai's vessels were faster, heavier, and closing in.
The shadows of the boats loomed large in their eyes as the impact became inevitable…
(To be continued.)