The sky was a canvas of deep indigo, the stars just beginning to fade as Zhao Xu nudged Dalang and Erlang awake. The village was silent, save for the rhythmic breathing of the sleeping twins and the distant roar of the tide.
"Time to go," Zhao Xu whispered.
They dressed in layers of thin clothes, the cold morning air biting at their skin. Outside, the "boat" waited. It was a relic of the original Dazhu's slightly more prosperous days—a dugout canoe carved from a single hollowed tree trunk, weathered and patched with clay in spots. It was barely seaworthy, but it floated.
Zhao Xu inspected the craft. He had spent an hour the previous night sealing the worst cracks with pine tar. It wouldn't win a race, but it would get them to the reef.
"Dalang, take the front. Erlang, you're in the back. Row steady," Zhao Xu instructed, handing them rough-hewn oars he had shaped from the leftover planks.
They pushed off from the muddy bank. The water was black and glassy. As they paddled away from the safety of the mangroves and into the open channel, the swell grew. The canoe bobbed like a cork, making Dalang grip the gunwales until his knuckles turned white.
"Father, the current is strong," Dalang said, his voice tight.
"It's the tide rushing out to sea," Zhao Xu explained, sitting in the middle to balance the weight. "It will take us right to the Dragon Reef. Just keep the bow pointed straight."
Zhao Xu held the hand-line he had prepared—a thick hemp cord with a heavy lead weight and a massive iron hook he had bartered from the blacksmith. He had baited it with a chunk of blood-soaked meat from the eel they had caught days prior. The scent was potent, a chum slick drifting behind them.
After twenty minutes of strenuous rowing, the water ahead began to churn. A dark spine of rock jutted out of the water about fifty meters away—the Dragon Reef. It was a treacherous place, where the open ocean current slammed into the shallows, creating violent rips and eddies. Most villagers avoided it; the rocks could smash a boat in seconds, and the currents could drown a strong swimmer.
But where current met rock, life flourished.
"Drop the anchor," Zhao Xu commanded. The "anchor" was a heavy stone tied to a rope. It bit into the sandy bottom, holding them in the turbulent zone just outside the crash zone.
Zhao Xu threw the hand-line into the churning water. He didn't cast; he simply let the weight sink.
"Hold on," Zhao Xu muttered, not just to his sons, but to himself. He was feeling the line with his fingers, tuning into the vibrations of the deep.
*Thump.*
A subtle tap. Zhao Xu ignored it. Small fish nibbling.
*Thump. Thump.*
Then, the line went tight. Not a jerk, but a steady, immovable heaviness, like the bottom had suddenly risen up to grab the hook.
"Father?" Erlang whispered.
"Shh," Zhao Xu hissed. He didn't yank. He let the fish take the bait. In the modern world, this was "dead-sticking." Let the fish swallow the hook before setting it.
The line began to move sideways, cutting the water surface. It was a submarine, a monster of the deep.
*Now!*
Zhao Xu yanked the line with a violent snap of his wrists, driving the hook home.
The water exploded.
The canoe lurched so hard Dalang nearly fell out. The line sang a high-pitched whine as it cut through Zhao Xu's gloved hands (he had wrapped them in cloth).
"It's big!" Zhao Xu grunted, his muscles screaming. This wasn't a casual pull; it was a war. The fish dove, trying to reach the rocks to cut the line. Zhao Xu had to be smarter. He angled the rod tip up, forcing the fish's head to turn.
"Back paddle!" Zhao Xu shouted. "Get us away from the rocks!"
Dalang and Erlang rowed frantically, fighting the current. The canoe inched backward, dragging the fish with them. For ten minutes, it was a battle of endurance. Sweat dripped from Zhao Xu's brow despite the cold. His back burned, but he held firm. The modern memories of deep-sea fishing techniques—using the boat's movement to tire the fish, keeping tension constant—flashed through his mind.
Slowly, the resistance lessened. The fish was tired.
"I see it!" Erlang shouted.
Beneath the dark water, a massive shape surfaced. It was a dark, mottled red, turning to a vivid scarlet as it broke the surface.
A Giant Grouper.
But not just any grouper. It was enormous, easily four feet long, with thick lips and a tail that could shatter a man's ribs.
"It's a Dragon King!" Dalang gasped, using the local term for a large grouper.
With a final heave, Zhao Xu guided the fish alongside the canoe. "Gaff!"
He didn't have a gaff. He had a wooden club. He grabbed the line with one hand and, as the fish opened its mouth, he didn't hesitate. He grabbed the lower jaw with his gloved hand—a risky move, but the hook was set deep. With a roar of exertion, he hauled the beast over the gunwale.
The fish slammed into the bottom of the canoe, thrashing violently. The boat rocked dangerously.
"Hit it!" Zhao Xu yelled.
Erlang brought the oar handle down on the fish's head. Once. Twice. The thrashing stopped.
The canoe sat dangerously low in the water now, the heavy fish taking up half the space.
"We go back," Zhao Xu panted, wiping sweat from his eyes. "Now."
***
The walk from the riverbank to the main family house was usually a walk of shame for Zhao Xu. Today, he walked with a procession.
His sons carried the fish on a makeshift stretcher made of two poles and the burlap sack. The Giant Grouper, now confirmed to be nearly eighty catties, was a monster. Its red scales gleamed in the morning sun like polished copper.
Villagers stopped their chores to stare. Children ran alongside, shouting.
"A Red Dragon! The Zhao family caught a Red Dragon!"
"It's a blessing! An auspicious sign!"
"The gambler caught that? Impossible!"
The red color was key. In the local culture, red symbolized joy, luck, and prosperity. Catching such a fish on an elder's birthday was seen as a gift from the heavens, far superior to gold or silver.
They reached the gates of the main residence. The courtyard was already set up for the banquet. Round tables filled the space, and the smell of cooking oil and spices filled the air.
Old Master Zhao sat in the seat of honor, wearing a new brown robe. Beside him sat the Second Brother, Zhao Erhu, holding his calligraphy set like a trophy. Old Madame Zhao was directing servants.
"Father!" Erhu was saying loudly. "Look at this inkstone. It is 'Sheyan' inkstone, known for its smoothness. With this, your grandson's studies will surely flourish, and he will pass the imperial exams!"
Old Master Zhao nodded, stroking his beard with feigned humility, though his eyes showed greed. "Good, good. A worthy investment. Unlike some who bring shame."
"Father is here!" a guest shouted.
The courtyard fell silent as Zhao Xu strode in. He didn't bow low. He nodded respectfully, then stepped aside to reveal the catch.
Dalang and Erlang heaved the stretcher onto a table usually reserved for food display. The burlap sack fell away.
Gasps echoed through the yard.
The Giant Grouper lay there, its massive tail hanging off the edge of the table, its color a vibrant, lucky red.
"Great Heavens..." a neighbor whispered. "That must be sixty or seventy catties!"
"A Red Grouper this size? I haven't seen one in ten years!"
Old Master Zhao stood up, his eyes widening. He was a fisherman at heart, despite his current pretensions. He knew the value of this catch. Not just monetary, but symbolic. A fish this size meant strength, luck, and mastery over the sea.
"You... you caught this?" Old Master Zhao asked, his voice trembling.
"In the Dragon Reef, Father," Zhao Xu said, his voice carrying across the yard. "I woke before dawn. I wished to bring you longevity. This fish fought hard, but I brought it home."
He emphasized the last sentence, a double meaning not lost on the guests.
Erhu's face turned green. The calligraphy set, worth perhaps one or two taels of silver, looked like a toy next to this beast of the ocean. A live, vibrant symbol of luck versus a dead stone.
"Dazhu," Old Madame Zhao stepped forward, her eyes calculating the price. "This... this is good. The kitchen will prepare it for the guests. It will save us money on meat."
She reached out to take the fish, assuming ownership as usual.
Zhao Xu placed a hand on the fish's flank. It was cold and hard.
"This is a gift for Father," Zhao Xu said, his tone hard. "I brought it here to present to him. Whether it is cooked for guests or kept for his personal consumption is his decision."
He looked at Old Master Zhao. "Father, I also heard you needed servants for the banquet. I hope my sons, Dalang and Erlang, can sit and eat with the family today? They rowed the boat and helped haul this beast. They are your grandsons, after all. And the twins... they are too young to serve. They will eat at home."
Old Master Zhao looked at the impressive fish, then at the neighbors who were watching intently. To refuse the son who brought such an auspicious gift would be to lose face—a terrible thing for an elder on his birthday.
He coughed, straightening his robe. "Naturally. Naturally! Dalang, Erlang, sit at the third table. This... this is a good catch. A sign that the Zhao family's luck is turning."
He glared briefly at Erhu, who shrank back. The contrast was too stark. The "useless" eldest son had brought glory; the "filial" scholar had brought a trinket.
"However," Old Madame Zhao interjected, unwilling to let Zhao Xu win completely. "Since you have such strength now, Dazhu, you should resume paying your monthly filial piety money. You are clearly not starving."
Zhao Xu smiled. It was a cold, sharp smile.
"Mother," he said politely. "This fish is my filial piety for this month. I caught it with my life on the line in dangerous waters. Surely, a fish worth five taels of silver is enough for a monthly contribution?"
Five taels! The crowd buzzed. It was an exaggeration—wholesale price was maybe two or three—but the crowd believed it.
Old Master Zhao, enjoying the admiration of his neighbors, waved his hand. "Enough! The fish is accepted. Let the banquet begin!"
Zhao Xu didn't stay for the wine. He had delivered his blow. He had fed his children, asserted his dominance, and secured their safety for the day.
As he turned to leave, he caught the eye of Third Brother, Sanhu, who was standing in the corner, holding his own small basket of fish. Sanhu gave him a discreet thumbs-up, a wide grin on his face.
Zhao Xu nodded back. He walked out of the courtyard, the whispers of the villagers following him.
"Zhao Dazhu has changed."
"That was a brave man. The Dragon Reef is death."
"He cares for his children."
He didn't return to the banquet to eat the scraps. He went home to his own shack, where Yiniang had kept a pot of hot fish soup waiting. He sat down with his children, the twins climbing onto his lap.
"Father, did you win?" little Silang asked.
Zhao Xu took a sip of the hot soup, feeling the warmth spread through him. He looked at the pile of wood in the yard, waiting to be turned into a raft.
"We didn't lose," Zhao Xu said. "And tomorrow, we start building. The sea has given us luck, but it's our hands that will keep us fed."
He looked out the window towards the sea. He had proven a point today. But he knew the main family's greed was not satisfied. It was only whetted.
*Let them come,* he thought. *I am ready.*