068 The ‘Person’ Beneath the Water

“Diving?”
“Diving at this hour?”
“Yu, are you kidding me?”
The group of young men sitting in the cabin, who had just been chatting and laughing, now crowded around, craning their necks in astonishment to look closely at the sonar display on the control panel.

They were all of the new generation of fishermen, and naturally, the readings on the display were crystal clear to them. This sudden red blip was no mark of a big fish—it was the unmistakable symbol for a living person. According to the display, this “person” was active at about forty meters below the surface, and clearly in motion, not stationary.

“There really is someone diving down there!”
“Aren’t they worried about the danger at such a late hour?”
“Could there be something wrong with the sonar?”
Their voices overlapped in a flurry of speculation.

Even for seasoned fishermen like themselves, who had spent their lives at sea, diving at night in such poor visibility was unthinkable. The surrounding waters were treacherous with jagged reefs and raging undercurrents. Even steering their fishing boat through these waters by night made them nervous, and it was only because they had grown up here that they could thread their way past the underwater hazards.

By comparison, whoever the sonar had picked up—a diver plunging into the depths in the middle of the night—was either exceptionally skilled and well-prepared, or simply reckless beyond belief.

“Yu, should we go check it out?” they discussed among themselves.

The dark-skinned young man at the helm shook his head. “Maybe it’s some researcher out there, doing late-night measurements. That area’s full of reefs; getting close would be too risky. Besides, someone’s working underwater—if we brought the boat over, we’d just be interfering. Not a good idea.”

“I’ll ask my dad about it later. That spot’s close to our place, just behind our hill. He should know what’s going on.”

Seeing the helmsman so resolute, the others made no further objection, clearly trusting his judgment. Besides, after more than half a month at sea, they were all eager to get home. After a few more curious glances at the sonar’s human-shaped blip, their interest faded, and their talk turned to which place they’d hit for a late-night meal and a few drinks once they reached shore.

The approaching typhoon, for this new generation of fishermen, was both a threat and a rare chance to come ashore, unwind, and take a short holiday.

...

As the fishing boat made a wide, swift arc around the back cliffs of the island, Chen Jue, practicing underwater, picked up the strange drone of a propeller several hundred meters away, thanks to his keen hearing.

“A boat passing by?” Cradling a stone sphere, he turned in the direction of the sound.

Though a few strands of moonlight pierced the surface, beneath the sea it was pitch black; even with his sharp eyes, Chen Jue could barely make out a few meters ahead. After days of diving here to practice, he knew this stretch of rocky coast was rarely visited. Emboldened, he had become increasingly carefree, never considering he might be discovered by a passing vessel.

Fortunately, the whirring propeller faded into the distance, growing fainter and finally vanishing. Only then did Chen Jue relax.

Still, the noise had made him more cautious. Clearly, from now on he’d have to be extra vigilant when diving, making sure not only that no one was around but also checking for boats passing overhead. If a vessel glided above in daylight, the light might expose his training underwater, and that would be hard to explain. Even at night, a searchlight could just about penetrate these forty meters of clear water.

“I’ll have to be on guard against anglers from now on,” he thought. “If a boat parks right above me, no matter how long I can hold my breath, I won’t outlast those fishermen’s patience.”

Mind made up, he finished another twenty minutes of practice, emerged with the stone sphere, and made his way unhurriedly back to the villa.

...

The white fishing boat, bathed in moonlight, circled the tip of the island and, after more than twenty minutes, finally docked at the small pier near the fishing village. Laughing and talking, the young men tossed the anchor, tied the mooring rope to the iron post, and disembarked. They made plans to return home for a shower before heading out for a late-night barbecue and drinks, then each set off in his own direction.

The dark-skinned helmsman made his way across the pier, took the path by the beach, and strolled back to his family’s cluster of small guest villas.

Most of the lights in the villas were out, except for the first one—his own—and the last, both still aglow. He couldn’t help but grin. “Still got guests after summer break? Business is good!”

He pushed open the door to the first villa and, seeing his parents watching TV in the living room, called out, “Dad! Mom!”

His mother, delighted to see her eldest son home, hurried over, hugging him, cupping his face in her hands, fussing, “My boy! You’ve gone so thin out there! Go take a shower—there’s hot food waiting, and your bed is all made.”

His father offered him a cigarette, asked about the trip, and, while his son ate after showering, filled him in on the family’s affairs.

When he heard that the last villa had been rented out for another month, the young man was all smiles, praising their good business.

But when his father mentioned that the guest in the last villa had caught an eight-jin wild yellow croaker in the waters off the back cliffs, the young man’s eyes widened in disbelief, almost dropping his chopsticks.

“Dad! Seriously?”
“An eight-jin golden croaker?”
“He’s struck it rich overnight! Selling that fish could pay for a year’s stay here!” he muttered, feeling a twinge of envy.

Though his own work in offshore fishing was lucrative, the expenses were enormous. The boat required upkeep, fuel and supplies cost a fortune, and he had to pay the crew’s wages. If the catch was good, there was a profit; if it was only cheap fish, he’d lose money. After half a month at sea this time, the profit barely matched the value of that one fish.

“I took Chen Jue myself to sell it to Bucktooth Sun—why would I lie?” his father said. “He’s coming over for dinner tomorrow, so you can meet him. You’re both young—get to know each other.”

“Alright,” the young man agreed. A lucky guest like that was definitely worth befriending.

But recalling the strange encounter at sea, he asked his father if anyone was conducting research dives off the back cliffs.

“Diving for research at night?” his father scoffed. “No such thing! I keep an eye on the place every day; no one’s been out there.”

Now the young man was even more baffled. The only way to reach the back cliffs was along the path past their villas, so if his father said no one had gone, there could be no underwater work out there.

Could the sonar on the fishing boat really have malfunctioned?

Full of suspicion, he resolved to check the back cliffs himself in the morning. If nothing else, he’d call a few friends to try their luck fishing there—maybe they too could haul up a wild yellow croaker of eight jin.