Chapter One: The Mysterious Journey

The first time I saw this boat, I felt something was very strange.

When I saw it, it was docked at the port of Quanzhou, still some distance from the shore. It was a typical Guang-type boat, also called a Wucao, a kind of vessel very common in Fujian.

Wucao boats are all built with top-quality ironwood from Guangdong. After the iron-like wood is sawn into seven-inch-thick planks, it is boiled in a giant long pot for three days until it softens, then bent into the required shape, left to dry on the beach for three years, and finally crafted into a boat. They are a bit larger and much sturdier than the more common Fuchuan boats.

From a distance, it seemed no different from the other Wucao boats in the harbor, but as soon as you saw it, you would immediately feel a strange sensation. I believe I was not the only one who felt this way; many people queuing on the shore showed surprised expressions when they looked at this boat.

There must be something wrong with this boat somewhere, making me feel that it was different from the other Wucao boats at the dock. It looked very much like something, but I couldn't say what it was.

I am a physician, having studied medicine for more than ten years. Walking among crowds, as long as I pay attention, I can naturally distinguish who is sick and who is healthy. This is an intuition for details developed through training. In fact, people are often sensitive to things like this—when you see something, even if it appears perfectly normal on the surface, you always feel that something is off. Compared to others, my intuition is just a bit more acute.

At first, I thought maybe it was the color of the boat, or the position of the mast, that made people feel uneasy, but upon closer inspection, there was nothing out of the ordinary. I also thought perhaps it was the anxiety of about to board that was affecting my judgment, but this persistent sense of strangeness told me it was definitely not an illusion.

Under the gloomy sky, the ancient black hull of the Wucao floated quietly on the sea, exuding a strong sense of foreboding.

I felt extremely uneasy, yet at that moment, I had no choice. Because this was my only chance to escape the war and head to Nanyang. I had to board this boat.

Chapter Two: Dire Circumstances

It is now June 16th, the 29th year of the Republic of China.

Ever since Xiamen was abandoned two years ago, Japanese planes have often dropped bombs on Quanzhou. No one knows how many people have been killed in the past two years. Just this month, fires and smoke soared in Yongning and Chongwu; I heard thousands were killed and burned, and hundreds of boats were sunk. If the Nationalist Army hadn't destroyed the roads along the route when they retreated, Quanzhou would probably have fallen long ago.

In these turbulent times, even single-sailed boats were fleeing madly to the open sea, and Wucao boats, which would never have ventured out before, also set sail for the open sea. Without at least thirty silver dollars, you couldn't get on board. The most famous was the black ship before me: the Fuchang.

I remember that day, Uncle secretly counted the money and handed it to the broker, then turned back to comfort me: "Brian Carter, don't worry. The Fuchang is a bit bumpy, but the captain, Mr. Carter, is a formidable man. When he was young, he could kill a bull with a single kick. As long as you get on the boat, there's nothing to worry about." Then he handed me a nickel coin worth one fen, with the character "蛟" stamped on it, telling me to use it to board the boat.

At that time, I didn't know what Mr. Carter being able to kill a bull with one kick had to do with going overseas, but I knew Uncle probably couldn't find any other reason to reassure me. After he finished speaking, he walked back ahead of me, step by step, and as I watched his aging figure, my mood became sluggish and heavy.

I didn't understand why Uncle said that, nor did I have any particular expectations about the Fuchang. It wasn't until three days ago, when I returned to Quanyong Hall and found the pharmacy deserted, that I vaguely had a thought. I searched all over Quanzhou and finally heard from a clerk that Uncle had boarded the "Anqing" of Taiji Trading Company two days earlier. In the clerk's silence, I finally understood—I had been abandoned once again. The "Anqing" was a large steamer owned by a British merchant, sailing once every half month, with tickets costing two hundred silver dollars, and they didn't accept paper money.

And what did two hundred silver dollars mean at that time? Even if we sold our entire pharmacy, we might only get a little over a hundred. For Uncle to get on that ship, he must have spent all his money. Uncle was an honest man. When he could only buy one life-saving ticket, I could imagine how anxious he must have felt when he took me to pay for the Guang-type boat ticket.