Tavish Island appeared at dawn just as Hassan had predicted—a much larger island than the previous ones, with a bustling harbor even in the earliest hours.
Ships of various sizes were anchored at the long docks. Warehouses stood along the shore, filled with goods for trade. And most notably—people of different races and cultures moved with clear purpose, speaking different languages, dressed in styles that reflected their diverse origins.
"Tavish is a trade hub for the outer archipelagos," Hassan explained as they anchored. "The last busy place before entering the truly remote areas. We'll spend at least three days here—selling cargo, buying supplies, repairing the ship."
He looked at the crew gathered on deck. "You all have tasks. Zahir, you organize the cargo sales with the local merchants. Bashir, check all the ropes and sails—replace any that are worn. Idris, help with the supply inventory."
Then he looked at Li Yuan. "You're coming with me to the shipyard. The hull needs to be checked after passing through the convergence zone yesterday. There might be damage that isn't visible from above."
Li Yuan nodded. He had been sailing with them for almost a month but most of his work had been light—helping Bashir with the sails, fetching water, keeping night watch. This would be the first day he worked on something more substantial.
The Tavish shipyard was not like the modern facilities Li Yuan had seen in the large ports on the northern mainland. It was a simple operation—a wooden dock built over shallow water, with a manual pulley system to lift ships out of the water.
The owner—a large man with skin as dark as burned wood and muscles that showed decades of physical labor—greeted Hassan with the familiarity of people who had done business together for a long time.
"Hassan! It's been a year since you were last here." His voice was deep and loud, with an accent Li Yuan didn't recognize. "Does your ship need repairs or just an inspection?"
Within the ten-meter radius, Li Yuan heard this man's intention—direct honesty, pride in his work, and a genuine respect for Hassan. There was no intention to deceive or unfairly raise the price.
"An inspection first, Kofi. We passed through a convergence zone yesterday. The ship was rocking hard but nothing seemed broken from above."
Kofi whistled softly. "Convergence zone? You're a brave man, old friend. Alright, let's take a look."
He called two workers—young men with thin bodies but rough hands from work—and they began the process of lifting the Seafarer's Star out of the water using the complex pulley system.
"You," Kofi pointed to Li Yuan. "Are you strong? We need an extra hand on the pulley."
"Strong enough," Li Yuan answered simply.
"Good. Join them." Kofi pointed to the two workers who had already started pulling on the thick ropes connected to the pulley.
Li Yuan took a position next to one of the workers—a young man with brown skin and watchful eyes. Within the ten-meter radius, he heard this youth's skepticism—doubting whether a traveler with clean clothes and hands that didn't look rough could really help with the heavy physical work.
But Li Yuan wasn't offended. He had lived long enough to know that first judgments were often wrong, and the only way to change them was through action, not words.
The rope in his hands was thick and rough. The pulley creaked as they began to pull in a synchronized rhythm—pull, hold, pull, hold. The ship's weight transitioned from the water to the lifting system, and each pull required consistent strength.
Li Yuan pulled with an efficient motion. His awareness body—though it didn't have physical muscles in the same way as a normal human body—had been understood well enough that he could replicate the required strength. Not excessively—he didn't want to attract attention—but enough to carry his fair share of the load.
After a few minutes, the young man beside him glanced over with a changed expression. Within the ten-meter radius, Li Yuan heard the skepticism shift to a reluctant respect. This traveler could actually work.
"My name is Yaro," the young man finally said when they took a short break. Sweat streamed down his forehead, his breathing slightly heavy.
"Li Yuan."
"You don't look like a sailor."
"I'm not. Just a passenger working for my passage."
Yaro nodded in understanding. "But you know how to pull a rope. A lot of passengers are useless for physical work."
"I've done many kinds of work in my life," Li Yuan answered simply. "Pulling a rope isn't too different from pulling a net, or lifting a log, or working a rice field."
Yaro smiled—a slightly bitter but not humorless smile that showed his slightly uneven teeth. "You talk like a man who has lived many lives."
If only you knew, Li Yuan thought but didn't say.
They returned to work, and within an hour, the Seafarer's Star was fully lifted from the water, hanging in the dock like a large, captured fish.
The inspection began with Kofi and Hassan walking around the hull, examining every part with trained eyes and hands that sought out cracks or damage that weren't visible.
Li Yuan and Yaro were tasked with cleaning the moss and barnacles stuck to the bottom of the ship—a monotonous but important job to maintain the ship's speed and efficiency.
They worked with rough brushes and small knives, scraping off the growth that had accumulated during weeks at sea.
"How long have you worked here?" Li Yuan asked as he scraped a barnacle stuck hard to the wood.
"Five years. Since my father died and I had to take over." Yaro paused to wipe sweat. "It wasn't the job I dreamed of as a child, but it feeds the family."
Within the ten-meter radius, Li Yuan heard the intention behind the words—not a complaint but an acceptance. Yaro had learned to find satisfaction in responsibility, even if it wasn't a path he chose himself.
"What did you dream of?"
Yaro laughed—a voice that was a little bitter but not without humor. "I wanted to be a navigator. To sail to distant places, make maps, find new islands." He shrugged. "But dreams don't pay debts or buy rice."
"Not always," Li Yuan agreed. "But sometimes the path we don't choose takes us to a place we couldn't have reached with the path we dreamed of."
Yaro looked at him with a curious expression. "What do you mean?"
"You're learning about ships in a way a navigator will never learn. You understand how they're built, how they break, how to fix them. That's valuable knowledge—perhaps more valuable than just reading a map."
Li Yuan continued scraping the barnacles. "And who knows? Five years from now, you might find a way to combine this work with your navigation dreams. Or you might find a new dream that fits who you are now."
Yaro was silent for a moment, digesting the words. "You talk like a wise man."
"I'm just someone who has been around long enough to see that paths are rarely straight, and sometimes the turns we don't want take us to better destinations than we imagined."
They worked in a comfortable silence after that, their hands moving with a steady rhythm, their minds pondering the shared words.
At midday, Kofi called them for a break. Food was served under a canopy—simple rice with salted fish and boiled vegetables, but after the hard physical work, it tasted like a feast.
Hassan joined them after finishing the inspection. "Good news—no serious damage. A few planks need to be reinforced, and the sealant in a few joints needs to be replaced, but it's a one-day job."
Kofi nodded with satisfaction. "You're lucky. A convergence zone can tear a hull to pieces if you're not careful."
"I'm always careful," Hassan answered with a faint smile.
Kofi looked at Li Yuan. "This passenger of yours is a good worker. Yaro said he didn't complain and pulled with full strength."
Hassan looked at Li Yuan with a slightly surprised but pleased expression. "I don't doubt it. Li Yuan doesn't seem like the kind of person to complain about hard work."
Within the ten-meter radius, Li Yuan heard Hassan's intention—a genuine appreciation and also an increasing curiosity. This captain was becoming aware that his passenger was more than he seemed on the surface.
After eating, the work continued. Li Yuan and Yaro were tasked with helping to replace the damaged planks—a job that required precision and strength.
Li Yuan held the new plank while Yaro and the other worker hammered in nails with heavy mallets. Each blow echoed, and Li Yuan had to keep the plank stable against the impact force.
"Hold on tight!" Yaro shouted as he hammered in the last nail.
Li Yuan held with perfect stability—not moving even when the mallet hit with full force. His awareness body didn't feel fatigue in the same way a physical body would, and he could maintain the position with a consistency that would be difficult for a normal human.
Yaro noticed. "You're very stable. Like a rock."
"Practice," Li Yuan answered simply—an explanation that wasn't entirely a lie but didn't reveal the full truth.
They worked until the sun began to set. Six planks were replaced, sealant was applied to twenty joints, and the hull was cleaned until it shone like new.
Kofi circled the ship with a critical eye, then nodded with satisfaction. "Good. The ship is ready for the sea again tomorrow if you want."
Hassan paid with a gold coin—a fair price for quality work. "Thank you, Kofi. As usual, your work is perfect."
"And thanks to your passenger," Kofi pointed to Li Yuan. "He saved us half a day's work with that strength and stability."
Hassan looked at Li Yuan with a faint but sincere smile. "It seems I'm lucky with my passenger this time."
That evening, the crew gathered at a tavern near the harbor—a tradition after a hard day's work and before sailing again. The place was full of sailors from various ships, speaking different languages, sharing stories and complaints.
Li Yuan sat in a corner with Hassan, Zahir, Bashir, and Idris. Local beer—a little bitter but refreshing—was served in large wooden mugs.
"To the convergence zone we passed!" Zahir raised his mug.
"And to a hull that didn't crack!" Bashir added with a rare smile.
They drank together, and within the ten-meter radius, Li Yuan heard the crew's relief and joy. They had passed a great challenge, worked hard today, and now they were celebrating in a simple way that made their bond stronger.
"Li Yuan," Hassan said after a gulp of his beer. "Kofi was very impressed. He said you worked like a man who's done physical labor his whole life."
"I've done many kinds of work," Li Yuan answered—the same answer he had given Yaro.
"But you never complained. Never asked for an extra break. Never looked tired even after a full day's work." Hassan looked at him with eyes that tried to read the riddle. "That's unusual."
Within the ten-meter radius, Li Yuan heard Hassan's intention—not hostile suspicion but genuine curiosity. This captain wanted to understand who his passenger really was, but also respected privacy and wouldn't force an answer.
"I've learned to find a rhythm in work," Li Yuan answered carefully. "When you don't fight the work but flow with it, the fatigue lessens."
"Like water," Bashir said—an observation that had become a kind of mantra between them.
"Like water," Li Yuan admitted with a faint smile.
Hassan nodded in acceptance, not pushing further. He raised his mug again. "Then I drink to Li Yuan's philosophy—to work like water flows, without resistance but with constant strength."
They drank again, and the conversation shifted to plans for the next two days in Tavish—what supplies needed to be bought, which merchants were the most honest, which tavern had the best food.
But Li Yuan noticed—within the ten-meter radius—that the crew's intention towards him had shifted. Before, they saw him as a polite but mysterious passenger. Now, they saw him as part of the crew—someone who was willing to work hard, who didn't complain, who could be relied upon when heavy work had to be done.
A respect that was not asked for but earned through action.
And that, Li Yuan mused as he listened to the crew's laughter and stories, was the best way to be accepted into any community.
Not with words or status or an excessive demonstration of power.
But with a willingness to work together, to carry a fair share of the burden, to be part of the collective rhythm that makes a ship—or any community—function.
A lesson he had learned thousands of times in thousands of different communities.
But one that never lost its truth or relevance.
Because in the end, despite all cultural, linguistic, or racial differences, humans value the same things: honesty in effort, reliability in action, and a willingness to contribute to the common good.
And that was an understanding that didn't require spiritual cultivation or supernatural power to achieve.
Just a willingness to see, to hear, and to work with the same hands that have built civilizations since the beginning of time.