The air was thick with the pungent smell of brine and rotting seaweed. It was a suffocating scent, vastly different from the sterile, recycled air of a modern office.
Zhao Xu opened his eyes, his head throbbing as if someone had struck him with a hammer. He stared at the rotting wooden beams above him, covered in spiderwebs. *Where am I?* He tried to sit up, but a wave of dizziness forced him back down onto the hard, earthen bed.
"Father... are you awake?"
A timid voice broke the silence. Zhao Xu turned his head sharply, a mistake that sent another spike of pain through his skull. Standing by the bedside was a young girl, no older than fifteen. Her face was sallow, her cheekbones prominent against pale skin. Her clothes were little more than rags, patched in dozens of places. Behind her, peeking out from a tattered curtain, were several pairs of eyes—wide, fearful, and hollow.
*Father?*
A flood of memories not his own rushed into his mind like a tidal wave. Zhao Dazhu. A fisherman in Qingshui Village, Great Chu Dynasty. A man known for his laziness, his addiction to gambling, and his recent death from a drunken fall.
Zhao Xu gasped, his heart racing. He had transmigrated.
He looked at the girl again. *Zhao Yiniang.* The memories supplied the name. The eldest daughter. A girl who had shouldered the burden of raising her seven siblings after her mother died giving birth to the twins two years ago.
"Yiniang," Zhao Xu croaked, his throat dry. "Water."
The girl flinched, seemingly surprised he wasn't cursing or demanding money. She quickly fetched a cracked clay bowl filled with murky water.
Zhao Xu drank greedily. The water was stale, but it cleared his mind. He pushed himself up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He looked at his hands—calloused, rough, and stained with dirt. They were not the hands of an office worker.
"Where are your brothers?" Zhao Xu asked, his voice gaining strength.
"Second and Third brothers went to the beach to dig for clams," Yiniang whispered, keeping her head low. "They... they hoped to find something to trade for rice. The twins... they are crying from hunger."
Zhao Xu felt a sharp pang in his chest, an amalgamation of the body's residual emotions and his own modern conscience. He stood up, stumbling slightly. The room was sparse—a broken table, three-legged stools, and a pile of straw in the corner where the children slept.
He walked to the door and stepped out. The sunlight was blinding. Before him lay a chaotic yard, overgrown with weeds. Beyond the yard, the vast, endless ocean stretched to the horizon. The roar of the waves was deafening to a man used to city traffic.
Three small figures sat in the dirt near the house. A ten-year-old girl—Sanniang—was trying to soothe two toddlers who were crying weakly. The toddlers, the twins Silang and Wulang, were pitifully thin, their bellies swollen from malnutrition.
*This is my life now,* Zhao Xu thought, a bitter taste in his mouth. *A gambler, a widow, a father of eight starving children.*
"Dalang!" a shrill voice pierced the air.
Zhao Xu turned to see an old woman marching into the yard, followed by a portly middle-aged woman. It was his mother, Old Madame Zhao, and his Second Sister-in-law.
"Dazhu, you lazy good-for-nothing!" Old Madame Zhao shouted, her face twisted in a scowl. "You're finally awake? Good! Get up and go to the docks. Your Second Brother needs help carrying his books to the Academy. And bring back some fish! The family needs to eat!"
Zhao Xu stared at them. The memories told him everything. This woman had separated the family, giving the original Dazhu this dilapidated shack on the worst land, while she lived in the main brick house with his Second Brother—the "Scholar" who was the family's pride and joy.
"Dazhu, are you deaf?" Second Sister-in-law sneered. "Don't think you can laze around just because you fell. You still owe the gambling den two taels of silver. If you don't work, we'll sell the twins to cover the interest!"
A cold glint appeared in Zhao Xu's eyes. He looked at the two women. In his past life, he was a manager who dealt with difficult clients daily. He knew how to handle bullies.
"Get out," Zhao Xu said. His voice was low, but it carried a strange authority.
Old Madame Zhao froze. "What did you say?"
"I said, get out of my yard," Zhao Xu stepped forward, his tall frame casting a shadow over them. "The separation agreement was signed. I am the eldest, yet I live in this shack while you feast in the main house. From today on, don't come here demanding food or labor. If you touch my children..." He clenched his fist. "...I will drag your precious Scholar to the yamen for fraud."
The two women were stunned. They had never seen the cowardly, submissive Dazhu like this.
"You... you unfilial son!" Old Madame Zhao sputtered, but she took a step back. "Fine! Don't come crying to us when you starve! Come, let's go."
They turned and left, cursing under their breath.
Zhao Xu let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. He turned back to see his children staring at him with wide, shocked eyes.
"Father?" Yiniang asked, fear mixed with hope.
Zhao Xu walked over to the toddlers. He knelt, his knees aching on the hard dirt. He picked up one of the twins—Silang. The child was light as a feather, trembling in his arms.
"Don't cry," Zhao Xu said softly, patting the child's back. "Father is here. I'm not the same."
He looked up at the sky. The sun was high. It was time to work.
"Yiniang, watch the little ones," Zhao Xu said, rolling up his sleeves. "I'm going to the beach."
"Father, you're still injured," Yiniang cried out.
"Wait for me," he said, a determined smile on his face. "I'll bring back dinner."
He walked out of the yard, not towards the docks where the fishermen sold their catch, but towards the mangroves at the edge of the village. The memories of the original host were vague on techniques, but Zhao Xu had watched countless documentaries on survival fishing. He knew the ecosystem of mangroves. Crabs, mudskippers, and fish trapped in tidal pools.
He had no net. He had no boat. He had no bait.
He stopped by a pile of discarded construction wood near the village edge. He found a sturdy, straight branch. Using a sharp rock, he whittled one end into a point. It was crude, but it was a start.
Reaching the mangroves, the mud sucked at his feet. The air was humid and filled with the sound of clicking fiddler crabs.
Zhao Xu waded into the water. He didn't move rashly. He stood still, blending into the environment. He spotted movement—a flash of silver. A Mud Crab, large and aggressive, scuttled near a root.
*Slowly...* Zhao Xu focused. The modern office worker was gone; the survivor had emerged.
*Splash!*
His hand moved like lightning. The wooden spear struck true, pinning the crab against the mud. It was a large one, easily weighing two catties.
Zhao Xu grinned, his stomach growling. It wasn't a fortune, but it was a start.
He spent the next three hours in the mangroves. It was back-breaking work. He slipped, cut his hands on oysters, and was bitten by mosquitoes, but he didn't stop. By the time the tide began to rise, he had three crabs and a string of Catfish he had managed to spear in a shallow pool.
It wasn't a "big catch," but for a man who had nothing, it was life.
He trudged back home, the smell of fish replacing the smell of despair. As he approached the shack, he saw two young men running towards him—Dalang and Erlang. They looked tired, their faces smeared with mud, holding a small basket with only a handful of tiny clams.
"Father!" Dalang shouted, stopping in his tracks. He stared at the string of fish and crabs in Zhao Xu's hand. "You... you caught these?"
Zhao Xu looked at his sons. Strong, young men reduced to skin and bones because of his past self.
"I did," Zhao Xu said, handing the catch to Erlang. "Clean them. Tonight, we eat."
He walked past them into the house. He looked at his family—eight children, one father. A fire ignited in his heart.
*I will not let them starve,* he promised. *I will build a boat. I will conquer the sea. And I will make those who looked down on us regret it.*
"Father," little Silang tugged at his pants, looking up with big eyes. "Hungry."
Zhao Xu picked him up. "Food is coming, son. From now on, we will never be hungry again."
That night, the dilapidated shack of the Zhao family was filled with the aroma of fish soup for the first time in years. It was a simple meal, just fish and water, but to the children, it tasted like heaven. Zhao Xu watched them eat, planning his next move.
Tomorrow, he would go deeper. Tomorrow, the real fishing would begin.