“I already did. I mentioned it to Secretary Chen the day before yesterday, and he said I was ‘spreading rumors and disrupting production.’ Yesterday I ran into a few old fishermen and told them too. They laughed and said, ‘A cripple thinks he can play prophet.'”
He looked at Shen Zhiyi, the corners of his lips lifting into a bitter smile.
“Shen Zhiyi, on this island, I’m the odd one out. And no one believes what an odd man says.”
Shen Zhiyi parted her lips, but no words came out.
She thought of the gossiping women by the well, of the evasive look in Secretary Chen’s eyes, and of the complicated expressions the villagers wore whenever they looked at Zhou Xubai. There was respect, but even more than that there was distance, an invisible barrier that said, he’s not one of us.
So what if he was a war hero?
His missing leg, his eccentric personality, his solitary life on the reef cliffs, and those incomprehensible Russian books and nautical charts had all become walls separating him from the villagers.
“Then what do we do? Just… stand by and watch?” Shen Zhiyi heard her own voice trembling.
Zhou Xubai said nothing.
He lowered his head and continued flipping through the weather records, his pencil moving steadily across the page as though verifying something, or perhaps trying to avoid something.
Shen Zhiyi looked at him.
She looked at the man who had once saved lives on the battlefield, yet now couldn’t save the fishermen.
She looked at his tightly furrowed brows, his firmly pressed lips, and the hand that trembled ever so slightly as it held the pencil.
Suddenly, she stood up.
“I’ll tell them.”
Zhou Xubai looked up.
“What?”
“I’ll go tell the villagers in my own name. I’ll just say… I’ll say I figured it out by observing the weather. I’m the advisor for the fishing net weaving group. They’ll believe me.”
“Have you lost your mind? Secretary Chen already said this counts as spreading rumors! If no typhoon comes, you’ll be the one held responsible!” Zhou Xubai stood as well, leaning on his crutch as he walked over to her.
“But what if it does come? If the typhoon hits, the boats are destroyed, and people die, I’ll never be able to sleep peacefully for the rest of my life!”
She met his gaze without flinching.
The two of them stared at each other, neither willing to back down.
After a long silence, Zhou Xubai looked away.
His eyes drifted toward the sea as he spoke quietly.
“Do as you wish.”
Shen Zhiyi turned and hurried away. After taking a few steps, she looked back.
“Give me your records.”
Zhou Xubai hesitated for a moment before tearing out several pages from the notebook and handing them to her. Shen Zhiyi accepted them, folded them carefully, tucked them into her pocket, and left the weather station without another word.
She walked quickly, almost running all the way back to the village.
Her first stop was Granny Lin’s house.
The women were still weaving fishing nets in the courtyard. Seeing Shen Zhiyi rush in, pale and breathless, they all stopped what they were doing.
“Little Shen, what’s wrong? Why are you so pale?”
After catching her breath, Shen Zhiyi took the weather records from her pocket.
“Granny, Aunties, listen to me. Three days from now, on the twenty-fifth, a typhoon will hit. A very powerful one.”
The courtyard fell silent for a brief moment.
Then everyone started talking at once.
“A typhoon? At this time of year?”
“Little Shen, did someone fill your head with nonsense?”
“Oh dear, don’t say things like that carelessly. You’ll get yourself into trouble!”
Shen Zhiyi raised the papers in her hand.
“I’m not making this up! I… I calculated it! Look. These are the tidal records, the wind speed, and the atmospheric pressure. Every piece of data points to the twenty-fifth!”
The women exchanged uncertain glances.
None of them understood the figures on the pages, but the urgency on Shen Zhiyi’s face was unmistakably real.
Granny Lin set down her shuttle, walked over, and took the papers from Shen Zhiyi. Squinting, she studied them for a long time before finally looking up.
“You really calculated this yourself?”
Shen Zhiyi clenched her teeth.
“Yes.”
“How do you know how to calculate something like this?”
“My… My father taught me. He was a carpenter, but he also knew how to read the weather. He taught me.”
Shen Zhiyi lied, but at this moment, she had no choice.
Granny Lin lowered her eyes to the papers again, remaining silent for a long while.
Everyone in the courtyard watched her, waiting for her decision.
At last, Granny Lin spoke.
“I believe Little Shen.”
“Granny! If there’s no typhoon, then we’ll all be guilty of spreading rumors!” someone protested anxiously.
“Then let it be my rumor. You’ve all seen Little Shen’s weaving skills since she arrived on the island. She’s not someone who speaks recklessly.”
She turned back to Shen Zhiyi.
“What do you want us to do?”
Warmth surged through Shen Zhiyi’s chest, her eyes growing slightly moist.
“Tell the men in your families not to go out to sea on the twenty-fifth. If they’re already out fishing, have them come back before then if they can.”
The women looked at one another, hesitating.
“How about this? My husband is leaving tomorrow. I’ll tell him to come back on the twenty-fourth. We’ll… we’ll do it as a favor to Little Shen,” the round-faced woman said first.
“My family will do the same.”
“I… I’ll try talking to mine too.”
One after another, more than half the women in the courtyard nodded in agreement.
After thanking each of them sincerely, Shen Zhiyi hurried off to the next household.
She went to Secretary Chen’s home, but he wasn’t there. His wife listened before curling her lips dismissively.
“Little Shen, I’m not criticizing you, but this is all just speculation…”
Shen Zhiyi didn’t argue. She simply turned around and left.
She visited several elderly fishermen.
Some shook their heads immediately, saying, “What does a little girl know?”
Others were doubtful, replying, “We’ll wait and see.”
Only one elderly fisherman, surnamed Zheng, listened carefully. After hearing Shen Zhiyi’s explanation, he studied the weather records for a long time, deep in thought.
“This method of calculation…” Old Zheng stroked the stubble on his chin. “I feel like I’ve seen it somewhere before. Back in the sixties, Old Liu from the weather station used to calculate things exactly like this.”
He raised his head and looked at Shen Zhiyi.
“You really calculated this yourself?”
Her heart pounded furiously, but she still nodded.
“Yes.”
Old Zheng sighed softly.
“Fine, I’ll believe you this once. Let’s just say… it’s out of respect for Master Shen.”
By the time Shen Zhiyi left Old Zheng’s house, night had already fallen.
Dragging her exhausted body, she made her way back to the tin house.
She had spent the entire day running across half the village, repeating the same warning over and over again while facing one skeptical expression after another.
Some believed her. Some didn’t.
She had no idea whether it would be enough, or whether even a few boats and a few lives could still be saved.
When she returned to the tin house, Zhou Xubai was already home.
He sat at the table with the weather record book spread open before him. He wasn’t writing anything, only staring blankly at the flickering kerosene lamp.
Hearing the door open, he looked up.
Their eyes met, but neither of them spoke.
After a long while, Shen Zhiyi sat down beside the table and said softly,
“I told them. Some believed me, and some didn’t.”
Zhou Xubai nodded without saying anything. He simply filled a bowl with porridge and pushed it toward her.
“Eat.”
The porridge was still warm, clearly reheated after it had gone cold.
Shen Zhiyi picked up the bowl and drank it in small mouthfuls.
It was thin and watery, yet she ate it slowly, savoring every bite as though it were the finest delicacy.
“Why… Did you do that?”
Zhou Xubai suddenly broke the silence.
Shen Zhiyi paused, her chopsticks stopping in midair as she looked at him.
“You lied. Your father never taught you those calculations, and those records weren’t yours. You could have simply said I calculated them. If it turned out to be wrong, I’d be the one taking the blame.”
His gaze was deep and searching.
After a moment of silence, Shen Zhiyi replied softly,
“But if it turns out to be right, then the credit should belong to you too.”
Zhou Xubai froze.
“Zhou Xubai, you’re not an odd man. You just… aren’t very good with words. But everything you say and everything you do is right.”
She looked at him, her eyes shimmering in the lamplight.
After a brief pause, her voice became even gentler.
“I want the villagers to know that you’re someone worthy of their trust.”
Zhou Xubai didn’t speak.
He simply looked at her. He looked at her for a very, very long time.
Finally, he gave a faint nod.
“Let’s eat.”
His voice was slightly hoarse.
Over the next two days, the atmosphere on the island became strangely tense.
The families who believed Shen Zhiyi began urging the men to return from sea early.
Those who didn’t believe her continued going out to fish as usual, laughing behind the backs of the “cowards” who had chosen to come home.
Shen Zhiyi continued teaching net weaving at Granny Lin’s house as always, but every conversation eventually circled back to the approaching typhoon.
“Little Shen, do you really think a typhoon is coming?”
“My husband didn’t believe it at first, but after Old Zheng spoke up, he… he finally did.”
“Oh dear… if no typhoon comes, we’ll be so embarrassed…”