After a long while, Zhou Xubai gave a slight nod.
“Then stay.”
After speaking, he lifted his enamel mug and took a sip of water. Through the rising steam, Shen Zhiyi thought she saw the corner of his lips curve very faintly, a shallow arc so slight it was almost imperceptible.
But it was there.
The stove crackled, sending out a few sparks.
Shen Zhiyi returned to the table and continued mending. The needle passed through the fabric with soft rustling sounds, blending with the distant rhythm of the waves to become the background of the night.
Leaning on his crutch, Zhou Xubai walked to the door and pushed it open. The night wind rushed in, carrying the salty tang of the sea and the faint smell of cooking smoke from the distant fishing village.
He looked out at the sea in the darkness for a long time before speaking softly.
“Tomorrow, I will teach you how to read the clouds.”
Shen Zhiyi looked up and saw his figure standing in the doorway. Outside lay the pitch black sea and sky, inside the dim yellow lamplight and the warmth of the stove.
He stood on that threshold, half in the light, half in the dark.
“Alright,” she replied, lowering her head as a faint smile curved her lips.
The needle and thread moved through her fingers, the patch gradually taking shape. On the coarse military uniform, the torn hole was slowly filled with tight stitches, like new flesh growing over a healed wound.
The night deepened.
The waves continued, one after another.
But the light inside the tin shack remained on until very late.
Before the morning mist had fully lifted, Shen Zhiyi was already standing in front of a low house at the eastern end of the village.
The owner was a widow in her fifties, surnamed Lin. Everyone on the island called her Granny Lin. Her husband and son had both died in a typhoon ten years ago, leaving her alone to guard two stone houses and make a living weaving fishing nets.
Secretary Chen had come by yesterday and said, “If you want to learn net weaving, go find Granny Lin. She has the best skills on the island, and the worst temper.”
Shen Zhiyi knocked three times before shuffling footsteps sounded from inside.
The door opened a crack, revealing a face lined with wrinkles. Granny Lin narrowed her eyes and sized her up from head to toe.
“You are the one staying in Zhou Xubai’s place?” Her voice was hoarse.
“Yes. My name is Shen Zhiyi. I want to learn net weaving from you.”
Granny Lin said nothing, continuing to look her over for a moment before slowly opening the door. “Come in.”
The room was even more rudimentary than Zhou Xubai’s tin shack, yet it was neat and orderly. More than a dozen finished fishing nets hung on the walls, each varying in size but with mesh so even it looked as if measured by a ruler. Bundles of palm rope and nylon thread were piled on the ground, and several wooden shuttles rested in the corner, some polished smooth with use, others still new.
“Sit.” Granny Lin pointed to a low stool by the wall and sat down herself in a worn rattan chair, picking up a shuttle. “Watch carefully. I will only teach this once.”
Shen Zhiyi hurriedly sat down, staring intently at those thin, weathered hands without blinking.
Granny Lin’s fingers were thick at the joints, her fingertips covered in calluses, yet her movements were remarkably nimble. The shuttle moved through the threads, threading, looping, and pulling, and a mesh formed. Her rhythm was not fast but steady, each movement practiced countless times, precise without a trace of excess.
“Did you understand?” Granny Lin stopped.
Shen Zhiyi shook her head honestly. “It was too fast.”
Granny Lin snorted and tossed the shuttle into her arms. “Try it yourself.”
Imitating her, Shen Zhiyi picked up a nylon thread and tried to guide it through. The loose end was soft and uncooperative, and it took her three attempts before she managed to thread it.
“Clumsy,” Granny Lin remarked.
Shen Zhiyi said nothing and continued. After threading the shuttle, she began winding the thread. The first loop was too loose, the second tangled, and by the third, the shuttle slipped from her hand and fell to the ground with a sharp sound.
Granny Lin picked it up and placed it back in her hand. “Continue.”
From morning until noon, Shen Zhiyi repeated the same motions, threading, winding, tightening. The rough nylon thread rubbed her fingers red, and two blisters formed between her thumb and forefinger, aching sharply at the slightest touch.
By the time the sun reached its peak, a palm sized piece of net finally lay before her. The mesh was uneven, some tight, some loose, crooked like the staggering steps of a drunk.
Granny Lin came over, glanced at it, and said nothing. She simply picked up a pair of scissors and snipped several times, cutting the entire piece apart.
“Weave it again.”
Looking at the scattered threads on the ground, Shen Zhiyi bit her lip and picked up the shuttle once more.
This time she worked more slowly, careful with each loop, striving for evenness. But the blisters on her fingers burst, and blood seeped onto the nylon thread, leaving dark red stains. She secretly wiped it with the corner of her clothes and continued.
By evening, the second piece was finished. It was slightly better than the first, though still uneven.
This time, Granny Lin did not cut it. She lifted the net and held it against the light. The setting sun filtered through the mesh, casting mottled patterns across her face.
“Do you know why we weave nets?” she suddenly asked.
Shen Zhiyi paused. “To catch fish?”
“It is to live. If the net is even, the fish cannot escape. If the fish do not escape, people can eat. On this island, the men go out to sea, the women weave nets, that is how things are.”
She turned to look at Shen Zhiyi. “Your hands are clumsy, but your mind is careful. Come again tomorrow.”
When Shen Zhiyi left Granny Lin’s house, it was already dark. She spread her palms and looked at the two burst blisters, swollen and burning with pain.
Yet there was a faint, indescribable joy in her heart. Granny Lin had said “come again tomorrow,” which meant she was willing to teach her.
When she returned to the tin shack, Zhou Xubai was cooking porridge on the stove. The pot held thin rice soup with a few vegetable leaves floating in it. Hearing her footsteps, he turned to look.
“What happened to your hands?”
Instinctively, Shen Zhiyi hid them behind her back. “It is nothing.”
Zhou Xubai did not press further. He simply filled a bowl and handed it to her. “Eat!”
They sat at the table and drank the porridge in silence. It was so thin that the grains could be counted, but the warmth eased some of the chill in her body. Shen Zhiyi sipped carefully, trying not to touch the rim of the bowl, as the blisters throbbed with pain.
“Granny Lin agreed to teach you?” Zhou Xubai suddenly asked.
Shen Zhiyi nodded. “Yes. I will go again tomorrow.”
“She has a strange temper and speaks harshly, but her skills are real. A third of the nets on this island are either made by her or taught by her.”
Shen Zhiyi looked up at him. The kerosene lamp cast a soft yellow glow over his face, and the scar seemed gentler in the light and shadow. She suddenly recalled what Secretary Chen had said about fishing gear. If she could learn to weave nets, perhaps she could help Zhou Xubai obtain a set.
“I want to learn quickly. Once I do, I can weave nets for work points, and also…”
“And help me get fishing gear?” Zhou Xubai finished for her.
Shen Zhiyi pressed her lips together but did not deny it.
Zhou Xubai set down his bowl and looked at her. “You do not have to push yourself this hard.”
“I do,” Shen Zhiyi met his gaze. “If I eat someone else’s food and live under their roof, I do not want to take it for free.”
Zhou Xubai was silent for a long time, so long that the porridge was nearly cold before he finally nodded.
“As you wish.”
That night, Shen Zhiyi lay on the wooden bed, unable to sleep. Waves of pain came from the blisters on her hands. She got up, lit the kerosene lamp, and rummaged through her bundle for a needle and thread, intending to pierce the blisters and drain them. It was a home remedy her father had taught her. After pricking them, she would apply some plant ash, and they would heal faster.
She held the needle over the flame, about to act, when a muffled groan suddenly came from outside.
Very low, suppressed, yet in the stillness of the night, it was unmistakably clear.
Shen Zhiyi froze, listening carefully. The sound of the sea breeze, the waves, and… restrained breathing.
She quietly got out of bed and walked to the door, peering through the crack.