Ultimate Battleship

Chapter 2

South Bay Wharf in Seahawk Town unfolds like a weathered postcard along China’s southeastern coastline.

The docks creak under the weight of fishing trawlers, their nets dripping brine as seagulls circle overhead.

In late summer, when the air is thick with salt and the waves glisten like liquid gold, the harbor teems with wooden vessels—testaments to Seahawk’s centuries-old fishing legacy.

Most townsfolk earn their bread from the sea. Their calloused hands bear scars from lobster traps, while sun-bronzed faces squint against the glare of the midday tide. For generations, their lives have been ruled by the moon’s pull and the sea’s mood.

Yet the harbor’s landscape is changing. Mid-sized trawlers now dominate the water, their steel hulls gleaming under the sun. Nie Yun’s rickety skiff, the Sea Wolf, stands as a relic—an oak-and-canvas anachronism in this age of industrial fishing.

Large fleets outfitted with sonar and hydraulic nets haul in catches tenfold his own. They return with holds full of cod and mackerel, while Nie Yun’s skiff barely yields enough to pay for fuel.

The contrast between his hand-me-down vessel and modern efficiency is stark.

Crews have offered Nie Yun lucrative jobs, drawn to his uncanny ability to read the sea.

He’s been called a "wave whisperer" for his talent in predicting storms. But he always refuses, muttering, "The Sea Wolf has seen me through tempests no modern boat could weather."

The truth runs deeper. The skiff is the last link to his late foster father, who taught him to tie knots on these very decks. Abandoning her feels like severing a limb.

As the sun dips below the horizon, painting the waves in amber, fishing boats trickle back to port. Crews laugh loudly, comparing hauls and swapping tales of the day. Their voices blend with the clatter of tackle and the distant cry of a lone seagull.

Amid this bustle, a maiden in a white sundress stands alone on a weathered pier. She stares out at the ocean, her silhouette as still as a marble statue. For hours she’s been there, unmoving, as if rooted to the splintered wood.

A sea breeze lifts her hem and tangles her hair, revealing a face so delicate it seems carved from ivory.

Her porcelain skin and quiet grace stand in sharp contrast to the rough-hewn fishermen around her.

The sailors instinctively keep their distance. They worry their gritty presence might smudge the scene’s tranquility.

Even the teenage boys nearby, smitten by her elegance, only dare furtive glances—she seems to exist in a realm beyond their sunburned world.

"Look! The Sea Wolf is taking on water!" A raspy shout shatters the calm.

All heads turn to see the skiff crawling toward the dock, black smoke billowing from its ancient engine.

It moves at a snail’s pace, listing dangerously to starboard.

Nie Yun stands on deck, frantically bailing water over the side. His movements are desperate, each dip of the bucket sending seawater cascading back into the ocean.

A gaping hole near the keel gushes like a fountain.

Just then, a mid-sized trawler pulls alongside. "Well, if it ain’t Captain Nie Yun!" a burly sailor jeers, his head wrapped in a black scarf. His beard is flecked with salt, and his eyes crinkle with amusement.

"Did a kraken attack, or did you finally hook that whale?" he calls, laughing loudly.

The crew behind him joins in, their voices carrying over the waves.

"Shut your trap, Baldy," Nie Yun gasps, tossing a rope. His arms are weary from bailing, but his aim is steady.

Liu Xiaoniu—nicknamed for his childhood baldness—chuckles but catches the line, his teasing belied by steady hands.

Their rivalry is as old as the sea itself. They’ve grown up together, competing in fishing contests and racing skiffs along the shore.

Yet they’ve also bailed each other out of more scrapes than they can count.

Baldy’s father, Uncle Liu, appears at the trawler’s rail, a pipe clamped between his teeth. Worry creases his weathered face as he scans the Sea Wolf. "You hurt, lad?" he calls, his voice gruff but concerned.

"Not a scratch, Uncle," Nie Yun lies, though his vest is torn to shreds. A jagged hole runs from his chest to his waist, as if he’s been slashed by a giant claw.

But he can’t explain the truth—that a meteor pierced him and his boat.

Uncle Liu climbs aboard the Sea Wolf, his boots thudding on the deck.

He inspects the hole and goes silent, his brow furrowing deeper. "Through the keel," he finally says, spitting into the sea. His voice is heavy with resignation.

"Even patched, she’ll leak like a sieve. Replacing the keel would mean tearing her down to the frame—costs more than building a new boat." He runs a hand over the splintered wood, shaking his head.

The words land like anchors in Nie Yun’s chest. The Sea Wolf isn’t just a boat; it’s the home where his father taught him to tie knots, the classroom where he learned the sea’s moods.

He can almost hear his father’s voice echoing in the creak of the mast.

He runs a hand over the name carved into the gunwale, the wood smooth from years of saltwater and sun.

"This boat’s got more heart than any steel hull," his father used to say. The memory brings a lump to his throat.

Baldy claps him on the shoulder, uncharacteristically quiet. His usual smirk is gone, replaced by a somber look. Uncle Liu sighs, placing a hand on Nie Yun’s shoulder. "She’s served you well, lad. Come work with me—your father would want it."

But Nie Yun shakes his head. "Just... let me spend one more night with her." His voice is hoarse, thick with emotion. He can’t imagine leaving the skiff here, alone and broken.

Alone on the dock, he sits cross-legged on the Sea Wolf’s deck. The setting sun gilds the hole in her hull, turning it into a golden wound. He traces the splinters, remembering the time his father patched a leak with tar and prayers during a storm.

"You were supposed to outlive me, old girl," he whispers.

The sea answers with a gentle lull, as if mourning alongside him. The waves lap against the hull, creating a familiar rhythm he’s known all his life.

In the distance, the maiden in white still stands, a faint figure against the twilight. For a moment, Nie Yun wonders if she, too, is saying goodbye to something.

Her presence seems like a silent omen, a witness to his loss.

He lies back, letting the Sea Wolf’s familiar creaks lull him.

The sky darkens, and stars begin to twinkle overhead. Tonight, he’ll sleep on the deck, as he did as a boy, trusting the old boat to hold him afloat one last time.