Years of running boats had bred a bad habit: when he stopped, he didn’t know what to do with himself. He felt lost. Bingyi squatted barefoot at the bow of the boat, smoking a cigarette. When he exhaled, he made an effort to straighten his neck—a habit he had developed over many years. Against Bingyi’s lean back, the setting sun dipped below the horizon, casting a few bold strokes of evening glow across the western sky, accentuating its vast loneliness.
Bingyi himself took on a glossy silhouette, backlit by the sinking sun, resembling an aging cormorant. The waves lapped against the boat, emitting a delicate farewell sound. That’s how Bingyi saw it. In two days, he wouldn’t be coming back to this dock anymore. He couldn’t squat on someone else’s boat. The girl in the windbreaker on the shore waved to him. Before he could react, she had already pressed the shutter. It was the same in the morning; he stood dazed at the bow of the boat, disoriented after waking up, and the girl in the windbreaker waved to him. He turned to look at her, and she pressed the shutter. After finishing, she waved again to express her gratitude, then rode her bike southward.
This time, after the girl in the windbreaker had finished taking pictures, she didn’t wave to thank him but continued tinkering with her camera. She wanted to take more. Bingyi remained squatted, unmoving, lighting up another cigarette. Let her take as many as she liked; he couldn’t be bothered to move. The girl in the windbreaker must have taken at least twenty shots—standing, squatting, bending, even propping her camera on her bicycle seat; stepping forward a few paces, stepping backward, slipping on the water’s edge, nearly falling into the canal.
After finishing his cigarette, the photos were taken. His daughter called out to him from the cabin again, and he responded with a grunt but remained unmoved. He heard his daughter complaining, wondering what had possessed him to be so absent-minded all day long. His younger brother was getting married the day after tomorrow, and there were a heap of tasks waiting to be done. Yet here he was, the head of the family, acting like he had nothing to do. Then came his wife’s booming voice. After spending so long on the boat, even whispering sounded like shouting through a megaphone. His wife said:
“It’s not time yet; just you wait. Once Xingchi’s wedding is over and he stops sulking at the helm, then we can talk.”
“I knew my dad was biased! When I got married, I thought he’d be happy I married into a good family, but it turns out he’s just relieved to finally have his daughter off his hands. Even though my brother is getting married, he’s still family, and his kids will still carry the Shao surname. That’s why Dad’s acting like this.”
“Do you even know your dad? He can’t bear to leave this boat.”
Bingyi stubbed out his cigarette and said, “Shut up!”
His daughter stuck her tongue out at her mother, wasting no time getting back to work. She just wanted her father to change his mindset. Even she, having been married for seven or eight years, felt a pang of sadness. The boat was their home on the water. Mother and daughter tidied up Xingchi’s wedding bed in the cabin. Silky brocade, old cotton quilts, one red bed, and one green, with dragons and phoenixes intertwining auspiciously on the quilt covers. Bright red embroidered sheets.
Bingyi was determined to make the bridal chamber on the boat up to the highest standards; whatever other families had, this boat had to have too. Wallpaper, ceiling, flooring—all new. The furniture and appliances that could fit in were also new. Xingchi and his prospective bride thought it was wasteful—just staying for one night, was it really necessary to make such a fuss? Bingyi stared fiercely; one night might just be half a night, but it had to be a lifetime’s grandeur.
It was just half a night. The first half of the night was spent drinking and celebrating in the bridal chamber, and once the relatives and friends were tired, the newlyweds entered the chamber, leaving only the latter half of the night. They would have to wake up early the next day. According to the customs on the boat, if you were lazy on the first day of marriage, it wasn’t a good sign.
After waking up, everything had to be properly arranged, all the proper etiquette observed, all the rituals performed—how to cross the threshold for the first time, how to eat the first meal—it was like a performance, going through every step meticulously. Xingchi and his bride then moved into their new house on land. It was also a bridal chamber, newly renovated, a 124-square-meter three-bedroom apartment in the Happiness Milky Way Community, Building 3, Room 306. The moving truck was already arranged.
The decision for just half a night was made decisively by Bingyi. He was firm about this household; however, he rarely gave such blunt instructions: “It will be done this way, no questions asked.” The wedding had to be held on the boat, and the boat people had to follow the boat’s customs. His son argued back, saying the boat had been sold, so who was still a boat person? Bingyi tapped the table with his chopsticks, saying each word deliberately:
“As long as I spend a day on the boat, I’m a boat person for a day! And you’re still a boat person’s son for a day!”
“The problem is our boat was transferred to someone else that day.”
“That’s none of your business.”
He wanted to talk to the buyer and postpone the ship’s handover for a few days, and if they didn’t agree, he wouldn’t sell the boat anymore. It was already cheap enough. His son and his friends had invested in a shipyard together and urgently needed money. This boat was their most valuable asset. If sold under normal circumstances, they could easily get twenty or thirty thousand more. The agreement to sell the boat had been weighing on his mind for over a month.
His wife said, “If we don’t sell it, where will the money come from? Who will run the boat with you? You’re sixty years old, still acting like a young man.” “What’s wrong with being sixty? Our ‘Tianxing’ runs just as fast as anyone else’s!” He shot his wife a sideways glance. His wife applied a little more pressure, and he groaned on the bed. Every joint in his body couldn’t bear the pressure. Due to rheumatism, any two bones in his body had started to separate long ago, and any slight movement would cause soreness. His wife massaged him. After thirty-four years of marriage, his wife had become his most reliable health therapist.
“You can’t handle even a bit of pressure, what’s wrong with you?” His wife said, applying a force that even professional doctors couldn’t comprehend. It took thirty years of constant closeness to achieve this balance. “What do you think is wrong? If our son wasn’t on the boat, just look at us, a couple in their sixties, running around this thousand-mile canal. What are we running for?”
Bingyi remained silent. Physical issues had to be acknowledged. Physical issues were age issues, and they had to be acknowledged. “A bit higher. Yes, two inches.”
His son said, “I’m not worried about this. I’m worried about the wedding.”
“You don’t have to worry about that either. We’ve taken care of everything for you. Your job is to put on your suit and shoes, tie your tie nicely, and bring our daughter-in-law into the family.”
“Home is on land. Building 3, Room 306, in the Happiness Milky Way Community.”
“No, home is on this boat. You were born on this boat, and what you saw when you opened your eyes was the boat, not some building in a community.”
“Dad, can’t you move with the times a bit?”
“Am I not keeping up with the times? Do you know how many boats I’ve changed in my lifetime? Each one is bigger, faster, and more advanced than the last. Am I not keeping up with the times? Don’t give me that.”
Like the more than twenty years he had lived with his father on the boat, Xingchi felt he had never reached a consensus with his father. He pushed away the half-eaten rice, stood up, and walked out.
He had never reached a consensus with his father, and he had never fully rebelled against him. This time, he decided to try. Soon, he would become the head of the household, just like his father. As he crossed the cabin door, he hesitated for a second because, apart from his footsteps, there was silence all around him, the sound of the canal’s water blocked out by the unexpected intrusion.
That second was enough for a vivid image to flash through his mind: his father’s chopsticks paused halfway to his mouth, but he still lowered his head, waiting, giving his unworthy son a chance; his mother, on the other hand, maintained a stiff posture, her eyes suddenly wide open, her forehead creased with worry, the woman who had been modest and gentle all her life still hadn’t reacted. Xingchi heard a loud clang in his mind, his scalp tightened instantly, and he felt as if he were exerting unprecedented strength as he lifted his right leg over the threshold, as if pulling his leg out of a quagmire. His mother finally snapped out of it and said:
“Xingchi—”
The chopsticks struck fiercely against the old locust wood dining table, one of Xingchi’s ancestors’ legacies. That year, his ancestor bought the first boat from the Shao family and personally procured all the utensils on the boat, including this locust wood dining table. After more than a century of wandering on the water, the hard locust wood had been permeated by the moisture from the canal; moss had crawled for over a hundred years and finally occupied all the parts below the table surface. His father’s voice echoed at the same time:
“Come back!”
Xingchi’s heart suddenly changed its rhythm, but just for a moment or two. He swallowed a mouthful of saliva and then returned to normal. Afterward, he jumped off the boat, unaware of what had happened after he left.
His mother set down her bowl and said, “Should I go call him back?”
“Forget it,” Bingyi said softly, pouring himself a drink. Boatmen only drank when they stopped. Bingyi took a sip, then another, and another, until the glass was empty. He set down the glass. His wife had prepared herself for the glass to be shattered, but it landed lightly. Bingyi smiled at his wife and said, “Our boy, he’s grown up.”
His wife felt a pang in her heart, tears welling up in her eyes. She laughed as if taken by surprise as if receiving an unexpected reward. She repeated her husband’s words through her tears, “Our son has grown up.”
By evening, Xingchi returned to the boat, clicking his tongue. He had smoked two packs of Taishan cigarettes in the afternoon, and his mouth was numb. He called his sister to complain about their father being too much. His sister replied, “How many years can he be too much? He spent his whole life running on the canal. The boat is his home, his life. He has already agreed to sell both his home and his life to support you in your venture.
Can’t you give him a dignified farewell ceremony?” Xingchi said, “Sis, I’ve figured it out in the time it took me to smoke two packs of cigarettes. I’ve been on this boat for over twenty years, and I understand. I’m just talking to you.” As soon as he stepped onto the boat, Xingchi smelled the aroma of braised carp, his favorite dish. The cabin lights were on, and his father was sitting at the table, the meal all set, with the braised carp placed right in the center.
“Dad, I’m back,” Xingchi said. “You can go ahead and eat.”
Bingyi replied, “We just sat down.” He turned to shout to another room, “Bring out the bottle of wine we saved from our son’s full moon celebration. I’ll have a couple of drinks with Xingchi.”
His wife raised her voice, “Drinking twice in one day?”
“Twice.”
That dinner was enjoyed thoroughly, like three grateful individuals finally meeting, none of them saying a word of thanks, but between the glasses and plates, gratitude was implicit.
The wine glass was lifted and then set down again, marking the end of a meal that had been eaten two months and six days ago. Tomorrow, the boats that needed assistance would arrive, the day after would be his son’s wedding, and in the blink of an eye, his son would be starting his own family. Sixty years had flown by just like that. How had sixty years passed day by day? Apart from empty sighs about the passage of time, Bingyi, squatting at the bow of the boat like a cormorant, couldn’t express anything deeper. This time, his wife called out to him from the cabin, discussing what gift to give when their new daughter-in-law paid respects to her in-laws. Bingyi stood up. The girl in the windbreaker had already left.
Thin mist drifted over the water, and the light was still dim, but dawn had broken. First, the watchdog, Black Panther, tied to the stern of the boat, barked loudly; a boat was approaching. This guard dog, raised by Xingchi, had ears and a nose like radar, reacting swiftly to any hint of trouble. On the water, a good dog was worth two loyal men, but once Black Panther was on board, Bingyi had never lost a single shipment, not even a piece of coal dust had ended up in a stranger’s hands.
Bingyi often thought that Xingchi was naturally cut out for this kind of life; he even had a knack for training guard dogs. Just over a year old, Black Panther had already developed a biological clock under Xingchi’s training. Every night at ten and three in the morning, it would wake up on time and patrol around the boat alone. It had exceptional balance, able to walk briskly along the narrow edge of the boat, just a hand’s width wide. But this child still insisted on going ashore. He’d say, “Dad, I can endure all the hardships of water transport, but I’m uncomfortable on land.
I always feel like I’m swaying under my feet. On the water, I feel solid and stable.” But times had changed. The benchmarks for shipping were payload speed and efficiency. Compared to land transport, where we exerted all our strength, we would only get slower; the riverbed grew longer, the water level dropped, and our boats could only get smaller.
When I see cars and trains on land running faster and faster, I feel like I’ve been abandoned by the world: they’re moving forward while we’re going backward. The water transport on the canal seems to be moving forward with this fast-paced world, but in reality, it’s moving in the opposite direction. I’m still young; I don’t want the day to come when the boat is so small and slow that I can’t bear to watch anymore and have to go ashore. By then, your son might not be able to do anything other than feel seasick.”
These words made Bingyi uncomfortable. In this lifetime, he only knew how to do one thing, and in his son’s eyes, it seemed like he was constantly lagging behind the world. He was doing something that was increasingly going wrong. Of course, he didn’t agree; the issue wasn’t that serious. Rockets shoot up into the sky with a swoosh, high-speed trains can run faster and faster, but people still have to walk on two legs.
No matter how slow, you can’t just chop off both feet and install roller skates. But he also had to admit that compared to when he first saw a boat, when he first worked alongside his father on a boat, or when he first became the captain himself, as a river transport boat owner, a sailor living on the water, the sense of honor and achievement had indeed become increasingly scarce. The business was shrinking, the cargo was becoming lower-end, and profits were dwindling. In the past, they transported everything from rice, flour, vegetables, steel, and concrete, to various household appliances and furniture. Now, they only received orders for timber, coal, bricks, and sand.
The equipment on the boat was getting better, but people remained the same—hardworking and dedicated. But damn it, the world had changed.
After Black Panther barked, voices could be heard, and the boats of relatives and friends began to arrive one after another. Bingyi came out to greet each captain, thanking them for their help. It was an old tradition: when something big happened in a water-based family, those with money pitched in money, and those with strength pitched in effort. When a young person on one boat was getting married, the boats of relatives and friends would certainly lend a hand. This help might only last for a day or two. If someone’s pregnant wife was on board, they needed a boat to accompany them one or two months before the due date, to prevent the sudden arrival of the child into this world, in which case the women on nearby boats had to urgently act as midwives.
Five boats docked on either side of the “Tianxing,” and gangways were laid between them to allow free movement between the boats. Bingyi’s “Tianxing” was the wedding boat, with two boats on the left and two on the right for banquets and entertaining guests. The third boat on the left served as the kitchen, where all the pots, pans, and utensils for cooking were kept. There was also another boat that would wait near the beauty salon where the bride would get her makeup done tomorrow morning. After she was ready, it would take her on a leisurely three to four-hour cruise along the canal, arriving at the “Tianxing” by noon. This was the custom for waterborne weddings.
With the boats in position, everyone got busy. The procedures were clear: clean the boats, set up the awnings, arrange tables and chairs, and set up the stage for the bands. Tomorrow, there would be two bands to add to the festivities, one traditional and one Western. The boats were all several hundred tons in size, so a little tidying up would make the scene grand enough.
The occasion had to be grand; the Shao family’s wedding had to be dignified. Bingyi didn’t do things half-heartedly. Barring any mishaps, this would be the last wedding for the Shao family as boat people, so it had to be worthy of their ancestors.
Everyone had their tasks to attend to. After breakfast, Bingyi and Xingchi’s top priority was to go to the gravesite and report the good news to their ancestors. Before disembarking, they burned incense and paid respects to the Dragon King, Bodhisattva, and other deities at the bow of the boat. Thirty years ago, when Bingyi got married, and seven years ago when his daughter got married, they performed this ritual before visiting the gravesite.
Carrying a basket of offerings, burning paper money, and a string of firecrackers, they went ashore and encountered the girl in the windbreaker taking photos of the boats tied together. Today she was wearing a jacket over a snow-white shirt, her slightly curled long hair loosely tied up. She looked to be around twenty-seven or twenty-eight. Maybe a bit older or younger. Bingyi was never good at guessing a woman’s age. The girl with the jacket had a round face, and clear features, particularly full lips that were not enhanced with lipstick. Standing at one meter seventy, she exuded confidence and clarity, clearly a capable and decisive person.
She smiled at the two of them and said, “Hi. Thanks for letting me take photos.”
Bingyi felt a natural embarrassment in front of the unfamiliar woman, compounded by nervousness akin to fleeing disaster, especially in front of his son. “It’s okay, take as many as you like,” he managed.
“With such a grand setup, are you planning something big?” she asked.
“I’m getting married tomorrow,” his son chimed in, even more relaxed about it than his father.
“Congratulations, congratulations!” The girl in the jacket had her camera hanging around her neck, a backpack slung over her shoulders, and wearing jeans and Adidas sneakers. “I knew there must be good news.” She didn’t want to delay their plans; she had paper money and food in her basket, knowing what they were up to. But with a sudden thought, she casually asked, “Sorry, can I take some photos of the wedding?”
Bingyi glanced at his son. It wasn’t that he couldn’t make decisions, but they had already hired a wedding company, supposedly with a professional videographer for the whole event. He couldn’t just hand over the business to someone else.
“Sorry, I didn’t explain clearly. My profession is painting and photography. I’ve been traveling up and down the canal for a while now, only shooting subjects that interest me. I’m not here for business,” she clarified.
“Oh,” his son said. “An artist.”
The girl in the jacket smiled. “Thank you. Just doing what I love.”
“In that case, feel free to shoot,” Bingyi said.
“Just as long as it doesn’t invade privacy,” his son added.
“Of course,” the girl in the jacket said, “and I won’t cause any trouble for you. You can pretend I’m not here.” She was glad they agreed, but she also felt a pang of guilt for pushing her luck. “Sorry, I just wanted to ask if I could also take photos of this ancestor worship ceremony.”
“What’s there to photograph when burning paper offerings at the gravesite?” Bingyi’s tone turned a bit chilly. This should be considered private, right?
But his son suddenly became interested. “Sure. But—”
“It won’t invade privacy at all,” the girl in the jacket assured. “I’ll only take distant shots.”
Bingyi thought of scenes from TV dramas where burning paper offerings at gravesites were often depicted, with close-ups of the tombstone’s inscriptions. So, he said meaningfully, “Don’t shoot those words.”
His son had already started the motorcycle, and Bingyi hopped on the back with two baskets in hand. The girl in the jacket got on her bicycle, saying, “Don’t worry, I’ll only capture distant shots. I don’t just want portraits; I want to capture the stories of the people.” In that brief moment of inspiration, she knew exactly what she wanted. She wanted to capture not just a boat people’s wedding but also their way of life, to depict the stories flowing within the still images.
“Sis” Xingchi slowed down the motorcycle so the girl in the jacket could keep up, “after you’ve finished creating me, will I become a famous person?” He burst into laughter before anyone else could react.
“I haven’t become famous myself,” the girl in the jacket laughed.
“Then let’s become famous together,” Xingchi replied.
The graveyard wasn’t far from the pier, about a half-hour drive away. In a vacant lot by the gravel road stood several graves of varying sizes, each with two trees in front of it, their branches lush and swaying as the wind blew across the wilderness, making all the leaves clap together. They parked the motorcycle, and Bingyi and his son entered the graveyard, while the girl in the jacket stayed on the roadside, a gesture indicating she wouldn’t read the tombstone inscriptions. Of course, it was a case of turning a blind eye; if she were truly curious, she could adjust her focus, and she could see even a single ant crawling beneath the tombstone. She kept her promise and only captured distant shots.
Half a century ago, this had been unclaimed land, overgrown with tall grass and strewn with rocks. Bingyi’s grandfather had buried his great-grandfather here. The tombstone bore the date of death: April 8th, 1948, of the deceased, Shao Changlai. On that morning, Shao Changlai, the patriarch of the Shao family in Jining, woke up as usual, intending to sit on the edge of his bed for a while before getting up. But before he could finish even two cigarettes, he hadn’t even left the bed when his son entered the room and found him sitting there, lifeless. The small stature of the Southern man remained upright even in death. According to the tradition of the boat people, they buried their dead where they passed away. By then, the Shao family had already settled in Jining.
In the eyes of Shao Xingchi, the youngest generation of the Shao family, his great-grandfather was the most legendary among the ancestors. He was originally a porter from Sichuan who ended up working as a cook at the Wulinmen Wharf in Hangzhou, where he reportedly followed a foreigner and traveled along the Grand Canal from south to north to Beijing. The problem was, his great-grandfather worked as a full-time cook on the boat. A porter, a cook, and a sailor—Xingchi asked Bingyi, “Did our great-grandfather speak any foreign languages?”
“Speak foreign languages? Don’t be ridiculous. According to your grandfather, as he got older, his speech became a mix of Sichuanese, Zhejiang dialect, Shandong dialect, and possibly other regional dialects. Only when he talked in his sleep could you tell he was from somewhere, speaking pure Sichuanese.”
The Shao family settling in Jining was purely accidental. Shao Changlai came down from Beijing and then went back to Hangzhou. Quitting his job as a porter and not particularly excelling as a cook either, “Having traveled to Beijing is enough,” he decided and suddenly became a sought-after commodity for long-distance trips. At that time, apart from a few official and commercial ships, only the Grand Canal boats could travel between Beijing and Hangzhou.
There weren’t many boats from Jiangnan that went straight to Qingjiangpu, even fewer to Jining, and going further north… well, let’s just turn back. Shao Changlai’s experience on northern waterways couldn’t be bought even with money. Ship owners competing for long-distance trips eagerly hired him. Starting off doing odd jobs and cooking, his value increased over time. Shao Changlai pioneered a new profession, primarily chatting with the ship owners, offering advice and strategies, essentially acting as the master of the ship. For this role, Shao Changlai grew a goatee and smoked a water pipe.
Xingchi could see this image in old photos cherished by his father. In those pictures, his great-grandfather appeared old, wearing a melon-shaped hat and round glasses. In a certain year, Bingyi had heard from his grandfather that his great-grandfather, Shao Changlai, accompanied a ship going north into Shandong territory, turned the tables, and took over the ship. The ship owner was a gambler and spent most of the time on another merchant ship, playing mahjong with the owner of that ship and a few businessmen from the south, losing everything, including his pants, leaving only one ship. Reluctant to directly mortgage the ship to the owner of the companionship, fearing it would be lost forever, he turned to Shao Changlai.
At that time, Shao Changlai still had a considerable sum of money on hand, accumulated from years of sailing and also from the inheritance after Paolo’s demise (this was something Bingyi was unaware of; in his time, any association with foreigners was taboo, let alone ancestral ties with them). “Anyway, your great-grandfather had quite a bit of money,” Bingyi told his son, “The ship owner gave a hefty discount and mortgaged the ship to your great-grandfather.
He figured it would be easier to redeem it from your great-grandfather once he turned his fortune around.” The original ship owner mortgaged the ship, paid off his gambling debts, and went back to Jiangnan to lick his wounds. Beyond Xuzhou, Shao Changlai became the boss. The final destination of this journey was Jining. After unloading the cargo, Shao Changlai disbanded the sailors and decided to stay. He docked the ship at the pier, started recruiting local sailors, arranged a new shipping business, and sent telegrams to his wife and children in Hangzhou, urging them to pack up quickly and move north. He didn’t want to return to Hangzhou, fearing the former owner would raise the ransom and reclaim the ship. This ship was priceless to him.
With everything settled, he lay down on the deck. Above him was a bright blue sky dotted with fluffy clouds. He remembered the stormy night many years ago when he first arrived in Jining with Paolo. Back then, it was pouring rain, with thunder and lightning. If they hadn’t encountered those three river bandits on that rainy night, Paolo wouldn’t have died; if Paolo hadn’t died, would his life have been different? He took out the compass from his pocket. Ever since he stood at the Wulinmen Wharf waiting for work, he had dreamed of owning his ship. And now he had one. He thought of the Italian, Paolo, Mr. Paul Di Marco. The compass shimmered with a golden light, and Shao Changlai didn’t know if it was the blazing sun in the sky or tears blurring his vision.
Since the time of Shao Changlai, the Shao family’s journey as boat people in Jining had begun.
After honoring the offerings of chicken, fish, meat, eggs, snacks, and liquor, burning the paper money, and setting off the congratulatory firecrackers, the father and son bowed to their ancestors. On the roadside, the jacketed girl adjusted her camera’s focus and framing, determined to capture the scene of the boat people paying respects to their ancestors. Suddenly, she heard the old boatman who had knelt wailing loudly.
Setting down her camera, Star Pool hadn’t anticipated his father’s grief to be so profound. Peering over his father’s bowed head, he saw him squatting on the ground, his forehead hitting the stones, soil, and wild grass like a mortar pounding garlic. He could understand the sorrow of an old comrade facing his ancestors. Standing up, he dusted off his knees, lit a Zhongnanhai cigarette, and waited for his father’s crying to subside. One cigarette finished, yet his father remained kneeling in front of his grandfather’s grave, his buttocks raised even higher. His father cried with such sadness and dedication as if it had drained half of his body’s energy; his left arm lay on the ground, his head resting upon it, his whole body slumped there.
“Dad, that’s enough. Get up now.”
Bingyi was still crying.
“Dad, what’s wrong?”
Bingyi continued to cry.
Star Pool walked over, grabbing his father’s right arm to help him up. Bingyi shook off his hand. “Let me cry a little longer.”
As the second cigarette burned down, Bingyi was still crying. Star Pool grew impatient. “Dad, when will this end?”
Bingyi straightened his back, the crying stopped, tears staining his face. “The ancestral business of the Shao family ended with me, and you won’t let me cry a little longer?”
“As the one who ended the Shao family’s boat business, wouldn’t my guilt be even greater?”
“Your father isn’t that unreasonable.” Bingyi wiped his face with his sleeve. “It’s just heartbreaking to think about. Our family has been running boats on this canal for over a hundred years, born on the canal, and died on the canal. Those who survived, every one of them endured hardships to the bone.” Bingyi circled two smaller unmarked graves. He decided to bow to his brothers of the same generation and the children of the younger generation. Sorry to the ancestors, and even more sorry to the deceased brothers and sons. “Do you know how many Shao family souls are wandering on this river after a hundred years?”
Those two graves without headstones belonged to Bingyi’s brother Sixian and Star Pool’s brother Stinky, who drowned at the age of five before he could even be given a proper name. There was no Star Pool back then.
Shao Sixian died of schistosomiasis, also known as big belly disease, at the age of twenty-two. At that time, everything was public property, and their boat was assigned to the county’s water transport team, bearing the number 23. They went to the south, and the round trip took almost three months. During that time, Sixian caught a cold and then got soaked in the rain while unloading cargo, which led to coughing and pneumonia.
The medical supplies on the boat were limited, and the illness persisted. Just as they reached the heavily overgrown water hyacinth area of the river, where the water quality was extremely poor, and they had no choice but to drink the canal water, he contracted schistosomiasis. On the return journey, just past Xuzhou, Sixian couldn’t hold on any longer and died on the Weishan Lake. Bingyi always felt that his brother’s death was related to those water hyacinths.
In the years he steered the boat, to avoid seeing those water hyacinths, he avoided going to the south as much as possible. Star Pool had searched online for the aquatic plants his father despised. In the 1950s, China deliberately imported water hyacinths from Brazil to provide green fodder for pigs. There weren’t many things easier to raise than it. Throw it into the water, and it will thrive like a revolution, changing its appearance every day. So, at that time, it was even given a colloquial name in Chinese, “revolutionary grass.”
Stinky was five years, three months, and seven days old. Their boat was loaded with half corn and half wheat, navigating through the Luoma Lake. At that time, Bingyi had already replaced the wooden boat with an iron one and switched to a high-powered diesel engine for propulsion. On the shore, people were moving houses, and distant relatives and friends came to congratulate them on the new home, cracking whips one after another in celebration.
Stinky came out of the kitchen to watch the excitement, Bingyi was steering the boat, and his wife was cooking in the kitchen. They agreed to just take a quick look and then go back to eat watermelon. But when one dish was ready and Stinky still hadn’t returned, his mother went out to look for him, but there was no trace of him anywhere on the boat. Bingyi quickly stopped the boat, and nearby unfamiliar boats also stopped. Everyone who could swim jumped into Luoma Lake to search.
From noon until midnight, they found nothing. The couple cried bitterly with their heads in their hands for the rest of the night, the boat remained stationary in fear of drifting too far and losing track of where the child was lost. Early the next morning, someone on a nearby boat shouted that they had found him. Stinky’s belly was floating face down on the misty lake surface in the distance.
Because they were in a hurry to deliver the goods, Bingyi buried Stinky near the edge of Luoma Lake. The next trip specifically brought an empty boat with a small coffin filled with ice, and they brought Stinky back to Jinan, to be buried again in the Shao family’s cemetery.
“Back in the day, all the kids on the boat wore a kind of ‘dragon head strap,’ like a vest worn on the body, with no sleeves, and a string trailing from the back tied to an iron ring, to prevent children from falling into the water. Stinky promised his mom he’d just take a quick look and come back, still wanting to eat watermelon, so why bother with the dragon head strap? Just that one neglectful moment and Stinky was gone. After Stinky, it was Star Pond’s older sister and then Star Pond himself. They both wore the dragon head strap until they were ten. Whenever they got on the boat, they had to put it on, and even when they needed to pee, they had to tie a string around their waist.
After Bingyi finished kowtowing, he asked Star Pond to do the same. Star Pond asked, ‘Did Stinky kowtow too?’
“No matter how old he was, he was your brother,” Bingyi lit a Baixi cigarette, ‘Let them all know, the Shao family’s boat won’t run anymore.’
“Dad, it really can’t run anymore.”
“Your grandfather insisted I have the boat inspected before he passed away. I said it had just been checked the year before, and it could even circle the Pacific Ocean with no problem. Your grandfather didn’t agree, he insisted on an inspection. You can’t argue with someone on their deathbed, so I brought in the master from the shipyard. The master told me, your father didn’t ask you to inspect the boat, he was afraid you’d ditch the boat halfway. Just reassure the old man, that’s all you need to do.”
“Did it work?”
“I told your grandfather, ‘Dad, rest assured, even if the river dries up, I’ll keep the boat.'”
“And grandpa died peacefully?”
“Your grandfather suddenly sat up and said, ‘Then let me have a drink before I die.’ I poured him a glass of sorghum liquor, and after he finished it, he lay back down, closing his eyes in satisfaction. His last moment of clarity.”
“Alright, Dad, I’ll kowtow.” Star Pond knelt in front of his little brother’s grave, “No matter the reason, whether it was the game of passing the buck ending up with me, our family lost the boat. We owe an apology to anyone.”
Star Pond bowed to the ground, while Bingyi, with his rheumatism-stricken back and neck, stood beside him, hunched over like a heron preparing to catch fish. The vast background, the wilderness, and the photographer captured the moment just right as they stood there, seemingly frozen in time.
On the six boats, things were bustling. All the boatmen who could come had arrived, each doing their part. Before nightfall, they had to have everything they would need for the next day: all the food, tools, facilities, and anything else they might need. The tight-knit community of boatmen was like a small society of acquaintances. Years of interaction had assigned everyone a precise role; everyone knew what they should do and what they were capable of. Bingyi, on the other hand, felt like a spare part. At times like this, he felt out of place.
Over thirty years ago, when he got married, there wasn’t as much fanfare, nor were there as many people and events to manage. The groom had plenty of tasks to do. But those days, he wandered around like a second-rate rascal, not knowing what to do. The bride’s wedding boat arrived, but the groom was nowhere to be found. They searched several boats around and finally found him sitting under an old willow tree on the shore. He was wearing new clothes, smoking a cigarette, and looking like a peculiar spectator. Seven years ago, when his daughter got married, it was the same. Everyone wondered. He was usually quite sensible, but that day, he seemed like a fool, unable to figure out where to stand and where not to, just clutching two boxes of wedding cigarettes and handing them out to anyone he saw.
Now, he emerged from his cabin, and the new house had long been tidied up by his wife and daughter. Bingyi stepped onto the boat where the stage was set up, then moved to the boat with many dining tables set up on the side, walked past another boat, and then jumped ashore. The jacket girl put down her camera and followed.
Bingyi walked along the dock with his hands behind his back, nodding his head with each step. The jacket girl captured his silhouette against the vast canal backdrop, cropping out the ground, making Bingyi appear as if he were walking directly on the water. Suddenly, Bingyi stopped. He only wanted to turn around and see the bustling six boats, but what he saw was the girl taking pictures. Feeling it polite to acknowledge her, he said, “Feel free to take pictures.”
The jacket girl wasn’t sure if he meant she could freely take his picture or if he was referring to the wedding preparations. “May I take some pictures of you for a while?” she asked.
“What’s there to take pictures of? I’m just going to check on my boat,” he replied.
“Isn’t the boat over there?”
“It’s my houseboat.”
“Ah got it,” she understood when he mentioned the houseboat. There weren’t many boatmen engaged in transportation who also had houseboats because there were houses on the shore. When the cargo boats were not in operation, they would stay in their homes on land, without the need for another boat for residence. “You don’t have a house onshore?”
“I can’t get used to it. I feel more uncomfortable all over than having rheumatism,” Bingyi replied. “Walking around here makes my feet feel soft,” he stamped his feet. The pedestrian path along the riverbank was paved with red and white tiles. “There are still a few cormorants at home.”
“Great, then I’ll take pictures of you and the cormorants.”
“I am the cormorant,” Bingyi chuckled.
The jacket girl laughed, realizing she wasn’t the only one who thought he looked like a cormorant.
“They’ve been calling me the cormorant since I was young. I’m good in water, can dive down and hold my breath for seven or eight minutes without any problem. Fish don’t stand a chance when I’m around, even better than a cormorant. But those were the days of my youth, a hero doesn’t dwell on past glories.”
“And now?”
“Diving gives me a headache,” Bingyi laughed at himself.
The tiled road ended, transitioning into a dirt path. Clusters of reeds began to grow along the riverbank. Between two clumps of reeds, a houseboat was tethered to a willow tree on the bank. The jacket girl had photographed many houseboats like this along the canal. For a while, she had specifically gone to Li Xiahe, Hongze Lake, Luoma Lake, Nanyang Lake, and Weishan Lake to capture life on houseboats. Many of them were true houseboats; there were no houses onshore, and people lived on the boats year-round, with their entire lives unfolding on the water. They fished, farmed, and grew some vegetables and crops onshore, barely different from the fishermen in the south. There were also a few families who simply couldn’t afford to buy or build houses onshore, so they squeezed onto boats, going out to work during the day and returning to the boat after work.
Five vigilant cormorants crouched on the boat, and when Bingyi approached, they squawked loudly. Bingyi clapped his hands and spread his arms, taking a big step onto the boat. They flew up, aiming to land on Bingyi’s shoulders and arms. Bingyi dodged backward, saying, “Can’t stop, can’t stop, I’m wearing new clothes today.” The five cormorants landed back on the boat, each with a thin hemp rope tied around their ankles. Bingyi said, “Don’t underestimate these birds; they’re the ones who bring home the bacon. They catch so many fish. After feeding family and friends, there’s still plenty left to sell.”
“Is it easy to catch fish like this?”
“Not like it used to be,” Bingyi said, pulling out a packet of Eight Happiness candies from his pocket. The jacket girl shook her head, declining to smoke, so he lit one for himself. “In the past, the water in the canal wasn’t clean, but it was just dirty from weeds, dead fish, and rotten shrimp. Now it’s truly filthy—plastic bags, garbage, dredging, sand extraction, industrial wastewater, and oil leaks from mechanical boats. Look, from south to north, which section of the canal water can still be used for washing rice and vegetables?
In the past, when we were sailing, if we needed to cook or make tea, we’d just scoop water from the river. Now, if you scoop it up and drink it, you’ll get sick, if you can even get it into your mouth. The taste, you can’t describe how complex it is. My son says it’s practically chemical, you could bottle it up and refine it into an atomic bomb. There are fewer fish, and even if you catch them, you might not dare to eat them. That’s why I only let the cormorants dive near the reeds, where the water is at least a bit cleaner.”
“Continue. I’ll capture it.”
“If you start snapping away, I’ll clam up. Where was I?”
“You said the water is cleaner near the reeds. Some foreign rivers have regulations that prohibit all motorized boats.”
“If motorized boats can’t operate, how do you transport goods? Can you even call it a canal if it can’t be used for transportation? What’s the point then?”
“To preserve it as a scenic spot. Many places are developing riverfront areas, aren’t they?”
“The ideas you intellectuals have. You’re always talking about ‘reviving’ the canal. I don’t understand what ‘reviving’ means. After a lifetime of sailing, the only ‘awake’ I understand is opening your eyes, getting out of bed, and getting on with what needs to be done. To ‘awaken’ a river means to make it bustling with activity, flowing back and forth. If it’s awake but still, is it really ‘awake’? What’s the point of being awake if you’re not moving?”
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“A canal is a canal because it’s meant for ‘transportation.’ Without ‘transportation,’ it’s just stagnant water,” Bingyi replied, the sound of him smoking the only noise in his mouth. He needed to make some noise, tapping his foot. Yes, that had always been the question. Only a stranger would ask it without any regard because she didn’t know anything.
“Not anymore. I returned to the dock the day before yesterday, and that was my last trip.”
The jacket girl lowered her camera. It was something she hadn’t expected, and she felt a bit embarrassed about it. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.”
Bingyi plopped down on the boat, realizing he should have consulted the jacket girl’s opinion before speaking. He said if it wasn’t appropriate to continue shooting, they could stop, and then he instinctively kicked off his shoes to the side. As long as it wasn’t too cold, he liked being barefoot on the boat. Bare feet were not afraid of water and offered better grip; all boatmen were like that. “Can’t run anymore,” Bingyi said. “Heart is willing, but the strength is lacking.” He briefly told the jacket girl about his son’s new job.
The jacket girl completely understood. “Several boat captains have told me that the work isn’t good anymore; it’s become a sunset industry,” she said, standing at the edge of the boat, focusing on Bingyi’s bare, deformed foot as the centerpiece, shifting her perspective. Barefoot, new clothes, cormorants, houseboat, a pile of odds and ends on the boat, Bingyi’s weathered face, unshaven chin, chapped lips, the Eight Happiness cigarette burning halfway down, surrounded by swirling smoke rings, and his cloudy, distant gaze; whether in color or black and white, it would make for a great photo. She needed to let him continue speaking, her expression naturally immersed in her own world. “How many boats have you piloted?”
“How many boats? Countless. Let me think.” It was indeed a good question, and as he pondered, his aged eyes emitted a penetrating light that delved into history. “Large fishing boats, small fishing boats, boats for dredging mud, transporting manure, passenger boats, cargo boats, wooden boats, cement boats, metal boats. During the collective period, I even piloted a public transport boat for a while. It started with pole pushing, hand rowing, foot paddling, then sailboats, followed by sail and steam power, burning charcoal and gasoline. Now it’s entirely diesel-powered, capable of generating electricity.”
“In your life on the water, when were you happiest?” The jacket girl kept herself busy, walking around the boat, constantly changing angles, framing shots, and seeking the best lighting while listening and asking questions.
“One time was in my childhood, traveling long distances with my parents. I was in charge of ten ducks, playing with them every day. My father and I handcrafted two large duck cages, which could be placed or hung on the side of the boat, allowing the ducks to swim inside. They slept and laid eggs in the cages, and I made a mobile nest. Whenever a duck was about to lay eggs, I’d place the nest inside the cage. Why keep ducks?
Ducks are great; they can gauge water flow, temperature, and weather conditions. Ten ducks could lay seven or eight eggs every day. In those days, wherever the boat went, there were plenty of fish to eat, and we had duck eggs. It felt like living in heaven. My father would tell stories, and as soon as the boat stopped, he’d start reciting ‘Water Margin,’ attracting adults and children from other boats to ours. Do you think I was happy then?”
Bingyi was now very relaxed, wearing a casual expression, occasionally reaching out to touch the feathers of one of the cormorants.
“Another period was after I got married. Every three to five years, I’d change boats. I was the first individual transporter in the entire county. TV, newspapers, radio—all came to interview and report on us, and the government also paid attention, putting effort into supporting us. When we got married and split from our families, my father gave us a 25-ton wooden hanging boat. Two years later, I upgraded to a 30-ton boat. By 1984, we sold the 30-ton boat and bought a 42-ton wooden hanging boat.
Three years later, we switched to a 50-ton iron boat. In 1990, we sold the old boat, bought a 78-ton iron boat, and sold the old one for forty-two thousand. The new one cost eighty thousand, so we borrowed some money from friends to cover the shortfall. In 1994, we changed boats again, this time opting for a 100-ton iron inner cabin boat, which cost one hundred and fifty thousand. In 1996, we sold the 100-ton boat and bought a 200-ton iron boat for three hundred and fifty thousand. Finally, in 2003, we upgraded to the 273-ton boat. We’ve been changing boats all these years. There’s joy in changing boats. It’s the joy of boatmen. The joy of men.”
“273 tons? This boat here?”
“Yes, this one.” Bingyi suddenly felt melancholic, unconsciously counting on his fingers. “It’s been four months and sixteen days shy of ten years.”
“Do you have anything you’d like to say about this boat?” the jacket girl asked. “Sorry, I was a journalist for a few years, so I have some professional habits.”
“Don’t laugh at me for being sentimental, you intellectuals. I’ve actually thought about this. This boat is almost someone else’s now. I often can’t sleep at night and think, is it really this hard to let go of a boat? It really is. Besides sailing, I don’t know anything else, and it’s too late to learn now. If I leave this river, I don’t even know if I can survive. So I think, a person’s fate isn’t just in their own hands, it’s elsewhere. My fate, half of it is on this boat, and the other half is on this river.”
The jacket girl thought Bingyi’s words were profound. She too felt as if her life was split between two places—one holding a paintbrush, the other pressing the camera shutter. The five cormorants stood in a row beside Bingyi, like five diligent students listening intently. Bingyi went around, patting each of their heads, and when he reached the third one, the jacket girl clicked the shutter.
“Five Cormorants and an Old Man.”
“What happens after you sell the boat?”
Bingyi lit his cigarette. “On the water,” he said, “with half a life left, you have to be careful how you use it. My wife and I have agreed—we’ve been sailing for a lifetime, we’re not going anywhere. Just on this boat,” he patted the deck beneath him, “eat, sleep, sleep, eat, catch a couple of fish, have a drink or two. Born on this river, living on this river, dying on this river.” Bingyi’s phone rang. He pulled out his phone from his pocket, the simplest Nokia model. He pressed the answer key, and his wife’s voice came through vigorously:
“Where are you wandering off to again? You always disappear at crucial times. Get your ass back here!”
“What’s the matter?”
“We have a boatload of things to do! Do you know your son is getting married tomorrow?”
Bingyi held the phone away from his ear, feeling embarrassed in front of the jacket girl.
“Go about your business,” the jacket girl said softly. “I’ll wander around and take some random shots. I’ll be back for the wedding tomorrow.”
Bingyi spoke into the phone, “What’s the fuss? Give some food to the cormorants, I’ll be back.”
Three firecrackers went off two miles away, and the boat immediately became lively. The bride was about to arrive, the organizer instructed everyone to take their positions: chefs returned to their pots, the band took their places on stage, the tables and chairs were set up, the groom’s entourage tidied their suits and ties, the bridesmaids and older women who welcomed the bride checked the new room one last time, guests who had nothing to do willingly stepped aside, ready with applause, cheers, and flowers to be thrown. Where was Bingyi? Bingyi! Cormorant Bingyi! Don’t run away, go with Mrs. Xingchi into the house, yes, sit on the throne chair and don’t move, don’t even go to the toilet, keep the red envelopes and gifts ready, and as soon as Xingchi and his bride bow, hand them over.
—The drum band, let’s get started!
The traditional Chinese music band wore classical Tang Dynasty attire, with suona, flute, erhu, sheng, xiao, and percussion instruments, performing “Chasing the Moon in Colorful Clouds.” The Western music band, dressed in black suits, tailcoats, and white shirts, played “Wedding March” and Mendelssohn’s “Overture to A Midsummer Night’s Dream.” The Chinese music band was positioned at the bow of the boat, while the Western band stood at the stern, facing each other in a musical showdown. Each band had several microphones in front of them and two large speakers, blasting their music outward in a figure-eight pattern.
Spectators initially tried to listen to the Chinese music with their left ears and the Western music with their right, but it was chaotic. Switching ears didn’t help much either. Eventually, they gave up trying to differentiate and just enjoyed the cacophony, watching the musicians compete with exaggerated expressions, which was thoroughly entertaining. Then, someone shouted, “The bride is here!”
The space between the two bands, where they had faced off, instantly emptied as everyone rushed to see the bride. At that moment, as Shao Xingchi, dressed in his finest suit, stepped from his own boat onto the bridal boat to greet the bride, a painter and a photographer captured the scene. As they snapped photos, the painter briefly considered a cheeky title, “Balancing on Two Boats,” but quickly dismissed it, opting instead for the more appropriate and cheerful “Heading Towards a New Life.”
The bride was a shore dweller, which filled Shao’s family and friends with both envy and worry. It was a tradition among boat people to marry within their own community. Firstly, because the social circle of boat people was narrow, mostly limited to those who lived and worked alongside them on the water. Secondly, because the lifestyle on water differed significantly from that on land, and if someone couldn’t adapt, it would be hard to live together.
Marriages among boat people were usually for life, and while marrying within one’s own community provided a sense of security and familiarity, it also meant a predictable life spent mostly on the water, a tradition passed down through generations. Marrying someone from the shore often meant a change in lifestyle, with less time spent on water. But the fundamental difference between a roof of sky and one of water, between a floor of cement and one of water, reflected a divergence in worldview. It wasn’t easy for everyone to adjust, and one couldn’t help but worry. Yet, despite the hesitations, life went on, year after year.
However, there was optimism surrounding Shao Xingchi’s marriage to a shore dweller among his family and friends, because he had decided to leave life on the water. He was going to start a company on land and become a boss. We could only wish the best for the descendants breaking away from the age-old tradition of boat people.
—Firecrackers went off! Turn up the music even louder, yes, blow it as loud as it can go! “Step by Step High.” Both bands played simultaneously, one, two, three, march—
The girl in the red dress, taking photos, had to admit that no matter how many boats she walked along the canal, she couldn’t seem to glide between them effortlessly like the boat people spectating did. It was as if their feet were glued to the decks, moving seamlessly between different vessels. She lacked the basic skill of watching from the water’s edge, so she had to cautiously watch her step to avoid falling in. By the time she safely squeezed through the crowd to the entrance of the new house, the bride and groom had already entered. Even standing on tiptoes, she couldn’t see over others’ heads. She lifted her camera again, but it was no use; she couldn’t see through the viewfinder clearly, and her hands were unsteady. She heard Bingyi, sitting in the master’s chair, say, “Excuse me, everyone, let the girl through.”
The people ahead turned to see her holding a camera, assuming she was part of the official filming crew, so they made way for her. She entered the new house with profuse thanks. The camera tripod was placed in the middle against the wall, allowing the male videographer, with his ponytail tied back, to freely maneuver the camera to capture every moment in the room. The girl in red, an outsider, didn’t dare to intrude and instead retreated to a corner by the wall, positioning herself firmly. She decided to take some unique shots from that spot.
The ceremony was about to begin. Bingyi and his wife were dressed in their finest as the lord and lady of the manor, seated on matching high-backed chairs on either side, waiting for their son and daughter-in-law to come and serve tea. Bingyi had shaved his beard clean this time, and wore a new pair of black leather shoes. Having faced numerous media interviews over the years, he appeared more composed than his wife.
Shao’s mother’s expression resembled the knobby joints of her hands clasped together on her lap, constantly twitching beyond her control. She sat stiffly on the imitation mahogany chair, her hair streaked with gray, her face as weathered by the canal winds and sun as her husband’s, presenting more like a wary daughter-in-law challenging her mother-in-law than a typical mother-in-law. In the modern era, daughters-in-law were the ones in charge, not like in the old days when they were subordinate. In this light, her cautious demeanor was quite fitting; daughters-in-law were not to be trifled with.
The emcee, a bald young man rumored to be the host of a local radio entertainment program, had a booming voice, albeit a bit oily in delivery. He announced, “With this union of water and land, we wish the newlyweds an early arrival of noble offspring. If your child becomes a pilot, all three branches of the military will be covered!”
The wedding of boat people might have had its own unique procedures, but under the direction of the bald emcee, it was no different from the weddings of ordinary shore families. It followed the same old routine: the officiant’s speech, the heartfelt vows and ring exchange, the interjections of blessings from friends and relatives, the tea ceremony and bowing to parents, followed by the parents presenting gifts and red envelopes. Finally, came the earnest wishes and advice from parents or elders for a better tomorrow. The atmosphere could be solemn or lively, with room for humor and spontaneity, depending on the mood of those involved. It was all about improvisation.
Following the procedure, the girl in the red dress didn’t hear much valuable information, and her passion for photography and imagination took a hit. In her understanding, painting and photography weren’t just about capturing aesthetically pleasing images but about finding insight and storytelling within the frame. This required a deep involvement with the emotions, thoughts, expressions, and body language of the subjects, but these procedures felt like mere formalities, lacking sincerity. Finally, when Bingyi and his wife made their appearance, things got a bit more interesting.
Shao and his wife followed the emcee’s cues, kneeling on the large red cushions to kowtow to Bingyi and his wife three times, then offering tea to their parents in gratitude for raising them. It was a formality, a mere gesture of respect to other parents, but Bingyi and his wife took it to heart, drinking the entire bowl of tea in one go. The onlookers, perhaps unused to such sincere in-laws, burst into laughter. Bingyi’s wife suddenly burst into tears, her lips trembling as she said, “I have to finish the tea the child served me.”
Bingyi initially took a sip, sneaking a glance at his wife. She continued to drink, even as the teacup covered half her face, but he could still sense the solemnity in her expression. Oh no, he realized, his wife had recalled their eldest son, who had died young, at this crucial moment. She must be drinking this tea for both of them. Once she finished, he had to follow suit. Everyone was delighted for Shao’s wife, seeing how she had landed such a good mother-in-law with just a bowl of tea. Bingyi pulled out a neatly folded handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to his wife, gently pressing her hand as he did so. She understood his message, to control herself. She nodded, using the handkerchief to wipe away her tears. Originally just an accessory, the handkerchief was placed there for show with her new clothes.
From outside came a voice, “The bride herself should wipe away those tears.”
Everyone joined in the teasing. Shao’s wife stood up at the sound and walked over to her mother-in-law, giving her another wipe. The crowd applauded and cheered. The girl in the red dress clicked away with her camera. Bingyi’s wife became a bit uncomfortable, one hand clasping her daughter-in-law’s hand in gratitude, while the other searched her pocket for a red envelope, which she then discreetly handed to her daughter-in-law in advance.
“Hey hey hey, Auntie,” the emcee interjected, “even the best mother-in-law can’t steal the spotlight. We still have a long way to go before the next part of the ceremony. My starting pistol hasn’t even gone off yet!”
This elicited another round of laughter.
Bingyi’s wife said, “I’ll give you everything eventually, child. Take it for now.”
The daughter-in-law graciously accepted, thanking her mother-in-law before retreating back to the cushion and kneeling down again.
“This is getting complicated,” the emcee said with an innocent expression, “an old revolutionary encountering new problems. I don’t even know how to proceed from here!” He approached Bingyi and said, “Looks like Uncle here will have to take the stage alone. What treasures do you have, Uncle? Can you show our friends and family?”
Bingyi rose from his chair and unfastened the three clasps on his Tang Dynasty robe, revealing a red silk bundle tucked inside. The girl in the red dress was momentarily puzzled; the old man wasn’t overweight, so why did his belly seem to bulge in his new clothes? She marveled at the seamstress’s ingenuity in creating such a spacious pocket in the jacket. Bingyi carefully unwrapped the red silk, revealing another layer of yellow silk beneath.
Onlookers outside craned their necks to get a better view. Bingyi then opened the yellow silk to reveal a circular box, seemingly made of yellow rosewood. Opening the wooden box further revealed a brass circular disc inside. Bingyi held the circular box aloft, tilting it slightly towards the audience. Through the slightly scratched surface of the glass covering the disc, people could see strange symbols, numbers, and markings etched onto the brass surface. In the center of the disc was a wing-shaped pointer perpendicular to the disc’s surface, its color lighter than the brass, emitting a soft yellow glow. Below the wing-shaped pointer was a slender silver diamond-shaped pointer, its axis at the center of the disc. As Bingyi displayed the disc, the diamond-shaped pointer wobbled, as if searching for its intended direction.
“Ah? A compass!”
Boatmen were familiar with such a device, but they had never seen one so elaborately concealed and made of such beautiful materials before.
“Yes, a compass,” Bingyi confirmed. “When my grandfather married my grandmother, his father passed this compass down to him. When my father married my mother, my grandfather passed it down to him. On the day I married Shao’s mother, my father, after drinking two big bowls of wine, tearfully passed it on to me. Today, as Shao and Xiaosong marry, following our family tradition, I pass this compass on to Shao.” He fastened the clasps on his robe, adjusted his clothing, then lifted the compass again, standing tall and proud. Addressing his son, he said, “Shao, come, take it.”
Shao stood up, a bit bewildered. He walked over to his father, extending his hands and saying, “Dad, we’re not going to be boatmen anymore.”
“Whether we’re boatmen or not, the Shaos are all boat people. Come on!”
The emcee promptly applauded and said, “The old man speaks the truth! Friends and family, do you think Uncle’s words were good? If so, let’s hear some applause!”
Most of the onlookers were boat people, and there couldn’t have been anything more invigorating than this statement. The applause echoed like river waves hitting the boats.
Shao returned to his cushion, holding the compass.
The emcee continued, “I think the old gentleman still wants to say a few more words. Should we give him another round of applause?”
Applause erupted once again.
“Just a few words,” Bingyi returned to his high-backed chair. After a moment of silence, he tapped the back of the chair and said, “Today, our child is getting married, and as parents, my wife and I are very happy. They’ve grown up. Xiaosong’s uncles and aunts are also present, and my wife and I thank you for bringing Xiaosong here! Xiaosong is a good girl, and we, the old couple, will treat her like our own daughter. Please reassure her parents-in-law. I entrust Shao to Xiaosong, and we are at ease. We hope their life together will be better and better!”
The emcee paused, leading everyone into another round of applause.
“The child has grown up and is making his own way in the world. Our family has been running boats for generations, but with Shao, we’ve come ashore. To be honest, I’ve been feeling choked up for months, not because I couldn’t understand, but because I couldn’t let go. We’ve been eating and living by the water for over a hundred years, but now that the rice bowl has landed in my hands, I’ve shattered it. I promised my father that I would carry this bowl carefully. But each generation has its own thoughts and ways of living. The world is changing, and young people should live and work according to their own ideas. I don’t know if Shao is making the right choice or not, but I respect my son’s decision, just as my father respected mine back then.”
“Our boatmen tradition dictates that when a son gets married, he parts ways and receives a boat as a parting gift. When I and Xingchi’s mother were about to marry, my father asked me what kind of boat I wanted. I said I wanted a motorized one, propelled by machinery. My father couldn’t understand. He said, ‘Where’s our boatmen’s craftsmanship? It’s in paddling, rowing, and hoisting sails. A good oar is worth its weight in gold. The best boat captains are masters at handling sails.
No matter which way the wind blows, they can adjust the sail angle to keep the boat running. If you don’t use sails, what’s the point of having a boat?’ I said either give me a motorized boat or don’t bother. My father reluctantly agreed, gnashing his teeth. He thought the Shao family’s boatman legacy would end with me. It didn’t. I ran the boat very well, and I made it run even better. So, I’ve been convincing myself that our old ways aren’t always right, and young people should make their own decisions.
“Xingchi has been a good kid since he was little. We spent years on the water, which delayed him; otherwise, he could have excelled in his studies. He was lonely as a child, tied to the boat with ropes, no toys, with his hair infested with lice. He played alone, throwing his jacket into the air and laughing when the wind blew it up. If the wind blew it into the river, we would fish it out if we saw it; if not, it would float away with the current. During those years, who knows how many clothes we lost.”
Bingyi’s wife gave him a meaningful look. She thought he had said enough, but he seemed oblivious, entirely absorbed in his narrative. She wanted to tap him lightly, but fearing it might cause too much disruption, she cleared her throat instead. Bingyi still didn’t turn to look at her, continuing his tale. In that subtle moment between them, the girl in the red dress captured a candid shot.
“Xingchi is a decisive child. At home, I may have the final say as the old man, but I’m well aware that my son has always been independent-minded. Everyone present here today are longtime boatmen comrades, all family. Over the past few months, you’ve all worried about our family matters. I want to take this opportunity to address everyone and give an explanation.”
“Establishing a family and a career are lifelong commitments. Xingchi has made his decision, and I support him. If you have the means, strive to excel; if you don’t, create them. Transitioning ashore is also a significant event for boatmen, akin to life and death separation. But one must be willing to let go when necessary, even if it’s difficult. I may be old-fashioned, but I’m not superstitious, nor am I senile. If there’s something you want to do, give it your best shot, and you’ll succeed. I believe in Xingchi. The day after my wife and I got married, she went back to her parents’ home, but she returned home a little late, after sunset.
According to our boat’s tradition, the bride should enter the home with the sun still up; otherwise, it brings bad luck. I may be laughed at for this, but that noon, I had a few too many drinks at my mother-in-law’s place and dozed off. When I woke up, I rushed back home, but the sun had already set. My father was furious, didn’t speak to us for two years, and even forbid us from using the boat, fearing it would ruin our fortune. So, we parted ways and started our own ventures. We worked day and night, and within three years, we became the largest independent transporters in Weishan. My father’s mood improved slightly. One evening, he called me for a drink and only then told me that whether or not we brought the sun into the house seemed inconsequential after all.”
Bingyi’s wife couldn’t resist anymore and reached out to him directly. “You’ve said enough! Going on and on like this! The kids are still kneeling!”
“Xingchi, Xiaosong, you two can stand up now,” she said.
“Dad, go on,” Xingchi urged. “I haven’t heard you talk this much in years.”
Xiaosong chimed in, “Dad, please continue. Both Xingchi and I are listening.”
Bingyi stood up, scratching his cheek, then turned to his wife. “Where was I? It’s all your fault, interrupting for no reason. In over thirty years, you’ve never let me speak freely.”
His wife snorted, turning her face away. “Look at how you’re bursting at the seams! I haven’t seen a day when you couldn’t speak!”
Laughter filled the room and spilled out into the courtyard.
“Alright, just two more sentences,” Bingyi said. “This wedding, I insisted on holding it on the boat. Our family are boat people, whether on land or in the sky, we are boat people through and through. Our ancestors are watching from above and from the waters, watching over us on this thousand-mile-long Grand Canal. I owe them an explanation. And that compass passed down from our ancestors, now it’s in Xingchi’s hands. How he chooses to use it is up to him. In a few years, he might return to the river, or he might never set foot on it again. But regardless, when the time comes, that compass’s needle will still point south when it should and north when it should. That’s all I have to say. Thank you to all my brothers and friends, thank you to all the guests here! Lao luoci bows to you all!”
Bingyi bent over, bowing at a ninety-degree angle.
Before the applause, the sound of the camera shutter clicked first.
By late afternoon, with everyone well-fed and well-watered, those who were busy left first, while the idle ones lounged lazily at the tables, watching the two bands continue their contest. They entered the request song mode, where you could choose what song to play and which band to play it, for a fee. Those enjoying the spectacle coaxed Bingyi and Xingchi’s brother-in-law, asking them to pay up. It was their duty. Xingchi’s brother-in-law was also a big shot in the boating world, judging by the size of his belly. He was a straightforward person, so he sat down on the boat next to the band, crossed his legs, and said to the rowdy crowd:
“Pick whatever, I’ll foot the bill. The more lively, the better. That’s what we’re here for.”
Bingyi called a young man over, took out a stack of bills, and had him handle it. “Keep it going. A joyous occasion should have a joyous atmosphere.” Then he stepped off the boat, hands behind his back, and headed south.
The girl in the red dress followed suit. She just wanted to thank him and bid farewell. However, she found herself unexpectedly invited to the VIP table for lunch, introduced by Bingyi as a great painter and photographer. The praise made her blush, prompting her to quickly down two glasses of wine. She had also brought a gift for the bride: a handmade lace scarf from the island of Burano. Having visited Burano earlier to photograph the lagoon and canals, she packed the scarf for the right occasion, which happened to be Xingchi’s wedding.
The girl in the red dress called out, “Uncle!” and Bingyi stopped. “Uncle, I’m leaving now. I’ll come visit you next time, alright?”
“You’re always welcome,” Bingyi said, a bit tipsy from all the wine he had at lunch. “Just come to that houseboat. Whether you come or not, I’ll be there.”
“You’re a good person, Uncle. You didn’t even ask who I am.”
“You’re here to take photos, not to collect debts.”
“Thank you, Uncle, well said!” The girl in the red dress smiled. “Where are you headed?”
“I’m going to get some food for my cormorants,” Bingyi said, suddenly wearing a mischievous smile. He stretched out his neck, half-squatted, fingers clasped together with his palm facing down in front of his forehead; his left hand had its palm facing up behind his back. “GAh gah.” He moved his right hand and head simultaneously, while his left hand and buttocks swayed together, mimicking a cormorant. The pose indeed resembled a cormorant.
“That’s perfect, don’t move!” The girl in the red dress’s eyes lit up as she quickly raised her camera.