Under gray clouds, the deafening steam whistle sounded as the ship’s bow split the gray water surface. The long-distance passenger liner from Shanghai to San Francisco set sail in the drizzling rain.

The Qing Dynasty’s first batch of study-abroad students embarked on their journey. Compared to its momentous historical significance, this day seemed utterly ordinary.

The male students’ parents had already signed life-and-death contracts with the court, agreeing to fifteen years abroad. After completing their studies, they would return for government service and could not seek private employment. During their time abroad and travel, should any natural disasters, illnesses, or unforeseen events occur, they would accept their fate without compensation…

Flesh and blood separated, the docks echoed with weeping. Study abroad supervisor Rong Hong—simultaneously serving as Qing government deputy minister to America—continuously encouraged: “Hug your fathers and mothers. Fellow countrymen, embrace your children. Kiss their little faces. When they return, they’ll be grown young men.”

But Chinese families had no tradition of hugging and kissing. No matter how reluctant the parting, fathers only held back tears with stern faces, scolding their sons not to forget their roots while abroad. Children only knelt, repeatedly kowtowing to their parents.

The steamship set sail, the massive paddle wheels on both sides beginning to turn. The children dried their tears, more excited than afraid, frantically waving toward shore.

Lin Yuchan also urged the girls beside her: “Wave! Wave!”

Most girls had no family, but many came to see them off: orphanage nannies and caretakers, Miss Audrey, Gao Dewen, a Bao Liang Bureau director, and countless acquaintances of Lin Yuchan…

The children looked at the gradually receding Bund prosperity, happily waving wildly. The laughter of boys and girls soon mingled together.

Amateur photographer Rong Hong specially bought the latest German camera to commemorate this epoch-making scene.

Accompanying Hanlin scholar Chen Lanbin—study abroad supervisor and concurrent minister to America—along with several clerical officials, was kneeling on deck, kowtowing toward Beijing. Seeing this, he quickly jumped up, stroking his white beard like a worried private school teacher: “Hey, hey, men and women shouldn’t touch—separate!”

The court naturally didn’t trust the fake foreign devil Rong Hong to lead study abroad affairs alone, so when Zeng Guofan was alive, he specially transferred Ministry of Justice clerk Chen Lanbin as supervisor, responsible for the students’ Chinese and moral education during their time in America. This also helped eliminate some resistance from the old school faction.

Rong Hong quickly mediated: “They’re all children around ten years old—why be so strict! This ship is full of foreigners with dozens of eyes watching us. We can’t appear too old-fashioned and become a laughingstock, with people saying: ‘Isn’t the Qing Dynasty sending children abroad? Why are they still so conservative?”

Chen Lanbin had no response, muttering like a private school teacher unable to control his students.

When land disappeared from view, the steamship began pitching in the waves. In the stormy weather, the children lost their initial novelty and began collective violent seasickness, collapsing in their rooms in complete disarray.

Fortunately, Lin Yuchan was prepared, specifically emptying a trunk to bring seasickness remedies—peppermint oil, pickled radishes, dried tangerine peel plums, and vinegar-soaked young ginger—all snatched up by the children within a day. She became the ship’s most popular passenger, bar none. Children bowed to her voluntarily, respectfully calling her “lady teacher,” and sang songs for her.

Lin Yuchan thought having frequently traveled for business, she was long accustomed to water transport. Unexpectedly, after these lifesaving items proved their worth, she began violently seasick herself…

Blue waves, endless white foam rolling, sun, dark clouds, and stars alternately ruled the world. Sometimes Lin Yuchan leaned on the rail in the wind, feeling that though the world changed rapidly, this eternally unchanging, monotonous scenery was Earth’s normal state.

Nearly a week later, the students first adapted to sea life, beginning to play freely on the ship and trying various Western meals. Having received strict training from the “Children’s Study Abroad Bureau,” these ten-year-olds were more polite and likable than adults, all refined and shy, earning unanimous praise from foreign fellow passengers.

Occasionally, there were incidents. On this day, Lin Yuchan was dining in the restaurant when eighteen-year-old Huang Hu hurried over, very composedly calling her: “Sister.”

Huang Hu was the oldest among the girls, naturally becoming the leader of the fifteen girls. She had already studied at a missionary nursing school in Shanghai for a year, with teachers all saying she had talent for assistant medical work.

Lin Yuchan asked what happened. Huang Hu said very calmly: “Lin Feilun and Zhan Tianyou got into a fight.”

Lin Yuchan: “…”

Though she already knew the boys on this ship were future leaders in various fields, in her eyes, they were all little brats! Couldn’t be spoiled!

She immediately went aggressively to break up the fight.

But upon arrival, she found it wasn’t as serious as imagined. Lin Feilun loved sweets; Zhan Tianyou reminded her to watch for tooth decay. Lin Feilun thought he coveted her cake. Zhan Tianyou felt his good intentions fed the dogs. The two children, finding no common ground, immediately decided to emulate the West with a duel.

Both were similar age, but the girl developed faster, half a head taller. Zhan Tianyou appeared pale and thin. When Lin Yuchan arrived, the duel had become Lin Feilun’s one-sided beating.

“Feilun, come back!”

Lin Yuchan didn’t take sides, sternly stopping her adopted daughter.

Lin Feilun had always been somewhat afraid of her and reluctantly ran back.

“Apologize.”

Lin Feilun apologized with a bitter face, her mouth drooping, about to cry.

“Sister, how are you also favoring the boys…”

Lin Yuchan’s expression shifted. Why say “also”?

Rong Hong probably wouldn’t be biased. But in the minds of accompanying supervisor Chen Lanbin and several Chinese instructors, these male and female students carried completely different weight, naturally receiving differential treatment.

“For me, there’s no male or female. I favor whoever’s reasonable.” Lin Yuchan thought, then said to several students nearby: “As for others, I’ll try to persuade, but it may not work. When you reach America, whether boys or girls, you’ll probably all experience varying degrees of contempt and prejudice. I know this isn’t fair, but all you can do is strive to improve yourselves, not blame heaven and earth. Though young, you’re already outstanding among peers—you need to understand these adult principles early.”

Zhan Tianyou shyly approached, also quietly apologizing, saying he shouldn’t have bullied a girl as a boy, would be careful in future.

Lin Yuchan thought: even after suffering loss, he knows self-reflection—what a good child, no wonder he’ll be successful.

She maintained a serious face, telling Zhan Tianyou: “Today you weren’t wrong, but after reaching America, remember to argue less with people, and more often convince through reason. Being cautious isn’t weakness. Good steel should be used for blade edges; passionate enthusiasm should be saved for great matters of family and country. Your parents raised you for ten years—they don’t want to see you risk danger fighting over momentary competitiveness.”

Zhan Tianyou nodded, obediently saying: “Thank you for the lady teacher’s instruction.”

Lin Yuchan couldn’t help smiling. A future leader calling me a lady teacher!

Actually, by her life principles, those earlier “instructions” about “facing prejudice” and “being cowardly when necessary”—she didn’t entirely agree with. But no choice—these children faced a decade-plus foreign journey. All behavioral guidelines must start from pragmatism to ensure their healthy, safe growth.

…

After half a day as an elementary school homeroom teacher, Lin Yuchan wearily returned to her cabin.

Pushing the door, she suddenly realized something was off.

Where did Lin Feilun get the cake?

The study-abroad students lived in specially ordered uniform cabins, second-class treatment, just more crowded beds—six or eight per room, with public dining halls and tea rooms providing meals. Two meals and one snack daily, not including Western sweets.

Cake was only provided to a few first-class passengers. Others wanting it had to buy it themselves. Lin Feilun’s few copper coins’ pocket money couldn’t even buy a taste of cream.

Lin Yuchan pushed open her cabin door, immediately smelling sweet baked flour aroma. A freshly baked chiffon cake sat on the small table before her bed, topped with a candied cherry, vivid and fragrant.

“Pardon the intrusion, A’Mei.” Su Minguan bore traces of travel dust, seeming to smile yet not smile, her eyes extremely bright looking at her. “May I ask, where is this ship bound?”

Click—Lin Yuchan’s first reaction was to latch the door with an extra lock.

Then she screamed, diving into his arms.

Su Minguan pulled at his wounds, lightly hissing, holding her tighter. After a long while, he released her, strength failing.

“Land searches are tight; hiding in the countryside isn’t peaceful either. Nowhere to go, so I bribed a familiar comprador to hitch a ride, avoiding the limelight.” His chest rose and fell slightly, telling her: “Past few days hiding in cargo holds, quite wretched, didn’t dare disturb you… Oh, the cake was bought, not stolen, don’t worry.”

Lin Yuchan giggled foolishly, watching Su Minguan cut cake. His long, powerful hands gripped the dining knife, neatly cutting two slices onto the plates before them.

“I’ll report a stowaway to the captain,” she said with a contained smile. “This ship has the Qing minister to America—maybe even carrying your wanted poster.”

“Coincidentally.” Su Minguan stuffed a cake in her mouth. “Just now, I encountered Qing deputy minister to America, Mr. Rong. Not only didn’t he arrest me, he helped vouch so I could buy a steerage ticket.”

Lin Yuchan laughed till she choked. “Then go stay in steerage!”

Easier to invite gods than send them away. Stowaway regular Su Minguan turned a deaf ear, shamelessly occupying Lin Yuchan’s small cabin.

…

“How much fresh water per person daily? There are cattle and sheep in cargo—A’Mei, you don’t mind if I wash up?”

“Have clean handkerchiefs? The wound’s bleeding a bit.”

“Seasick, seasick, seasick… Tsk, this isn’t a navigation log, it’s medical records. Here, let me help you write.”

“No problem, Feilun, and they all know me, all agreed to cover. Don’t worry.”

…

Under a starry night, engine sounds monotonously humming, Su Minguan opened the porthole a crack. Salty wind blew in, scattering seawater and splashing the wooden headboard. Lin Yuchan lay in his arms, wildly imagining with him where this water drop had been, what whales, sharks, and great fish it had seen.

Su Minguan suddenly became interested, saying he’d heard a Western fable about the sea as a child.

“In the far western deep sea, merpeople rule aquatic creatures, living in palaces stacked with amber and shells. The palace houses several mermaid princesses. Each extremely beautiful, wearing headdresses of pearl petals, sachets of oyster shells, gardens with fish and shrimp swimming like birds. At fifteen, they gain permission to surface and see the moon, ships, and human cities.”

Lin Yuchan’s lips curved in a silent smile, listening with relish to “The Little Mermaid.”

“One day, the youngest mermaid surfaced. She saw a ship with a handsome young gentleman…”

Occasionally, when Su Minguan couldn’t remember details, she could arbitrarily guess, continuing the plot.

“She went to find the witch?”

“Right. She went to find the witch.” He was somewhat dejected. “Who told you this before?”

She giggled: “You told it in a sleep talk. You forgot.”

Su Minguan pouted, changing position to hold her, continuing to gather memory fragments.

Until the mermaid princess dropped the knife, turning to gray smoke—

“There seems to be more afterward. Thinking now, probably later additions for happy endings—better not told.”

Lin Yuchan smiled. Fairy tales naturally had to elevate to themes like “be good children so the little mermaid can enter heaven sooner”—not a dog tail continuation.

She asked: “You don’t like the mermaid princess’s choice?”

Su Minguan shook his head, saying it wasn’t worth it for a mortal. He’d rather live heartlessly for three hundred years, visiting every corner of the underwater world.

But he also admitted this sacrificial ending was truly beautiful. If it ended mundanely as he imagined, this story probably couldn’t have spread thousands of miles to his bedside.

Lin Yuchan smiled. Writing and reading reports as a child, she’d had the same attitude.

But now she had a subtle new understanding. She said in the little mermaid’s heart, the prince was no longer a specific person, but some lifelong ideal she’d exhaust all effort approaching. If the prince were replaced with career, art, fame, science, truth…

“There would still be people flying moth-like into flames, burning brief lives pursuing these things.” She concluded.

“Even if it ultimately doesn’t belong to you.” Su Minguan suddenly said quietly.

Lin Yuchan pulled his head close, kissing those eyes heavy with thoughts.

Some things weren’t easily let go of. He chose an ocean liner for out of sight, out of mind—also forcing himself to let go.

She said, “I’ve never left the country. During the journey, don’t be distracted, stay with me always, okay?”

Su Minguan smiled: “As if I’m familiar with foreign countries.”

She imagined with him what America would be like, laughing together at absurd speculations. He turned over, pressing her into the bedding.

Outside the porthole, small waves surged. In the vast Pacific, only two people remained alone.