Chapter Thirteen: The Old Hen Awaits You

Danzi and Longzi had no idea what had happened; the reason for the ship’s departure was far too complicated to explain in a few words. Old Chicken sat on the upper deck, knocking his heavy pipe against the planks with a hint of helplessness, before fishing out his tobacco pouch again.

From time to time, Old Chicken glanced toward the rocky island, hoping someone might return. The helplessness and disappointment were plain on his face. If it weren’t for the string of accidents, Old Chicken would never have agreed to leave—he would have held out until Master Nuo and the others came back.

At that moment, Xiao Pan’s voice rose from below: “Old Chicken, come down and make dinner! Everyone’s so hungry their stomachs are stuck to their backs!”

Hearing this, Old Chicken knocked his pipe against the rail in frustration, his mood instantly worsening. If Xiao Pan hadn’t stirred up trouble, Old Chicken wouldn’t have lost control of the situation.

“What are you yelling about? One missed meal and you’ll starve to death? You’re the one always making a fuss!” Old Chicken tucked the pipe into his coat, tightened his clothes, and made his way down slowly.

“Old Chicken—uh, Master Ji, are you still mad at me? You’re a big-hearted man, don’t hold it against me. Besides, I was only thinking of everyone on the ship. What if something happened to us—what would we do then?” Pan Xiaoyu grinned obsequiously.

Old Chicken knew all too well that the most dangerous ones weren’t those who confronted you openly, but those who schemed in the shadows. Seeing Pan Xiaoyu’s sycophantic smile, Old Chicken felt nothing but disgust. Without a word, he pushed past him and headed to the galley.

Several people were already waiting in the kitchen, ready to help—whether out of hunger or a desire to curry favor, it was hard to say. Old Chicken’s temper flared, and he unleashed a barrage of scolding.

“Is this how you pick celery leaves? Is this how you slice meat? Hey, I’m talking to you! Can’t you stop wasting water? Don’t you realize there’s not much left on the ship? Don’t you know you can reuse the water after washing vegetables? When there’s no water left, you’ll be drinking your own urine. Can you cook? Do you even know how to live?” he berated them, but they only grinned sheepishly, claiming they’d never cooked before and had come to learn.

Old Chicken knew full well they weren’t here to learn how to cook—they were trying to appease him. He also recognized that the mess they were in wasn’t really their fault, but he had anger with nowhere to vent.

“Pengfei, don’t just stand there—go up to the deck and keep watch. What if Master Nuo and the others come back?” he said, rapping Wang Pengfei on the arm with his pipe.

The tension on the ship had mostly subsided, but three days had passed, and the five-day rendezvous was almost upon them. Old Chicken grew ever more anxious, worrying about when the group on the island would return.

He hardly slept for days, spending every moment he could on deck, his pipe never leaving his lips. The constant pacing, the cold weather, and his persistent cough did nothing to loosen the grip of worry; he clung to his pipe all the more.

Old Chicken knew the situation of every crew member intimately—not quite as perceptively as Master Nuo, but after so many years, he’d learned plenty by osmosis. He might not be a master at moving people with words, but he’d learned how to handle each person’s temperament.

But this time was different. With Captain Nuo absent, some people’s ambitions began to stir, their plotting sending chills through the heart. It wasn’t that Old Chicken was afraid to think about it—he simply didn’t want to. After all, these were men who’d weathered countless storms together. He still couldn’t believe Pan Xiaoyu was scheming to take control.

The five-day deadline was nearly up, and snowflakes had begun to drift down from the sky. Old Chicken’s unease deepened; the ship’s fuel was running low. After many heated arguments, both sides had finally reached a compromise: they would set out at seven in the morning on the fifth day, running only one generator and the boiler.

By six o’clock on the fifth morning, the sounds of activity could be heard as the crew began their tasks. Black smoke started curling from the funnel. Lang Guojun and Jiang Lingang assigned duties, and Pan Xiaoyu sent two sailors to the bow. Everything was ready; the ship could depart at any moment.

But the snow was heavier than the day before, blanketing the deck in a thick layer. Old Chicken remained motionless, staring toward the island, waiting for a figure to emerge from the swirling white.

The sky was merciless, the snow falling so thickly that not even the men at the bow could be seen, let alone any approaching figures.

“Old Chicken, come down! We’re about to set sail!” came Gong Yanqiang’s shout from below.

“Leave me be!” Old Chicken called back, his heart aching.

Below, the others moved through their tasks with practiced efficiency: heating the boiler, refining fuel, starting both generators, firing up the main engine, raising the anchor. The smoothness of the operations was matched only by the coldness in the air and in their hearts.

The ship began to glide away from the rocky island. Old Chicken shivered—goosebumps prickling his entire body.

He rushed to the wheelhouse. The sudden change in temperature between the deck and the cabin caused the snow on his boots to melt, and with a crash, he slipped and fell near the controls. Ignoring the pain, he grabbed the radio microphone and yelled,

“Emergency stop! Emergency stop!” He was nearly out of breath. “Master Nuo is back!”

The news exploded through the ship, electrifying the crew.

The sailors all rushed to the rail, craning their necks to catch sight of Master Nuo’s return.

Through the blizzard, a dark figure appeared—perhaps two hundred meters away on a clear day, but far less distinct in the snow. Old Chicken shouted again.

“Hurry and meet the captain!”

Responding to the order, Gong Yanqiang, Chu Yang, and Wang Pengfei hurried to the lifeboat station. Chu Yang handled the lowering of the boat, while Gong Yanqiang and Wang Pengfei went down to meet the captain.

Soon, their shapes grew clearer: Captain Nuo was being supported by Danzi and Longzi, both of whom were limping.

They were quickly brought aboard and hustled into the starboard infirmary. Old Chicken was already waiting, helping drag them inside. The others were shooed away, leaving only Wang Pengfei to assist.

From outside, Old Chicken’s voice could be heard barking orders at Wang Pengfei: “Hand me the forceps!” “Cotton balls!” “Thread!” His voice was urgent, but the joy in his heart at seeing Master Nuo’s return was unmistakable.

Yet the sight of the captain’s grave injuries, nearly in shock, jolted him into calm efficiency as he prepared the medical supplies. Seeing that Longzi and Danzi’s injuries were less severe, he treated their wounds while questioning Master Nuo about how he’d been hurt and what had happened.

Nearly an hour and a half passed in the infirmary before Old Chicken finally breathed a sigh of relief. Danzi emerged, cradling a bundle of cotton and gauze, only to be surrounded by the anxious crew.

But the door was locked from within; only Old Chicken, Captain Nuo, Danzi, and Longzi remained inside. Wang Pengfei, questioned by everyone, could only repeat, “It’s all right now.”

Hearing this, most of the crew felt the weight lift from their hearts—though for some, a new uneasiness crept in.