Chapter Seventeen: The Three Little Bears (Part One)

“Boss, did you catch any sea kings? Big ones?”
Although most people on this ship carried the weight of their sorrows, there were always exceptions—like the captain’s dim-witted son. This boy named Airlen was clearly an unusually lively child.
To be more precise, he was a proud and active troublemaker.
Airlen could hardly be called adorable; his origins made that clear enough. Thin, dark-skinned, and with features not yet fully grown, he resembled those underfed children from the real world’s third-world countries. In fact, perhaps hunger was not a stranger to him. Yet his eyes shone with a certain energy—perhaps a bit too much energy.
Until now, there hadn’t been anyone onboard of his age. Even if there had, no one would have indulged his mischief. But after Qiubai and his companion came aboard, everything changed.
Airlen was the only child on this vessel—no surprise, really. Given the crew’s backgrounds, a lifetime of bachelorhood was their destiny. The concept of having, or ever having had, a “wife” was an extreme rarity, and anyone with a child was nearly a miracle.
Of course, given the current world’s advocacy for a “green lifestyle,” the notions of ownership and exclusivity in such statements were questionable—after all, building civilization was everyone’s responsibility, and “green for you, me, and all” was more than just a slogan.
In just a single day, Qiubai had, with his eloquent storytelling, regaled the unfortunate boy with tales of his own grand adventures—stories as boastful as they were captivating—and unsurprisingly gained a loyal little follower.
For Qiubai, this was the idle amusement of a rainy day—nothing more.
“Of course not yet. Do you think sea kings are so easy to catch?” Qiubai yawned from his perch on the gunwale, a fishing rod in hand.
His listless appearance suggested that falling into the sea at any moment would be perfectly natural.
Fishing? Qiubai was only putting on a show. He had no suicidal desire to actually hook a sea king; it was just a way to fool an ignorant child. As for catching ordinary fish—fishing while underway was a skill, and Qiubai was clearly not a skilled fisherman.
In fact, his hook was bare, with no bait at all. That he caught nothing was only to be expected. One couldn’t hope that aquatic creatures would willingly impale themselves for the sake of sacrifice.
Qiubai looked tired for good reason—he and Ein had slept on the deck the previous night, along with a large portion of the crew.
Even Qiubai’s regular exercise routine had been forced to a halt due to the lack of space.
The ship was small and overcrowded, and the cargo hold was packed with precious goods. The remaining space was reserved for the vital supplies needed to cross the Calm Belt—namely, powdered seastone.
Compared to these priorities, the crew’s sleep quality was of little concern.
So, even on cold nights, most had to huddle together on deck for warmth—though certain ambitions of Qiubai’s regarding “huddling together” had met with utter defeat.
Still, as the saying goes, “In life, eight or nine things out of ten will go awry.” Qiubai bore no grudges—not even the slightest.
“When will you catch one, then—a sea king?” the unfortunate boy asked again, eyes sparkling with anticipation.
He didn’t consider that if Qiubai actually hooked such a beast, Airlen’s father would probably throw Qiubai overboard first, then decide whether to perform the noble act of filicide.
No, if the boy was actually hoping for such a thing, perhaps Grisha should first question whether his son was a product of the much-lauded “green lifestyle.”
Qiubai shot the child a sidelong glance—so young, and already wishing for trouble.
He himself didn’t care to recall who first boasted about being able to hook a giant sea king.
“At the very least... not until we reach the Calm Belt. The waters there are rich, but it’s a closed season all year round.” That was Qiubai’s answer. But as if to respond, a shout came from above his head:
“Calm Belt in sight!”
The voice belonged to the lookout stationed aloft—on the Giant, a crow’s nest topped the mast, manned around the clock for vigilance.
After a night of steady, high-speed sailing, the Calm Belt was finally within reach.
Upon hearing this, Captain Grisha hurried to the deck:
“Take in the sails! As we planned, everyone get ready to work in shifts!”
“Be extremely careful—no mistakes.”
Crossing the Calm Belt was a decision already made—no one would shrink back now. Of this, Captain Grisha was certain.
The Calm Belt had neither wind nor current; one could not drift across it on waves alone. With the sails useless, the thirty-odd crew members would take turns rowing, propelling the ship forward by sheer muscle.
Strength was something these men did not lack, and perseverance was essential.
Oar-power was the Giant’s only option; it could not be converted into a paddle steamer, as that would take up too much hold space. And as for advanced steam engines—those were, at best, blueprints in the World Government’s top research units. The most cutting-edge maritime technology was the Puffing Tom, a sea train still in its trial phase, far from official deployment.
This, then, was the only advantage of the Giant’s modest size: it could still be rowed.
Qiubai glanced back. The deck was now a flurry of activity. The sails were taken down and lashed tight—they wouldn’t be needed for a while.
Barrels of seastone powder were hoisted from below and stacked at the bow; once they entered the Calm Belt, dispensing the powder would be a nonstop task.
Next, Qiubai felt a faint movement beneath him. Looking down, he saw porthole-like openings along the hull—not for cannons, but for oars.
All the rowing would be done from the lower deck, to ensure the “engine room” was as undisturbed as possible.
“All hands, the Giant is now entering the Calm Belt!”
With Captain Grisha’s command, the oars began to move, and all else fell silent. No one spoke—not even the usually exuberant troublemaker, who now sensed the tension in the air.
The crew’s training showed in their synchronized, nearly silent strokes, maximizing distance with minimal effort.
They needed quiet—absolute quiet. For beneath the keel lurked countless colossal sea creatures; a single sneeze could doom them all.
If Grisha’s extensive seamanship was a great asset in the New World, in the Calm Belt the Giant was nothing more than a helpless lamb.
Or perhaps a plaything for monsters—one misstep and the tale would be “The Giant’s Tragic End.”
But with all preparations made, their fate now rested with chance and destiny.
No matter how busy the captain and his men were, Qiubai and Ein had nothing to do.
Firstly, they had paid an exorbitant fare; Grisha and his crew, simple folk at heart, felt that making passengers sleep on deck was already pushing decency. To have them work as well would be shameful. More importantly, Captain Grisha did not trust the abilities of these two young men—every task now was a matter of life and death, and he would not risk outside interference leading to unpredictable, possibly disastrous consequences.
Well, the first reason was nonsense; the second was the real one.
Regardless, as the rhythmic sound of water filled the air, the Giant finally entered the Calm Belt as planned.
Perhaps to avoid Qiubai’s incessant chatter, Ein had kept her distance, but now she returned to his side.
She, too, was visibly tense—compared to this, even swimming with Qiubai was nothing. The ship was not just dancing on a tightrope; it was performing on a strand of hair. If a sea king noticed them now, ending up in the water would mean certain death.
Qiubai reeled in his line, showing Airlen the empty hook—a silent message that failing to catch a sea king was not a matter of skill, nor was it a boast, but simply because there was no bait.
Quick to catch on, Airlen nodded with sudden understanding and dashed back into the hold.
Qiubai blinked, then realized with a jolt—the boy must be after his father’s “navigator fish” for bait!
No, that would be disastrous.
Qiubai instinctively reached out to stop him, but the boy was already gone—too late.
Now, everything depended on that fish. If it died, they would lose all sense of direction and risk being hopelessly lost. Even if they survived the sea kings, they would meet another kind of doom.
Truly, troublemakers are a race apart from humanity—humans are frail, but troublemakers are strong and all-capable.
...Invincible, though more often than not, their destructive power is reserved for themselves and their own.