I guessed haphazardly, but my hands didn't stop; a few chops severed half the fishing net. The three-masted ship had been entangled with our Hai Liu boat by that net, but before Irley Yang and I could cut the other half, the surging tide caused the parallel angle between the two vessels to suddenly split. The net stretched taut between them, pulled tight, and if the force tilting the hulls had increased even slightly, either the lifeboat or the fishing net would have been violently torn apart.

Amidst a sharp lurch of the hull, my center of gravity shifted backward, and my body slammed into the cabin. Unexpectedly, the boat was not sturdy enough; it couldn't withstand the impact, and my body actually sank into the white wooden planks of the cabin, punching a large hole through it.

Feeling something was amiss, I glanced back, and from the indentation I had smashed into the hull, streams of dark blood were oozing out. The cabin wasn't made of wood at all, but merely lined with white cardboard. Seeing the turbid, bloody water, Irley Yang’s face also changed color. She reached out and pulled me up from the floor. I had already sensed the abnormality of the cabin and quickly told her, "Quick, retreat, retreat! This boat is pasted with white paper—it's a ghost ship sent to the spirits of the sea."

The calm sea suddenly began to churn violently, and the boat shook with immense force. My feet lost purchase, and I staggered backward, my back crashing against the cabin wall. I heard a distinct crack as the wooden plank gave way, sinking inward. Although the impact wasn't light, I felt no pain; the sensation was as if I had hit an empty cardboard shell.

I looked back in confusion. The white three-masted ship, near where the cabin door was, had caved in over a large area because of my impact. It wasn't that the hull planks were rotten or weak; the door itself was pasted with stiff paper. If Irley Yang hadn't grabbed me, I might have continued with the momentum and fallen straight through the stiff paper into the hold. The crack in the hatch was pitch black, obscuring the interior, but the thick, metallic stench of blood inside was enough to induce nausea. As the hull swayed, blood began to seep out through the gap in the door.

How could there be a paper boat on the vast ocean? I recalled a custom along the Chinese coast of sending out "Great Heat Boats" (Dàshǔ Chuán) to usher the Five Sages back to the sea, letting them drift away on the summer solstice. There was also a peculiar custom, similar to warding off pestilence, where similar rites were held when contagious epidemics broke out. These involved old, discarded vessels. The pestilence-averting ritual meant sending the Plague God out to sea. Usually, the old boat would be covered entirely in white paper, decorated with numerous paper figures and spirit money, along with miniature representations of weapons like swords, spears, and guns, as well as various implements for fishing and trading vessels—masts, spars, and rudders—all fully equipped. However, the white rice placed aboard could not exceed one sheng (about half a liter); these were donations from coastal sailors and fishermen. The more items donated to the boat, the farther the Plague God would be sent away. These boats often carried the corpses of those who had died from the contagion, sometimes filled to the brim with bodies. They would be guided to the deep sea and then set alight.

Before liberation, an incident occurred in a riverside town that had a rice shop. One night, a customer suddenly arrived demanding rice. Because it was dark, the shopkeeper couldn't clearly see the visitor's face; he seemed to be wearing a long robe, a garment strangely reminiscent of funeral attire. Furthermore, the visitor carried a salty, fishy, decaying stench of a corpse. When asked the reason, the customer claimed he was transporting pork on a long journey and feared it would spoil, so he had preserved the fresh meat with a great deal of salt and fish brine. However, despite the curing, the heat had caused the pork to rot and stink. He intended to dispose of it by morning. The shopkeeper, being rather grasping, noticed the rice was being sold at a very low price. Its only flaw was that the sacks holding the rice smelled rather foul, but the shopkeeper reasoned that even if the rice carried the odor of rotten meat, he could mix it with other stock, and no one would notice. Thus, he asked no further questions, weighed the rice by lantern light, and ordered his assistant to temporarily place the sacks in the courtyard to air overnight before storing them in the granary the next day, as the smell was unbearable. To his shock the next morning, the dozens of bags of rice dumped in the courtyard had vanished without a trace, leaving behind only scattered grains—about a sheng's worth in total when collected. Only then did he realize he had likely encountered a ghost the night before; he had bought rice from a plague boat. Within three days, an epidemic broke out in the town, killing nearly half the population.

I heard this legend more than once while in Fujian. Every narrator insisted it was true, though not that it happened in Fujian, but rather in a location along the Jiangsu or Zhejiang coast, during the Republic of China era. I was young then, with an immature worldview, and I loved hearing tales of the supernatural. It remains vividly etched in my memory. Sometimes, when I inadvertently recall the corpse from the boat selling rice at night to deliver plague, my neck genuinely chills. That's why, upon seeing the door sealed with white hard paper, my first thought was that it was an epidemic-averting vessel. I wondered if this boat had become separated from the vessel towing it and was now adrift on the currents.

The thought struck me instantly, but the custom of sending off plague boats had been abolished long ago, hadn't it? I couldn't quite reconcile it, but the notion of an epidemic boat took root. I believed this vessel was certainly no place to linger. If I stayed too long, I might contract the contagion from the corpses aboard. Without stopping to examine things further, I hastily urged Irley Yang to retreat back to the Trident.

Irley Yang poked the deck beneath her feet with her net-cutting knife, producing a dull, hollow thud sound, and said to me, "How can there be a paper boat on the open sea? Only the forward and aft hatches were covered with paper cladding. If the entire boat were made of paper, the waves would have swallowed it long ago."

I thought to myself that while Irley Yang possessed broad knowledge, she had ultimately received an American education. How long has America been a nation? Naturally, she wouldn't know about the vastness of China and the multitude of strange folk customs that have existed since ancient times. Given the urgency of the situation, I didn't have time to explain in detail. Moreover, the sea was shrouded in thick fog, heavy with ominous vapors; I feared a rice-seller might leap out of the blood-seeping cabin. So, I said no more, immediately taking her hand and running toward the rail.

The swells were increasing, and the last half of the fishing net binding the two ships was about to snap even without being cut. To prevent any mishap, Irley Yang swung her knife and severed the net completely. The two vessels lost their connection and drifted further apart amidst the rocking. The gangplank fell into the sea. Captain Ruan Hei, steering the Trident, brought her in at full power, trying to keep her close to the three-masted ship. The few figures on the opposite vessel shouted something unintelligible, and they threw two ropes, each looped with a life preserver, toward us. I casually tossed aside my fish-cutting knife, wrapped my arms tightly around a life preserver, and realized the only way back to the Trident was to swing across the water like a monkey.

The deck height above the water was low, but Duo Ling and Gu Cai were experienced. They had already looped the rope around a higher point on the mast structure ahead of time, making it possible to grab the line and swing across without falling into the water. Just as we were about to move, Fatty shouted loudly, ordering the searchlight beam lowered onto the sea surface, as if something was lurking below. I looked down at the water and gasped—the surface was covered with the dorsal fins of sharks. Attracted by the blood, they were converging from all directions, numerous, circling the boats. Due to their excitement, they swam incredibly fast, a dizzying spectacle. If one fell into the water, they would be torn to shreds in moments.

Even the bravest person would feel a chill seeing so many sharks. With their speed and rows of teeth sharper than saws, preying on someone in the water was no different than a tiger pouncing on a lamb. Irley Yang, having witnessed the deadliness of blood-crazed sharks before, turned pale: "My God, Old Hu, be careful! Don't fall in."

Even without her reminder, I knew the danger. I had to warn her too: "You must not hesitate either; don't look into the sea when you swing over..." At that moment, the three-masted ship pitched more violently, and the distance between the boats widened again. Since water was flooding in, the hull on this side was already listing, and the further the gap stretched, the higher the chance of falling into the water during the swing. There was no time for me to psychologically prepare. Going together was impossible; one had to boost the other, increasing the launch height to minimize the risk of touching the water. I held Irley Yang back and said, "You go first, I'll give you a boost..."

Irley Yang protested, "No, you're trying to be a hero again! How will you get across yourself?" In this critical, life-or-death moment, I didn't want to wait for her argument. I lifted her foot and gave a strong upward push. Irley Yang was light; gripping the life preserver, she shot across the water propelled by the rope, swiftly climbing onto the rail of the waiting lifeboat with both hands and feet. She turned back and yelled to me, "Hurry up, the boat is sinking!"

But the gap between the ships had widened with the swell. When I helped Irley Yang swing across, I had placed my own life preserver beside me without securing it. As the boats separated, the preserver was dragged into the water by the connecting rope. Fatty, Gu Cai, and the others jumped anxiously on the deck. They frantically pulled the rope to retrieve the submerged preserver, intending to throw it again, but it was too far, and the throw only landed it back in the sea.

The bottom of the three-masted ship had a massive gash, and water was pouring in steadily. Although the hull was already listing, for some reason, instead of sinking, it began to shake violently, as if some colossal object on the seabed had clamped onto its keel. A few more violent shakes, and this already flimsy hull would surely come apart.

I watched the Trident recede, my companions’ faces dissolving into the sea fog. They gradually vanished, and I could only hear their desperate shouts. My mind felt fuzzy, and I couldn't make out their words, but hearing those voices made my heart ache with a profound sense of isolation. Was I truly destined to perish with this phantom ship? As the vessel bucked, the foul blood from the cabin continued to surge out, flowing across the deck and into the sea. Although the dark night offered no illumination, the chaotic sounds in the water confirmed the shark numbers were incalculable—it sounded like dumplings boiling in a massive pot.

The ship was pitch black, save for a lone lamp on the mast. I looked around but could see almost nothing. I clung to the mainmast to stabilize my balance and switched on my portable miniature spotlight, finally casting a small circle of light. I shone it on the paper door I had damaged; the white cabin was so saturated with the leaking blood that its original appearance was unrecognizable. I thought that before death, I might as well see what was inside causing so much bleeding, so when I met up with Old Ma and the others below, I could report accurately, avoiding being a clueless ghost even in death. This ghostly white, bloody ship seemed alive, bleeding wherever it was damaged. It didn't look like a plague ship either. I truly wanted to see what secrets this phantom vessel held.

I don't know why, but at the final moment, my curiosity always overcame my fear. With grim determination, I planned to rush into the cabin to see for myself. But before I could lift my leg, the hull suddenly plunged downwards. I cursed under my breath: Why was it sinking so fast now?

Having been forged in the crucible of military life for so many years and having undertaken numerous dangerous tomb-raiding ventures, I couldn't just sit and wait for death in this situation. I bit down on the micro-spotlight and scrambled up the mast using both hands and feet. The ship was sinking fast, but I climbed faster—whoosh, whoosh, whoosh—in a few movements I reached the masthead. All around me, above and below, was only sea fog, and beneath me, the turbulent sea and the chaotic sounds of swimming sharks made my heart race.

The three-masted ship sank faster and faster. The Trident had disappeared completely in the dense fog. I figured the only thing I could do was buy time, hoping they could turn back to rescue me. Now, I could only pray for the sinking to slow down. Initially, I could still hear their shouts, but now even those sounds were gone. Hope dwindled significantly. I probably wouldn't live to see victory. Just as I waited anxiously for reinforcements that never came, a massive disturbance erupted in the sea. The leaking three-masted ship suddenly burst back up from the water, tossed up and down by the waves like a leaf caught in the wind. Under this violently swirling chaos, the mast I was clutching tilted precariously, threatening to snap and fall into the water at any second.

Due to the flooding, the three-masted ship finally began to sink into the ocean. Sharks circled in the water, highly agitated by the scent of blood, ramming the wooden hull with loud thuds. I quickly climbed to the very top of the mast. Unexpectedly, the hull began to shake, and the part that had already submerged suddenly resurfaced. Through the fog, I heard a tremendous sound erupt from the cabin, like a dragon's roar mingled with a tsunami.

My entire body was soaked by the water churned up by the three-masted ship, and the wind roared past my ears. Clinging tightly to the mast, afraid to let go amidst the violent pitching, I listened to the activity below and knew something was wrong. No wonder the boat hadn't sunk despite the massive leak—something underwater was holding it up. How enormous must that thing be? Was the blood in the cabin all its?