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墨書 Inktalez
That day, as I woke up from my nap and stood on the deck marveling at the sea—water everywhere, and spiders with their many legs—I suddenly heard shouting coming from the dining area. There weren't many people on the ship, so I immediately ran toward the source of the commotion. When I arrived, I found Zhao Mingkun and a few others had already gathered at the scene. It was chaotic, with barking dogs and shouting people, and I had no idea what had happened.
Peering through the crowd, I saw a man lying on the ground with blood all over his head. I recognized him; he was an American named Davis. He usually sat alone sipping coffee or tea, slightly overweight but generally easygoing. Occasionally, he would join our conversations.
At that moment, the ship's doctor rushed over to tend to him. As he bandaged Davis's wound, I noticed that his head had been cut open by glass or something sharp. The wound wasn't deep but was long and looked quite gruesome. Fortunately, it didn't seem life-threatening; as long as he avoided infection, he would be fine.
Next to him lay a broken beer bottle, and there were clear signs that someone had smashed it on his table before injuring his face. Meanwhile, the person who had attacked him was being restrained by two bodyguards brought by Zhao Mingkun.
This assailant was also an American named Anderson. I had previously noticed these two often sitting together; they appeared to be friends. It was surprising to see them fighting like this. Anderson had some minor injuries on his face from a punch—just a scrape really—but even while being held down, he struggled against his captors as if he still wanted to continue the fight.
Davis, sitting on the ground while being treated by the doctor, was equally defiant. He continued to hurl insults at Anderson, clearly eager for another round once he was patched up. Both men seemed unwilling to back down, feeling they hadn't fought to their full potential. Sure enough, once the doctor finished bandaging Davis's head, the two were ready to clash again.
The two groups had no choice but to take Anderson inside to cool off while Davis was escorted to the infirmary for a tetanus shot and other care. As they left, Anderson threatened Davis, saying that if someone hadn't stopped him, he would have killed him. Davis retorted with a similar threat, claiming that if he weren't so weak in the knees, he would have kicked Anderson into the sea for the sharks. Anderson replied nonchalantly, "Oh really? I'm waiting for you. I'm fine; don't worry about me," as he pushed away the doctor trying to treat his wounds.
Shaking my head in exasperation, we began cleaning up the mess left behind. While we worked, someone asked, "What exactly happened? Aren't those two friends?"
It seems that curiosity is a trait inherent in everyone; it knows no race or nationality. Most people were clueless about what had transpired since both men were rather reserved and typically didn't attract much attention. However, an African American girl nearby had noticed everything because she was sitting close by reading a magazine.
She began animatedly recounting what she had witnessed: "Hey guys! Let me tell you what happened! I was just enjoying my afternoon bliss—nothing beats sipping tea and flipping through a magazine! Not even smoking weed feels this good! I was on page 125 when I heard shouting from across the room."
It's worth mentioning that this is my translation of her words; she delivered them in a rap style which I've tried to capture in this translation.
"I put down my magazine to see what was going on," she continued in her rhythmic flow. "Two old friends fighting—why were they fighting? Yoyo! I listened closely; it was about business! Internet issues got them riled up! Technical problems and pricing disputes! Then Davis threw the first punch! Yoyo!"
"Anderson smashed the beer bottle over Davis's head—blood started pouring out!" she continued excitedly. "But that's just a small issue; old friends will eventually make up! Why not throw a party right now?"
The racial talent was indeed not to be underestimated, and I couldn't help but applaud it. However, it seemed that this was all just a prelude to a business deal gone awry. After the incident, I asked Zhao Mingkun, "Are those merchants part of the organization?"
Zhao Mingkun gave me a meaningful glance before shaking his head and saying, "They are not members of the organization. There are indeed some people from the organization on this ship, aside from our group. But I certainly won't tell you who they are. You're clever; I know what you're trying to get from me, but I can clearly tell you that it won't happen."
"I'm pleased that you haven't tried to contact the outside world these past few days," Zhao Mingkun said with a smile as he leaned against the railing. "Whether you're sincere or just assessing who is trustworthy, I can believe you're sincere—wanting to join our organization. Otherwise..."
He didn't finish his sentence, but it was clear that he had planted spies among these people; I just didn't know who they were. At the same time, I was relieved that I hadn't acted rashly; otherwise, it would have been a costly mistake. But who were these individuals?
I had never thought deeply about this before, but now that the idea crossed my mind, I felt a chill run down my spine. Someone had been playing a role all along; they were part of the organization but pretended to be a tourist. Suddenly, I recalled the person playing Zhao Mingkun's father—a truly remarkable actor.
Was it that Japanese man? The African American girl who loved to sing? Or perhaps the voluptuous Brazilian girl and the pet-loving Mai Lang? It could even be that elderly lady in her seventies? I sighed, deciding it was best not to dwell on this matter any longer. Often, our unhappiness stems from knowing too much.
For things that cannot be changed and where knowing the truth serves no purpose, it's better to remain ignorant. As the ancients said, "It's hard to be confused," which is indeed a form of great wisdom. Sometimes, people simply enjoy seeing what they want to see; isn't that a good thing in itself? Occasionally, our eyes deceive us; in reality, it's our subconscious and our own minds that are trying to trick us.
I resolved not to probe further so as not to jeopardize any friendships. This little episode passed just like that; we continued to play and eat as we pleased. The next day, however, something felt off when it was already past noon and Anderson still hadn't emerged from his room.
No one had seen Anderson come out for dinner last night; everyone assumed he felt awkward after the events of the afternoon and was too embarrassed to join us for a meal. But now it was already past one in the afternoon on the second day, and Anderson still hadn't come out. Everyone began to realize something was amiss—was there something wrong with Anderson?
The cabin was a sealed space; there wasn't even a crack in the door, nor were there windows to see inside. The room did have a window facing the sea, but unless we could press ourselves against the ship's wall, we wouldn't be able to see inside—which was impossible. We gathered outside his door, and I knocked gently before calling out, "Anderson, are you in there? Why aren't you coming out for dinner?"
After several knocks, Anderson's voice came from inside with an impatient tone: "I'm fine; don't worry about me."
It seemed we had worried for nothing. Just then, Mai Lang emerged from her room and asked us, "Why are so many of you gathered here? Is something going on?"
I shook my head and replied, "Nothing's wrong; everyone can disperse now. Once Mr. Anderson calms down, he'll take care of himself."
Mai Lang was originally sleeping when a group of people woke him up. He decided not to sleep anymore and insisted on learning how to play Chinese Chess from me. While playing, he recorded his moves with a voice recorder, which was quite amusing. I never expected Mai Lang to be able to play Chinese Chess, and he was actually doing pretty well. However, against an opponent like me, he obviously stood no chance.
Mai Lang shook his head in resignation and revealed to me that he had learned Chinese Chess for a while before, taught by a British person. Although he didn't understand the Chinese characters written above, he could recognize them as pictures. He had once played Chinese Chess online against a Chinese person and managed to win several times.
Mai Lang felt that his level was already unbeatable, but he didn't expect to be crushed so quickly by me, which left him feeling quite disappointed.
I quickly comforted him, explaining that things from our country are naturally easier for us to handle.
Playing chess is similar to solving a case; first, you need to gauge your opponent's mindset and predict their next move. This is akin to deducing a suspect's motive for murder—you have to think about who they might target next and why. Secondly, you must pay attention to details; missing even the smallest aspect can lead to missing the real killer move, which often goes unnoticed until it's too late.
Mai Lang's skills were decent, but against me, he was clearly outmatched. However, my attempts at consolation seemed ineffective because one of Mai Lang's comments left me speechless and unable to retort.
He said to me, "Ancient Football originated in China. You’ve been playing football for a thousand years, yet I haven’t seen you play that well! Don’t brush me off."
What could I say in response to Mai Lang? I glanced at my feet and then at the chessboard before suggesting, "How about we go play some ping pong in the recreation room?"
On my first voyage at sea, I encountered a well-known Bengal Aid Worker. Young and impulsive, I didn’t have the means to really make a splash until the First Mate told me that a bag of instant noodles could get me through the night with a group of women… It was quite an experience—intense and multi-faceted.
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