“Hey! Gu Mengran, you little bastard! You actually had the guts to block your father’s number? Where the hell have you been? Vanished for a whole month, and now you suddenly remember to call me?”
The second the call connected, an angry, foul-mouthed rant exploded through the speaker like a machine gun.
The voice was so obnoxiously loud that Gu Mengran had to hold the phone away from his ear. He waited until the man on the other end had vented enough, then lazily spoke.
“All these years, and that’s the best you’ve got? Same old insults, over and over. You really should’ve paid more attention in school—maybe then you’d at least know how to swear properly.”
“You—!” Gu Decheng was instantly livid. “You little bastard! You think you’ve grown a backbone now? Talking to your father like this?!”
Gu Mengran let out a slow, mocking chuckle. “I’ve been meaning to ask you this for a while. You keep calling me a bastard—so what does that make you? An old bastard? And your precious little son? A baby bastard?”
“Gu Mengran, you motherf—&$#@%!#…”*
A stream of curses poured out nonstop for nearly a full minute. Gu Mengran sighed, massaging his ear before casually cutting in,
“You’ve got money now, your lifestyle’s upgraded, but your manners are still stuck in the gutter. No wonder people say you act like a nouveau riche thug.”
“Gu Decheng, if you want me to treat you like a person, at least put in some effort to act like one.” I didn’t call to listen to your endless bullshit. I called to tell you something.”
Then, just to mess with him, he deliberately left the sentence unfinished.
Gu Decheng hated being called a nouveau riche thug more than anything. But surprisingly, instead of launching into another string of curses, he actually paused when he heard Gu Mengran’s last words. His voice turned sarcastic.
“Oh? So what’s the big news? Ran out of money?”
The phone distorted his voice slightly, making it sound even more grating. Gu Mengran’s shoulders shook as he let out a quiet laugh.
“Gu Decheng, you and your little family better hold on tight and keep surviving. I still want to see you again. Hopefully, when that day comes, you won’t be looking too pathetic.”
“What the hell are you talking about? Are you out of your—”
Beep—beep—beep.
Gu Mengran hung up mid-sentence, blocked the number, and let out a slow breath. Suddenly, his whole body felt hollowed out, drained of energy. He slumped over the ship’s railing, unmoving.
Warn Gu Decheng? Not in a million years.
If anything, he’d rather watch the bastard die on the spot.
Besides, the call had been pointless. Mocking Gu Decheng didn’t feel as satisfying as he had hoped. Instead, it left a bad taste in his mouth—petty, like he was gloating over a small, meaningless victory.
“Tch.” He clicked his tongue in frustration, then picked up his phone again.
He had no intention of warning Gu Decheng. But there were others who did deserve a heads-up.
Opening his notes app, he copied the message he had prepared days ago and pasted it into an online forum.
A serious title would just get buried, so he deliberately went with something flashy—something obnoxious enough to grab attention and invite ridicule:
[Not gonna pretend anymore—time to come clean. I’m actually a prophet. If you don’t get it, don’t pretend you do. Come in and let me explain.]
As soon as his post went live, Gu Mengran shut off his phone, yanked out the SIM card, and let it slip from his fingers, watching as it disappeared into the murky depths of the river.
With departure just around the corner, he wasn’t worried about being tracked down. If even one person took his warning seriously, that was enough.
Disasters didn’t strike overnight. Survival favored those who were prepared. Whether people believed him or not was up to them. He had done all he could.
***
As dawn approached, a small diesel-powered boat carrying four people sliced through the mist, slowly making its way toward the Windwing.
Standing on the deck, Gu Mengran raised a pair of binoculars, scanning the approaching vessel before waving them over. Then, picking up the radio, he spoke, “Captain, Captain, new captain has arrived. Crane ready.”
Five seconds later, his grandfather’s deliberately lowered voice crackled through the speaker. “Bridge here. Crane prepped and standing by. And stop shouting, kiddo—the patrol boat’s probably close by now.”
“Got it.” A wide grin spread across Gu Mengran’s face. His eyes sparkled with excitement.
Waking up at the crack of dawn? No complaints. If anything, he was more energized than anyone else on board.
And for good reason—today, the Windwing was setting sail.
Sailing wasn’t as simple as driving a car. It wasn’t just about having a captain at the wheel—it required paperwork, procedures, and a full crew, especially for a vessel like the Windwing.
A 3,000-gross-ton ship required a minimum of five crew members: a captain, a first mate, a chief engineer, and two deckhands. If the journey exceeded sixteen consecutive hours, an additional second officer was required.
At present, the Windwing only had two certified crew members onboard, plus an old captain who had already retired and could only serve as the ship’s owner. So, to meet regulations, Meng Gaoyang had hired four additional certified crew members—qualified, but lacking real-world sailing experience.
For now, society’s order remained intact, and everything proceeded by the book.
Before long, the diesel boat reached the Windwing. A crane lifted it onto the deck, and the four newly hired crew members disembarked, heading straight to the bridge for their training session.
An hour later, right on schedule, the patrol boat arrived.
Maritime law enforcement officers boarded, meticulously inspecting the cargo, verifying the crew, and checking fire safety regulations.
The entire process took three hours. Once the officers disembarked, Meng Gaoyang led Gu Mengran to the open-air deck just outside the bridge.
With a deafening roar, the Windwing’s main engine roared to life. The old captain stood tall on the deck, raising an arm high as his booming voice cut through the layers of noise, resounding across the sky—
“Weigh anchor!”
Excitement was contagious. Gu Mengran followed suit, shouting at the top of his lungs—
“Anchors up! We’re setting sail!”
Crew members from nearby cargo ships peeked out from their decks, casting curious glances their way. Maybe they thought these guys were lunatics, making such a ruckus just to leave port.
But only Gu Mengran knew what this moment truly meant.
At the very least, they’d be gone for three years. At most… a lifetime. They were leaving land behind, with no return date in sight.
The river wind howled, carrying them forward as the Windwing cut smoothly through the water. Their next stop—Shaozhou Lock.
Once the excitement wore off, Gu Mengran descended the gangway from the second deck to the first. Humming a little tune, he strolled into the onboard supermarket.
After just one morning away, the supermarket had completely transformed. The shelves were neatly arranged, with food, condiments, and daily essentials all sorted into their respective sections.
The refrigerators, freezers, and fresh produce displays—once empty—now gave the place the feel of a proper supermarket.
As he stepped inside, he spotted Liang Zhao hoisting a hundred-pound bag of rice over his shoulder, carrying it from the temporary storage in the back to the front near the checkout counter.
That was already his sixth trip. His breath was uneven, his hair damp with sweat, strands casually pushed back, exposing his smooth forehead glistening with moisture.
Thud.
The rice sack landed precisely on top of the others, stacked neatly on the floor.
Liang Zhao exhaled, then casually lifted his shirt to wipe his face, nodding toward Gu Mengran. “So? Did you enjoy your big ‘weigh anchor’ moment?”
For a split second, his defined abs, lightly glazed with sweat, came into view before his shirt fell back down.
Gu Mengran’s pupils contracted. His mind went blank for a moment, completely missing what Liang Zhao had just said.
A wave of warm wind blew through the supermarket, carrying the scent of the river. Snapping himself out of it, Gu Mengran lowered his gaze and shifted his focus, reaching for a bottle of water from the shelf and handing it over.
“Take a break. You’re drenched in sweat. I brought you on board as a crew member, not to break your back hauling supplies.”
Liang Zhao caught the water bottle with one hand, twisted the cap open, and took a small sip before chuckling.
“You’ve never worked on a ship before, have you? Ordinary crew members are just laborers. We do all the grunt work.”
Liang Zhao placed the water bottle on top of the freezer, then turned and headed back toward the storage room.
“Liang Zhao.”
Gu Mengran called after him, his expression unusually serious.
“Windwing isn’t like other ships. Here, you’re not just manual labor. Take it easy—pace yourself. We’re not actually running a—”
In just a few days, everything in the supermarket would have to be packed away again. Liang Zhao was putting in all this effort for nothing. For a fleeting moment, Gu Mengran even considered telling him everything.
But he quickly reined himself in. Now wasn’t the time.
As long as you could get on the ship, you could still get off. He couldn’t risk scaring Liang Zhao away at such a critical moment.
So, he switched tactics, opting for humor instead.
“Just don’t treat yourself as an outsider, and definitely not like a laborer. You’re still my biggest creditor, after all. Think of Windwing as your own home.”
“You’re right.” Liang Zhao chuckled, his back still turned. “And if it’s my own home… shouldn’t I work even harder?”
The workplace is your home. School is your home. And now, the ship too…
Catching the implication in those words, Gu Mengran immediately rushed after him.
“That’s not what I meant, Liang Zhao—wait for me!”
If he couldn’t stop him, he might as well join in. At least it’d count as a workout.
Running a hand through his hair, Gu Mengran followed Liang Zhao into the storage room.
Inside, supplies were piled high—sacks of rice, flour, oil, and grain forming small mountains.
Liang Zhao stopped next to a stack of rice bags. Gripping one with both hands, his toned arms tensed, muscles sharply defined, before he effortlessly swung a hundred-pound sack over his shoulder.
Liang Zhao made it look easy, giving Gu Mengran the false confidence that he could do the same.
Big mistake.
Without thinking, he copied the movement—completely forgetting that he rarely exercised and the important fact that the sack of rice weighed a hundred pounds.
By the time the sack was off the pile and in his arms, he realized the problem—but it was too late.
He clenched his teeth, arms shaking violently as he struggled to hold on. But there was nowhere to put it back—dozens of sacks were stacked waist-high, and he couldn’t lift it back up.
“L-Liang Zhao…”
His voice wavered as he turned for help—only to find that Liang Zhao was long gone, already disappeared down the hallway, completely focused on his work.
Oh, this is bad.
Gu Mengran sucked in a deep breath, hugging the sack tighter. Bending his knees, he tried to brace it against the stack, hoping to slowly ease it back down.
But it weighed a hundred pounds, and he could barely lift fifty.
His fingers, already numb from strain, suddenly gave out.
The sack dropped—fast. Terrified of getting pinned, he shoved it forward with all his might.
And it worked—he didn’t get crushed. His ribs were fine. His knees were fine. But then—
A sharp, agonizing pain shot through his foot.
And in the next instant—
A blood-curdling scream shattered the warehouse silence.
Gu Mengran had inherited a habit from his grandfather—wearing slippers inside.
But no slipper could cushion the blow of a hundred-pound rice sack dropping straight onto his right foot.
A sharp, stabbing pain shot through his foot, blinding and unforgiving. His legs buckled, and before he could react, his body tilted backward, crashing onto the floor.
The pain wasn’t unbearable.
But it was his right foot. The same side as his old injury.
Darkness flickered at the edges of his vision, pulling him back to that horrific day—when a propeller had torn his leg apart.
Cold sweat trickled down his temple. His chest rose and fell erratically, a suffocating pressure constricting his throat.
He couldn’t breathe. His limbs went numb. His eyelids grew heavier and heavier, his consciousness slipping—
Until suddenly—
A warm, steady hand landed gently on his shoulder.
“Gu Mengran, what’s wrong? Where does it hurt?”
The deep, steady voice blurred and overlapped with another—one from a past life.
“Don’t be afraid, Mengran. I’m here.”
“Just leave me, Liang Zhao. I’m useless now. You can’t spend your whole life taking care of me.”
“I—I don’t mind.”
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