Chapter 1

Chapter 1

When things first started spiraling out of control, I hoped I would survive.

But now, I no longer hold onto that hope.

In fact, I don’t even want to live anymore.

What would be the point? Even if I survived, I would spend the rest of my life living in the shadow of what happened, haunted by lingering nightmares and an inescapable terror.

All I can do now is record these events.

If anyone ever finds this letter, they will know the inexplicable horror that we, the crew of this ship, once endured.

And it all began with that woman who mysteriously appeared on the Deck.

In 2021, I lost my job due to the pandemic.

Through a relative’s recommendation, I traveled to Dalian and joined a deep-sea fishing company, preparing to head out on a long-haul voyage.

At the time, the deal was a guaranteed ten thousand yuan a month, with the trip lasting at least half a year.

This meant drifting at sea for six months with no signal and no way to contact my family.

I was assigned to a deep-sea trawler bound for the North Pacific Ocean.

The First Mate, Chao Ge, was from my hometown. He knew my relative and took decent care of me.

He took a particular liking to me after hearing I had gone to college, even though it was only a third-tier university.

However, when I told him I had no prior experience at sea and asked if that would be a problem, he just laughed.

Flashing a mouthful of yellow teeth, he said, “Half the people on this boat are just like you-no experience at sea whatsoever. We’re all here because life backed us into a corner; otherwise, who would want to do this? I’m telling you, three-quarters of the people who do one of these trips never want to step foot on a boat again for the rest of their lives. Do you know what everyone calls this ship? A water dungeon.”

In early June, the company finished processing our seafarer’s certificates. A week later, the ship officially set sail with twenty-three crew members on board.

The conditions on the ship were far from ideal. We ate from a communal pot, and the sleeping quarters-to put it bluntly-were no different from a dog kennel or a pigsty.

There were cigarettes and snacks available on board, but you had to buy them yourself or have the cost deducted from your final paycheck.

My daily work consisted of casting the nets, hauling them in, and sorting the catch into crates. To be honest, it didn’t require much skill; it was pure manual labor that any able-bodied person could do.

After a while, the smell of rotten fish and shrimp became permanently etched into my skin.

The novelty wore off within days. From then on, every day felt like an agonizing endurance test.

I couldn’t sleep well. Sometimes we’d cast the nets at eight or nine in the evening, only to be barked awake at three or four in the morning to haul them in. It was miserable.

As time dragged on, many of us-especially the newcomers-began to feel depressed. Tensions also started building between the rookies and the veteran crew.

For instance, I only found out later that even though we did roughly the same work, the pay and treatment for us newcomers were completely different from that of the veterans.

The daily oppression, combined with this psychological imbalance, led to frequent brawls. The Captain, however, never intervened.

I asked Chao Ge why he didn’t do anything about it.

Chao Ge just smiled again and said it was no big deal-it was good for everyone to vent their emotions.

About two months in, something finally happened.

There was a young man from the south whom we called Daiyu Zai because he was tall and thin like a ribbonfish. He wasn’t very good at navigating social dynamics and was constantly getting into fights. Since he couldn’t hold his own, he ended up getting beaten up every day.

He was already mentally unstable, and during those few days, he kept making mistakes at work. After getting chewed out by the Captain, he reached his breaking point. That night, he hanged himself in the forward cabin.

Chao Ge discovered the body early the next morning and notified the Captain.

The Captain called a few men to help take Daiyu Zai’s body down, then woke the rest of us up.

He gathered everyone on the Deck and told us to vote on what to do next.

He gave us three options:

First, turn back immediately, but that would mean everyone had worked the last two months for nothing.

Second, freeze the body in the hold along with the dead fish and shrimp, and report it to the police once the trip was over. But we would certainly face penalties then.

The third option was to throw the body directly into the sea and act as if nothing had happened. When we returned to shore, everyone would have to collectively claim the kid had fallen overboard on his own.

The voting began.

I didn’t hesitate; I chose the first option: turn back immediately.

To me, it was the only right choice. Two or three other newcomers followed my lead and voted for option one.

To my surprise, almost all the veteran crew members chose to throw Daiyu Zai’s body into the sea.

Then, everyone looked toward the Captain and the First Mate.

The Captain lit a cigarette, raised his hand, and held up three fingers, signaling his choice.

Chao Ge chose the same as the Captain.

Then, they turned their gaze toward the few of us who had voted for option one. The remaining crew members who hadn’t voted yet quickly followed the Captain and chose option three.

Even though I fundamentally disagreed with the decision, the minority had to submit to the majority.

I believe in fate. I often wonder now if the hellish experiences that followed were destined to happen the moment we cast Daiyu Zai’s body aside.

Because the nightmare began the very night the Captain ordered us to throw Daiyu Zai’s body into the sea.