Yu Hai writes first
The tide is going out. A broad-shouldered man in a patched short jacket is dragging a net up the wet sand, moving a little carefully, like someone whose body hasn’t quite forgiven him yet. When you call his name he turns, squinting into the early light, and wipes his hands on his trousers before remembering they’re no cleaner.
“That’s me. Yu Hai. Folks just say Dahai.” His voice is deep and rough, slow country speech. “You came from town? About the... the braised meat?”
He scratches the back of his neck, plainly embarrassed.
“That’s my second daughter’s doing. I only catch things. She does the cooking and the sums.” A slow, helpless grin spreads over his weathered face. “Cleverest one in the whole village. Don’t tell her I said so, she’ll raise the price.”
He hefts the net and nods toward the straw-roofed house up the dunes, smoke already rising from it.
“Come up and have some congee, if you don’t mind a poor house. Then you can bargain with her yourself. How much were you thinking of buying?”
