Landlord in the Arctic-Chapter 97: Seal

As Kivalina officially entered winter, more and more drift ice appeared on the Ice Sea.

Little Swan had nothing to do with this trip out to sea; Old Swan was personally piloting the fishing boat, weaving between the floes.

Just as they were about to leave the area of drift ice, a column of water suddenly shot up from between the floes, tracing a white arc through the frigid air. Then, a massive black back surfaced on the sea.

It was a whale!

’The first time I’ve ever seen a live whale!’ Feng Shan excitedly stood up on the fishing boat, his gaze fixed on the spot where it had appeared.

"That’s a Bowhead Whale. When I was young, I hunted a Bowhead Whale even bigger than that one, all by myself in a wooden boat," Old Swan said, a smug look on his face as he held the tiller.

"So what? Are you auditioning for ’The Old Man and the Sea’? Or is catching Morris harder than hunting a Bowhead Whale?" Feng Shan retorted irritably.

Old Swan was so angry he was speechless, wishing he could just kick Feng Shan into the Ice Sea.

’This kid has no idea how to talk. He’s a real conversation killer.’

The Bowhead Whale swam slowly alongside the fishing boat, the current it created rocking the vessel from side to side. Old Swan quickly gripped the tiller with both hands.

Feng Shan felt an inexplicable excitement at having the good fortune to see this marine behemoth up close.

’It’s really beautiful.’

Its body was like a small hill, its head bow-shaped. Its mouth alone was nearly five meters long, and its total body length exceeded twenty meters.

The fishing boat seemed as fragile as a baby next to it. If the whale suddenly turned aggressive, a gentle nudge would probably be enough to capsize them.

"Be careful when you’re out and about from now on. See that weird old man? Stay far away from him. He specializes in eating whales," Feng Shan said, reaching out to pat the Bowhead Whale’s smooth skin.

’A weird old man??’

Old Swan’s anger flared up again. He almost lost control and gunned the engine, heading straight for the Bowhead Whale.

But the Bowhead Whale seemed to understand Feng Shan’s warning. It let out a low, melodious call, shook its head, and turned to dive back into the cold seawater.

"How could you bring yourself to eat such a beautiful creature?" Feng Shan asked, looking at Old Swan with a hint of disapproval in his voice.

"Then what are we supposed to eat? Feng, this is the Ice Sea. My grandfather ate whales, my great-grandfather ate whales. My ancestors grew up eating whale meat for generations. It’s an Inuit tradition."

"Besides, we don’t eat whales anymore. Only the people over in Barrow and Greenland Island still maintain the tradition of whale hunting."

Old Swan felt wronged. To save their home, they had signed an agreement with the state government to stop whaling in exchange for food aid. And now he was being unfairly accused.

"Alright, I apologize." Feng Shan had just spoken out of a momentary fit of anger.

After all, their tradition was to hunt whales, seals, and Polar Bears. If he had to find a scapegoat for their hardship, it would have to be the Indians. They were the ones who had been ruthless back in the day, driving the Inuit into the Arctic Circle.

"Actually, I don’t really like whale meat. I much prefer whitefish. If we have a bountiful harvest today, I’ll definitely forgive you," Old Swan said with a grin, his eyes twinkling.

’This old codger. He’s always running some kind of scheme. I let my guard down for one second and he’s already twisted my words. Now I’ve got no choice but to guarantee a big catch.’

Feng Shan rolled his eyes and sat back down in the cabin.

The other helper on the boat, a middle-aged Inuit man, didn’t seem to talk much. His presence was so faint that Feng Shan had the illusion there were only two people on board.

The fishing boat weaved across the surface of the Ice Sea, dodging one floe after another, until it finally reached the fishing spot.

Old Swan was in charge of piloting the boat, the Inuit helper was responsible for casting the net, and Feng Shan was in charge of secretly casting his Breathing Technique onto the net.

The 300-meter-long fishing net was cast into the sea, followed by a yellow marker buoy.

All that was left was to wait quietly for the whitefish to swim into the net.

Just then, the Inuit helper suddenly stood up and shouted, pointing at a distant ice floe. He was speaking in the Inuit language, so Feng Shan couldn’t understand, but Old Swan excitedly dropped the tiller and grabbed a hunting rifle, aiming in the direction the helper was pointing.

Feng Shan squinted and saw a head pop up on that ice floe.

BANG!!

The next moment, Old Swan pulled the trigger. He then dropped the rifle, grabbed the tiller, and gunned the engine toward the ice floe. The Inuit helper snatched up a barbed Long Spear and stood at the bow.

The ice floe was about half the size of a basketball court. The instant the fishing boat bumped against it, the Inuit helper leaped onto the ice and charged forward.

Feng Shan didn’t know what Old Swan was up to, but his intuition told him they had just completed a hunt.

Sure enough, the helper raised the barbed Long Spear and plunged it fiercely into the ice. Then, straining, he lifted it back up.

Soon, he was dragging up a dead seal.

Old Swan grinned, laughing as he looked at Feng Shan. "Buddy, you’re Kivalina’s lucky star! We haven’t hunted a seal in half a month."

With that, he picked up the anchor and threw it onto the ice floe to secure the boat, then excitedly jumped onto the ice himself.

Feng Shan shook his head. ’I’m a guest, for crying out loud. Is this how you treat guests? So much for your famous hospitality!’

He’d heard from Tom that the Inuit had an unbelievable custom.

When a guest arrived, the host would have his wife sleep with the guest.

’Forget about offering their wives to guests. They hunt one measly seal and just abandon me on the boat without a second thought.’

Feng Shan sighed and followed them, jumping onto the ice floe. Old Swan and his helper were cheering around the seal. Next to the seal’s body was a circular hole in the ice. The unlucky seal had probably just poked its head out when it was spotted.

The Inuit helper took out a knife and sliced open the seal’s belly. It was freshly killed and still warm. Once the belly was open, he cut a large piece directly from the steaming liver, put it in his mouth, and began to chew heartily. A satisfied smile spread across his face, seal blood dripping from the corner of his mouth.

"Feng, have a piece. Freshly hunted seal liver is the most delicious," Old Swan said, cutting off a piece of the liver and offering it to Feng Shan.

Faced with the bloody piece of seal liver, Feng Shan refused without hesitation. ’I might try it cooked, but raw is out of the question. Who knows if it has parasites?’

No wonder the Indians called them Eskimos.

After sharing the seal liver, the Inuit helper wasn’t satisfied with just one seal. He began to rub his boots forcefully against the ice, making a sharp scraping sound to attract another seal to the surface. Old Swan, meanwhile, held his rifle, waiting for more prey.

Unfortunately, it seemed this was the only unlucky seal around.

Soon, it was time to pull in the net. At Feng Shan’s urging, the two Inuit men reluctantly put away their hunting rifles.

"Feng, when we hunt seals, it often takes several hours." Old Swan was convinced there were more seals hiding under the ice floe and was reluctant to leave now.

"Then should I just take the boat back by myself?" Feng Shan asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Bullshit! Are you planning to adopt our customs and leave an old man on an ice floe to freeze to death?" Old Swan grumbled, hoisting the stiff, frozen seal onto his shoulders and heading back to the fishing boat.

The fishing boat started up and returned to the location of the marker buoy.

The Inuit helper reached out with a gaff, hooked the buoy, and began to haul in the net. Feng Shan stood behind him, helping to pull the rope.

The outcome was a foregone conclusion.

No animal could resist the lure of the Breathing Technique.

The moment the first half-meter-long whitefish appeared in the net, the scene of a bountiful harvest began to play out once again.

The Inuit helper whooped and hollered as he pulled up the heavy net. Fat whitefish, one after another, were caught in the mesh, struggling desperately.

Old Swan had long since abandoned the tiller, leaning over the side of the boat to join the fish-hauling team. He shouted excitedly.

"I knew it was right to bring Feng along!"

"He is blessed by the Spirit of All Things!"

"Believe in Feng, and our hold will be full of fish!!!"

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