Three weeks had passed since the shipwrecked crew stumbled onto the beach.24Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡZWeeKW1D1H
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In that time, they had built huts beside the tall men's village. They had learned to grind millet, to weave palm fronds, to cook fish stew without rice. They had taught in return: how to sharpen iron, how to make fire with flint and steel, how to write numbers on clay tablets.
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The tall men called themselves the Watchers. Their language was heavy and musical, full of rolling vowels. For the past three weeks they had relied on sign language and gestures to navigate their surroundings.
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General Feng Jian had not stopped watching the sea.
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Every morning, before the sun rose, he walked to the beach and stood at the water's edge. He closed his eyes and tried to feel Liang Wei's qi – the way the master had taught him, the way that seemed foolish now that he was gone.
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Three weeks. Nothing.
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But he still felt something faint .
He requested the tall men who had escorted them three weeks earlier to help them as they needed to speak to their leader over a matter. The men did not understand anything but they knew taking them to their elder would help since he was wise enough. Besides what they wanted to request was complex to display in sign language.
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The tall men led the crew to the center of the village, where an old man sat on a carved wooden stool. He was shorter than the other men – perhaps a hundred and seventy centimeters – but his presence filled the space. His white hair was braided with beads. His eyes were milk‑white like the others, but deeper.24Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡljwJGDxkqL
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The tall man in indigo spoke to the elder in their rolling, heavy language. The elder nodded slowly, his gaze moving across the newcomers.
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General Feng Jian stepped forward. He bowed – a shallow bow, respectful but not submissive.
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"We thank you for your hospitality," he said. "We are shipwrecked travelers. We mean no harm."
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The elder tilted his head. He did not understand.
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The general tried again, slower. Nothing.
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Li Hua stepped beside him. "Perhaps they speak a different tongue. Navigator – you know Arabic. Try that."
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Master Chen, the navigator, had been standing at the back, his face pale from seasickness. He stepped forward and cleared his throat. He spoke in halting Arabic – words he had learned years ago, trading in southern ports.
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"Salaam. We are… . We need… help."
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One of the tall men – a younger warrior with a scar across his cheek – raised his eyebrows. He replied in Arabic. His accent was thick, the vowels stretched, but the words were recognizable.
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"Welcome. You are safe here."
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The general exhaled with relief. "Ask him who their leader is."
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The navigator translated. The young warrior pointed at the old man on the stool.
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"Elder Mwamba. He is our grandfather. He speaks for the village."
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"Elder," the general said. "I have come to ask for your help."24Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ71Zy3JeFIp
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Master Chen translated into Arabic. Jabari, the young warrior, whispered the words into the elder's ear.
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The elder nodded slowly. "Speak."
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"My master – the one who saved us, the one who fought the storm the night we crashed– he is still out there. I know it. Three weeks have passed, but his qi still burns. I feel it every morning when I stand on the beach."
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The elder's face did not change.
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"I need canoes," the general continued. "I need to go beyond the reef. I need to search for him."
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The elder was silent for a long moment. Then he spoke, his voice soft but firm. Jabari translated.
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"General, you have been with us for three weeks. You have eaten our food. You have slept in our huts. You have taught our young men your technology in weaponry and farming. We are grateful. But what you ask – it is impossible."
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"Why?"
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"Because of the circumcision period."
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The general frowned. "Explain."
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The elder leaned forward. His milk‑white eyes seemed to glow in the afternoon light.
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"Every year, for two moons, the sea is forbidden. The spirits of the deep – the ones who guard our ancestors – they come close to the shore. They watch. They wait. During this time, no man may go beyond the reef. No man may fish. No man may swim. To do so is to become impure. The spirits will curse you. They will curse your family. They will curse the entire village."
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The general's jaw tightened. "Our junk sank before we reached the reef. We are already beyond it. The curse, if there is one, has already touched us."
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The elder listened to the translation. He shook his head slowly.
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"It is not the same," the warrior translated. "You were shipwrecked. That is an act of the sea, not a choice. But to send men out deliberately during the sacred time – that is a violation. Elder Mwamba cannot allow it."
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The general glanced at Li Hua. Her eyes were wet.
The general's jaw tightened. "I am not one of your people. Your spirits have no power over me."
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The elder smiled – a very patient smile. "The spirits do not care about blood, General. They care about the sea. And the sea does not know the difference between a Watcher and a foreigner. If you go beyond the reef, you will bring the curse upon all of us. Not just you. All of us."
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Li Hua stepped forward. "Then let us go alone. We will not return to your village. We will find our master and leave. You will never see us again."
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The elder looked at her. His eyes softened.
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"Young one," he said, "you do not understand. The curse does not care if you return. It will follow you. It will follow us. It will poison the fish and sour the wells and bring sickness to the children. We have lived by these laws for a thousand years. We cannot break them for strangers. Not even for strangers who have taught us how to sharpen iron."
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The general's hands curled into fists. "My master saved my life. He saved the lives of everyone in this crew. He fought the storm alone while we fled. He stayed behind so we could reach this shore. I owe him a debt that I cannot repay by sitting on my hands for two moons."
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"Then you will have to wait one more moon," the elder said. "When the circumcision period ends, you may take as many canoes as you wish. You may search the entire reef. You may even sail beyond it, if the sea permits. But until then – no."
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"One month is too long. He could be dead by then."
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"He could be dead already." The elder's voice was gentle, but his words cut deep. "Three weeks in the sea, General. No man can survive that long. Not even a master."
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The general straightened his back. His voice was hard.
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"He is not a normal man. He is a cultivator. He can hold his breath for hours. He can heal wounds that would kill others. He can feel the qi of his students from miles away. I know he is alive because I can still feel him. Faint. But there."
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The elder listened. When the translation finished, he sat in silence for a long moment. Then he spoke, his voice softer.
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"If he is not a normal man," the warrior translated, "then he is not worth saving. The spirits do not touch such men. They are already beyond the reach of our customs. He will find his own way, or he will not."
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The general's hand went to his sword hilt. Li Hua touched his arm.
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"Please," she said. "He saved us. He fought the storm alone. He—"
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The elder raised his hand. She fell silent.
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"You are good men," the elder said through the warrior. "And good women. You have already taught our people much – your metal tools, your strange explosive fire‑making, your strange writing. We are grateful. But we cannot break our customs for you. Not even for gratitude."
He stood. He walked to the general and took his hands. His grip was strong, his palms rough from years of fishing and farming.
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"But one month is too long," the general said.
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"Then you will have to trust that your master is as strong as you say." The elder's voice was firm. "Even fishing is banned during this time. Our entire village lives on dried and smoked fish from the previous season. We do not go to the sea. We do not touch the water. It is the law of our people for a thousand years."
He stood. He was not tall, but his presence filled the clearing.
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"Stay with us," the elder said. "Teach us more. Learn from us. When the new moon rises, I will personally hand you the best canoe in the village. I will send my strongest paddlers with you. I will pray to the ancestors to guide your way. But until then – wait."
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The general looked down at their joined hands. He wanted to argue. He wanted to shout. He wanted to draw his sword and demand.
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But he saw the elder's eyes were unyielding.
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He nodded.
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"I will wait," he said. "But I will not stop believing he is alive."
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The elder smiled. "Good. A man who believes is a man who fights. We will need fighters like you when the Portuguese come."
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"Portuguese?"
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The elder waved a hand. "Another story. For another night. Tonight, we eat , we rest. Tomorrow, you teach my sons how to make those steel arrowheads more aerodynamic."
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He laughed – a deep, rumbling laugh – and gestured at the general's short stature.
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"You are short. Very short. But you are clever. You compensate with your big technology and big knowledge. We will learn from you, and you will learn from us. That is the way of the Watchers."
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The general bowed. Li Hua bowed. Master Chen bowed.
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That night, they ate fish stew and flatbread. The Watcher children sang songs in their heavy language. The stars came out, bright and unfamiliar.
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General Feng Jian sat by the fire, staring at the sea.
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Somewhere out there, beyond the reef, Liang Wei waited.
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And he would wait one more month.
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Author’s note
sorry for the delay I had a tight work schedule this week , I was too busy to write, Thank you for waiting 24Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡBEzFey7nTo
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