Chapter 3

At nine that night, I walked into my father’s room on time with a dark face.

Before I even reached the door, I suddenly heard a sound. That urgent, suppressed sound was coming from my father’s side.

I froze in place, and the anger I had felt all day vanished under my doubt.

What was my father doing?

Through the half-open door, I saw my father holding a long object in his hands. It was cylindrical and completely white, and he held it up in front of him.

From time to time, he also spoke to the long object in a gentle, coaxing voice.

“Jenny, was I too rough?”

Jenny was my mom’s nickname. Was my dad hallucinating?

Was he treating that fish sac like it was my mom?

I was stunned. When I looked again, it almost seemed like the fish sac was moving and shifting in my father’s hands, as if it were alive. It was downright eerie.

I was just about to push the door open and look more clearly, but my father’s voice grew more intense, and that made me stop.

I could clearly see that there was a round hole in the middle of the fish sac, like a fish’s mouth.

After my father washed it with the clean water placed to the side, he put it into a special solution before motioning me inside.

I took a deep breath, forced down the unease in my chest, and walked in.

The moment I entered, I smelled a strong, mixed fishy stench that hit me straight in the face.

I covered my nose and frowned at my father, saying the smell was so fishy and foul.

My father didn’t answer me. He just got dressed, turned his back to me, and said to himself, “When you were little, you always said you wanted to see Dad’s fish sac. Now Dad will show you.”

My father turned slightly, letting me see the full shape of the object soaking in the solution.

The shape of my father’s fish sac was no different from a normal fish sac.

The difference was that it seemed to be breathing like a fish.

And when I looked at its jade-white material, a thought suddenly flashed through my mind: what kind of skin was this?

My mouth suddenly went dry.

That thought shocked me so much that I couldn’t help stepping forward to touch the fish sac.

But my father grabbed my hand halfway and stopped me.

“This is my fish sac. You can look, but you can’t touch.”

I was a little disappointed, staring hard at the fish sac.

For some reason, I felt a strange sense of closeness to it, and I wanted to touch it.

My father seemed to know what I was thinking. He sighed, placed his hand on the fish sac, and said, “Sigh, I know. You miss the child too, Spring.”

“Fine. He’s grown up now. You two should meet too.”

Under my father’s approving gaze, I reached out and touched the fish sac carefully.

I could clearly see that the moment my hand landed on it, the breathing hole in the fish sac grew more rapid, as if it were excited.

But how could a fish sac have life?

After I touched it enough and took my hand away, it suddenly trembled violently, as if it didn’t want me to leave.

My father quickly pressed it down and said, “All right, you’ve seen the child now. He has the same problem as I do. He has issues in that area too, so he needs the fish sac to cure him.”

“He even has a girlfriend now. She’s the girl from the next village, Lily. The fish sac my son makes will definitely be better than yours and mine.”

“You won’t be alone for much longer. Maybe the two of you can even keep each other company and talk.”

The more I heard, the more silent I became. Was there really any necessary connection between making fish sacs and having a girlfriend?

Why did he keep stressing that?

And this fish sac... hearing the way my dad referred to it, I kept feeling like it was my mom.

My dad pointed at the basin of water and said to me, “Remember this, son. A fish sac is just like a fish. You can only take it out when you need to use it. The rest of the time, it has to soak in this fish oil, or it’ll dry out and turn brittle, and then you won’t be able to use it at all.”

I pressed my lips together and gave a quiet mm.

My dad walked over to an old leather suitcase and pulled out a worn, yellowed bamboo scroll.

“All the special fish-sac-making techniques in our family are in this book. Starting today, it officially belongs to you too. Read it yourself.”

I took it excitedly and flipped it open in a hurry, but the more I read, the tighter my brows pulled together, and my face went instantly pale with fear.

In the end, I couldn’t take it anymore. I screamed and threw the bamboo scroll away, then bent over in the yard and vomited violently.

Just thinking back on the words carved into the bamboo scroll and the little drawings pasted onto it made me feel sick to the core.

How could a fish sac be something like this?