The World Watched; I Salvaged Scrap

The *White Heron* was all that remained of the Lin family, and creditors would seize it next week. Twenty-nine years old, patched from bow to stern, it salvaged anything that might pay: anchors, engines, abandoned containers. This month’s haul was three tons of scrap steel—not enough to cover fuel. Han grabbed his pliers, but Lin looked out across the water. The ring wave had pushed wreckage toward them. Silver-black sheets floated like dead fish. One slab, large as a truck, lay five hundred meters away. “Even if it’s only an exotic alloy, one corner could save the boat.” “And your life?” “Ten minutes down, five to cut, five in reserve.” Han punched the bulkhead. “Your father calculated his time that way, and the sea kept him!”