Chapter 102

While the entire nation was focused on the distress of Meteor No. 3, Zhang Zhengjie and the other crew members stumbled ashore on an unknown island south of Wyman. The island was desolate, with no clear sense of direction. Dark waters surrounded it, and the sea breeze carried a chill that made the atmosphere feel bleak and oppressive.

Zhang Zhengjie lagged behind and was shoved forward roughly by someone.

He turned around.

It was a foreign man in his thirties, dressed in brown camouflage and wearing a matching cap. His eyes were fierce and hostile.

“###!” the man cursed in a language Zhang Zhengjie didn’t understand—some obscure dialect, probably filled with insults like “coward” or “move it.”

In the early hours of the previous morning, Meteor No. 3 had entered the Wyman Strait as scheduled. The plan was to reach Wyman Port by noon. But at 12:10 AM, a seasonal tsunami struck the strait without warning. Meteor No. 3, being a heavy cargo vessel, immediately reduced speed upon receiving the alert.

There were seventy-two people aboard—besides the foreign trade personnel and sailors, the rest were experienced seafarers. Under the captain’s command, the ship gradually stabilized. Just when everyone thought the danger had passed, several small speedboats suddenly appeared around them. Armed pirates, clearly foreign, swarmed the vessel.

Still reeling from the tsunami and caught off guard by the pirates’ well-planned ambush, the crew was quickly overwhelmed and captured.

Zhang Zhengjie, a sailor from Jier Jiyue, was locked in a large storage room along with the others. The captain and officers, under threat, had no choice but to follow the pirates’ instructions.

The Wyman Strait, one of the largest straits in the world, is bordered by over fifty countries. Though Zhang considered himself a seasoned sailor, he couldn’t identify the pirates’ nationality based on their clothing or language.

Eventually, the ship docked at this small, remote island—leading to the current situation.

A cold wind swept over them, and Zhang Zhengjie felt both exhausted and chilled to the bone.

Two hours later, the group was herded into what appeared to be the pirates’ base. It was a ramshackle village built from wood, surrounded by armed pirates keeping constant watch. As the captives arrived, the tension in the air thickened.

They were taken to a dilapidated wooden hut. The pirates barked at each other in their strange tongue, then locked the group inside.

The seventy-two captives were split into three rooms. Inside were only a few rough burlap sacks for warmth, and in one corner, the rotting corpses of two rats…

“Ugh!” One sailor gagged at the sight. The ship had been damp and cold, yes—but that was the ocean’s natural humidity. This place reeked of death.

“Survival first,” Zhang Zhengjie told himself, trying to steady his nerves.

Driven by a strong will to live, the group huddled together under the burlap sacks for warmth.

There was a small window in the room. Through it, they could see the moon—but had no idea whose sky they were under.

“I miss home.”

“Me too…”

As the room quieted, someone began to sob softly. Before they had set off, everyone had been looking forward to returning home for the Lantern Festival. No one had imagined they’d end up in a nightmare like this.

“I’m my mother’s only child. She’ll be devastated.”

“I just want to eat my mom’s dumplings…”

One by one, they shared memories of Longxia, each recollection a stab of longing. But halfway through, the door was kicked hard—twice.

Everyone fell silent instantly.

The moon is always brightest back home. And now, more than ever, they missed theirs.

…

Bang!

Bang bang!

…

The next morning, they were jolted awake by the loud sounds of crates being moved.

Zhang Zhengjie crawled to the window and looked out. The pirates were unloading supplies into the village—food, pots, pans, even toiletries. As the boxes hit the ground, villagers came over to scavenge. Among them were many women and children.

“This must be their main base,” one sailor muttered, observing the scene.

International pirate groups often have a clear division of labor—able-bodied men go out raiding, while women and children stay behind to handle logistics. Though he’d never seen a pirate camp before, from a rough count, this one had at least five hundred people.

Just as they were about to keep watching, the door burst open. A pirate entered, dragging a burlap sack. He tossed it to the floor—it was filled with freshly made flatbreads.

Zhang Zhengjie picked one up. It was palm-sized, yellowish, with bits of corn and some unidentifiable black substance. He sniffed it—it had a sour smell.

The pirate left without a word.

“Do we eat it?” Everyone looked at each other uncertainly.

“Eat it,” Zhang Zhengjie said, breaking off a small piece. It was bitter and sour—possibly made with acid rain-contaminated ingredients. But after a full day and night without food, risking acid rain aftereffects was better than starving to death.

“Do you think anyone’s coming to rescue us?” a sailor asked, trying to shift the mood.

“Maybe…”

They said it, but no one truly believed it.

At 11:20 AM, the door opened again. A tall man stepped in and asked in broken Longxia, “Zhang Zhengjie?”

“Here,” Zhang Zhengjie raised his hand hesitantly.

“Jier Jiyue employee?”

“Yes…”

Three minutes later, Zhang Zhengjie was dragged to the center of the village. A camera had been set up there, surrounded by curious villagers.

He was forced onto a stool in front of the lens.

Half an hour later, under the pirates’ direction, he recorded a video: “I’m Zhang Zhengjie, employee number 30332. We were kidnapped yesterday at 3:20 AM…”

It was a ransom video. Though he cooperated, he made sure to include as many details as possible—hoping to leave clues for whoever received it.

At 12:20, the video was complete. The tall man packed up the camera. Over the next two days, the sailors remained locked in their huts. They had no idea what was happening outside. All they could do was watch the sun and moon to keep track of time.

Two days later, the captives were allowed limited movement. Under the watchful eyes of the pirates, Zhang Zhengjie was taken outside to do manual labor. The one supervising him was the tall man from the video footage. Through bits and pieces of conversation, Zhang Zhengjie learned that the man’s name was Aike, the third-in-command of the pirate crew, and someone of considerable status in the village.

Though the pirates were ruthless, they hadn’t killed anyone—at least not yet. After another round of hard labor, Zhang Zhengjie seized a moment to strike up a conversation. “Are you refugees from nearby?”

After being locked up by the pirates, the captives had speculated about their captors’ identities.

These pirates were clearly experienced seafarers, but their behavior didn’t match that of the typical Wyman Pirates. Some had guessed they might be covert agents from a foreign government, but yesterday afternoon, the tall man had used the common tongue to contact a buyer—clearly not something a government-backed group would do during a heist.

After much analysis, the group concluded that the pirates were likely refugees who happened to possess maritime skills. That explanation seemed to fit everything they’d observed.

As Zhang Zhengjie mulled over these thoughts, the tall man glanced at him. “Refugees?”

“Yes,” Zhang Zhengjie nodded.

The man was silent for a moment before replying, “We’re not refugees.”

Zhang Zhengjie wanted to ask more, but before he could, another pirate shoved him back into the building.

Not refugees.

Zhang Zhengjie couldn’t stop thinking about who these pirates really were. That night, at 9 p.m., when the rest of the pirates returned, he finally got his answer. These pirates weren’t refugees. They were originally from the Kaman Nation and had previously worked in maritime transport out of Harma. Zhang Zhengjie had even crossed paths with them during past shipping operations.

“Kaman Nation?” The crew exchanged uncertain glances upon hearing the name.

Kaman Nation was located just south of the Shuilan Equator, covering only twelve square kilometers with a population of seventy thousand. It was a backward island country, with most of its residents relying on fishing and domestic labor for income.

Since the Harma Storm in 3028, Kaman had suffered from both natural disasters and food shortages. Just last July, after surviving a locust plague, the nation was hit by the Wyman Tsunami, which devastated the entire country and reduced its landmass to five square kilometers.

But the shrinking territory was only the beginning.

In the month that followed, Kaman was struck by three more tsunamis. Countless lives were lost in the disasters. Meteorological data indicated that due to the rapid acceleration of global warming, Kaman might disappear completely by the winter of 3030.

In fact, since 3028, hundreds of small islands had already vanished from the globe. Kaman would be the first recognized island nation to suffer the same fate.

The Kaman government had pleaded with the Shuilan Alliance for a full-scale relocation. Due to their small population, the Kaman people were dispersed across twelve different countries under humanitarian arrangements. But these arrangements came at a steep cost to the host nations. With no homeland and no clear future, the Kaman people’s fate remained uncertain.

Kaman no longer had a country.

“They really aren’t disaster victims…” one of the crew murmured.

These pirates had once worked the shipping routes out of Harma. Because of their tight-knit unity, they had built up considerable influence along the coast. When Harma’s shipping industry declined, they shifted to the Wyman trade routes. Initially, they were engaged in legitimate business, but the Global Crisis hit too hard. After much deliberation, they made the decision to turn to piracy.

“We’re their first target?” The crew was filled with despair.

These pirates had abandoned their small fishing boats and hijacked the Longxia freighter outright—a bold move meant to make a name for themselves on the global shipping lanes.

They hadn’t killed anyone yet. They were simply fattening the pigs before selling them for a good price.

If Longxia couldn’t meet their demands, the outcome was all too clear.

…

“Seven point two million tons?”

…

While the crew feared for their lives, the atmosphere in Longxia’s National Defense Conference Room was grim.

It had been eighty-two hours since the freighter was hijacked. The pirates had now issued their demands to Longxia. Seventy-two Longxia citizens were being held hostage, and the ransom was ten thousand tons of grain per person—totaling 7.2 million tons.

“This is the terrain of the pirate base. The surrounding waters are complex, and any rescue operation will be extremely difficult,” a secretary said, pulling up a map of the pirate stronghold.

They had already pinpointed the general coordinates of the base, located on the southern side of the Wyman Strait. Due to the proximity of multiple neighboring countries, any rescue mission would be fraught with complications.

Liu Wensheng, attending the meeting, studied the map, then slammed his fist on the table. “These people are despicable!”

But he wasn’t talking about the Meteor No. 3 pirates. He was referring to the other countries that had turned a blind eye during the hijacking. Though the Wyman Pirates were indeed vile, hijacking a heavy freighter like the Meteor No. 3 in such a complex maritime zone couldn’t have happened without outside interference.

These countries hadn’t directly participated, but they had certainly allowed it to happen. More than just turning a blind eye, they were testing Longxia’s limits.

With the Global Crisis worsening and the global food shortage growing more severe, Longxia had provided some aid—but its resources alone couldn’t meet global demand. Compared to regular trade, these countries wanted more grain… and they were willing to let pirates do the asking.