Chapter 27: Victory Banquet

Curiosity kills cats—that was a truth Henry knew before he crossed over. Being a bystander until you pee yourself, or helping someone and ending up the culprit—lessons too unforgettable to ignore.

Besides, he'd only been in this world for twenty years, locked in an underground research facility, and had only been in Alaska for two months. Henry didn't believe he'd offended anyone.

The only one who'd never lowered his guard around him was the town's sheriff—but he'd also been restrained, never making overtly aggressive moves.

So the odds of old Tang Mu's guest targeting him were far less than one in ten thousand.

Under these circumstances, there was no need to spiral into paranoid delusions, obsessively investigating what the other person was up to or suspecting them of plotting against him.

Such behavior was no different from the black side character in a 1980s–90s horror thriller who defied the protagonist's team, split off, and went solo.

If you didn't watch the killer go on a massacre after the director built up the character and gave him so many shots, you'd be wasting the film.

If you really let your curiosity get the better of you and followed them, only to get exposed again, it'd be like seeing a vortex right in front of you—and still jumping in.

After finishing his talk with Tang Mu, Henry drove back to the northern town and to Old John's bar.

The next two days passed uneventfully; the two strangers he'd briefly met hadn't made any waves in this town.

The townsfolk still came to Old John's for drinks only at night. Otherwise, Henry remained glued to the classic movie channel.

Until the king crab season ended, he sailed out with Old George three more times.

The final trip lasted only a few days—they returned without a full hold, rushing back to deliver the caught king crabs to port before the season closed.

If they returned too late, the fines would be so high they'd earn nothing—and even owe money. In severe cases, revoking their license wasn't out of the question.

So on this final trip, everyone wasn't paid a fixed wage but received a share of the catch after deducting costs.

Fortunately, king crab prices were high enough that everyone still made a profit, just slightly less than on a normal voyage. But the work hours were shorter, so no one complained.

The end of November wasn't the end of the crab season—it only meant king crab fishing was now banned.

Next, they could fish for armored deep-sea crabs in different areas. But most crab boats wouldn't fish continuously, since parts of the Bai Linghai froze in December, making navigation difficult for small vessels.

Captains planning to fish for armored deep-sea crabs waited until January, giving them roughly two months of operation, just like with king crabs.

But there were boats like Old George's, dedicated solely to king crabs. After all, if you worked hard, you could earn enough for your whole family to eat, drink, and live comfortably for a full year.

After the final trip, since the work hours were short, Old George—still full of energy—dragged everyone to a club to celebrate.

It was essentially a victory party for the end of the crab season: celebrating the harvest and everyone's safe return, with no serious accidents. Other boats hadn't been so lucky.

Drunk, Old George slung an arm around Henry's neck and complained: "You were right not to stay. This crabbing business is getting harder and harder."

"Those old bastards already limit fishing times, and now they're going to impose individual quotas. Claiming they're worried about overfishing and ecological damage."

"King crabs are already overrunning the place—if it weren't for the Bai Linghai protecting them, they'd have gone extinct a hundred or two hundred years ago. What's there to fear from overfishing?"

Tang Mu, spewing alcohol fumes as he ranted, carried himself with the air of a man cursing heaven and earth.

Henry suspected it was because everyone else had clustered around the strippers, leaving him alone at a table on the outskirts drinking with George—making him the perfect target for a drunk man to unload his grievances.

Remembering what Old Tang Mu had said, Henry smiled: "Maybe it's because more and more people are entering this line, buying boats to fish for king crabs. If you don't impose limits, wouldn't you one day see crab boats covering the entire Bai Linghai?"

George jolted in alarm and cursed: "Fuck, that could actually happen."

But George added: "But do you really think crabbing is that easy? Just gather a few guys, buy a boat, and you'll make a fortune on the Bai Linghai?"

Henry agreed: "History teaches us one lesson: we never learn any lessons. Unless you've smashed your head bloody against it, how many people will believe you when you tell them crabbing on the Bai Linghai is dangerous?"

George continued complaining: "Yeah. Tell them the truth, and no one believes you. But if you don't, grieving families accuse us of being heartless. You know how it is out there—if something goes wrong, who dares to rescue anyone?"

"Call the coast rescue team via radio. Who else can get close enough to rescue someone from a boat except a big helicopter?"

George leaned in with a secretive grin: "Come on. I'll tell you a secret—our air rescue team is useless in this weather."

"No one survives long enough for a helicopter to arrive. This year alone, another few boats vanished, ten or so men didn't come back. And that's just here—not counting other regions."

"So sticking with you, Boss, instead of joining other boats? That was a smart choice, wasn't it?" Henry flattered him.

Clearly, the flattery struck Old George's heart—he laughed loudly, then mumbled nonsense so incoherent even Henry's super brain couldn't make sense of it.

Eventually, George's wife, familiar with the routine, showed up and dragged him away.

No wonder women who live in Alaska are so fierce—they match the toughness of any Northeastern Chinese girl.

George had been drunk and defiant, refusing to leave—until one slap knocked him straight, and she half-pulled, half-carried him out like a sack.

Neither the club's bouncers nor George's crew dared intervene. Everyone could tell whether this was a fight, a brawl, or a wife coming to fetch her husband.

Stepping in now would be pure suicide.

The girls certainly didn't need to be told—they'd already fled the danger zone, terrified of being caught in the crossfire.

With the captain gone and no one left to buy drinks, some finished their round and left.

Others, however, kept flirting with the strippers, hoping for a night of flesh after work—they stayed.

Henry left too. Drinking didn't get him drunk, making it boring. And the girls here were all…

Hmm. Anyway, having too good eyesight isn't always a good thing.

New book seeking follows, collections, and recommendations—thank you~~

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(End of Chapter)