SA | Chapter 24

Setting Sail for Whale Hunting

Apart from eating, drinking, and other necessities, Gu Deng spent all his time writing songs. He and Ali stayed up all night and finally finished the entire song.

Ali was eager to sing it to her grandma, but just as she reached the door, she collapsed. Gu Deng thought something had happened to her, but when he flipped her over, he realized she had just fallen asleep.

Carrying the child, Gu Deng went to find Judy, who was busy with the other women preparing for the whale hunting ceremony. Seeing Gu Deng holding Ali, Judy wiped her hands clean and stood up.

“What’s up?”

“She’s too tired and fell asleep,” Gu Deng said, supporting Ali’s head and feeling a bit lost. “Where should I put her?”

“Give her to me,” Judy reached out and took Ali. “I’ll put her to bed.”

After handing Ali to Judy, Gu Deng yawned and headed outside. The snow was a blinding white, and the sunlight was dazzling. Squinting his eyes, Gu Deng realized he had bumped into something warm.

Seeing Gu Deng about to fall, Zhang Li caught him by the shoulder and asked, “Why are you so tired?”

“I pulled an all-nighter last night,” Gu Deng rubbed his eyes and sighed. “I guess I’m getting old. I used to be able to stay up for three days straight.”

Zhang Li suggested, “Go get some sleep.”

“I can’t sleep yet,” Gu Deng shook his head. “I want to hear Ali sing.”

“I’ll call you when she wakes up.”

Gu Deng thought for a couple of seconds and said, “Alright.”

As soon as he finished speaking, he leaned his head on Zhang Li’s shoulder.

The warmth of the young man’s body seeped through the fabric, and Zhang Li stiffened for a moment. It wasn’t until Gu Deng was about to fall that he reacted, awkwardly wrapping an arm around Gu Deng’s waist.

So thin, probably only as thick as his thigh. How did such a frail body manage to carry weight and hike dozens of kilometers with him?

Zhang Li looked at Gu Deng’s face, his features were delicate, with thick eyelashes and a high nose bridge. Despite his delicate appearance, he possessed resilience far beyond ordinary people.

Zhang Li was almost entranced until someone passed by, prompting him to bend down and carry Gu Deng inside.

During the day, the men were all busy working, leaving Gu Deng alone in the room. Zhang Li covered him with a blanket and sat quietly by the bed until someone called him to work, and he finally got up and left.

Gu Deng woke up from hunger, but he didn’t bother to eat and immediately ran to find Ali. Ali was still asleep and only got up groggily after lunch. Judy called her to eat, and then they went to see her grandma together.

The closer they got, the more nervous Ali became, frequently looking back at Judy and Gu Deng. Judy patted her shoulder, “Go on.”

Gu Deng stood at the door with his guitar, looking no less anxious than Ali. As the song finished, his heart sank heavily.

.

When Zhang Li received the news and returned, he saw Ali crying in Judy’s arms, but Gu Deng was nowhere to be seen. Based on their reactions, Zhang Li had already guessed the outcome.

He asked Judy, “Didn’t wake up?”

Judy shook her head, “Still the same.”

Ali continued to cry, seemingly unable to accept the outcome.

Zhang Li asked, “Where’s Gu Deng?”

Judy gestured with her chin, “He went to the seaside.”

Zhang Li thanked her and turned to head to the seaside.

The winter sea in high-latitude areas has a unique silence. Unlike the vibrant tropical seas, the polar sea feels bitterly cold and oppressive.

Gu Deng walked back and forth on the snowy beach with his worn-out guitar, his eyes filled with pure white and deep blue, inevitably sinking into a low mood. He wasn’t that sad; after all, it was Ali’s grandma, just a passerby in the end.

He just felt vaguely uncomfortable, unable to accurately describe the emotion, so he paced back and forth to dispel the negative feelings.

There was still snow on the beach, and where the water had spread, ice occasionally formed. Gu Deng liked the crisp sound it made when he stepped on it.

His heavy hiking boots were waterproof and non-slip, allowing him to continue this game easily. But as he stepped on the ice again, someone grabbed his arm from behind with such force that it hurt, causing his guitar to fall into the snow.

“Don’t go over there.” Zhang Li’s breathing was heavy, his dark eyes filled with complex emotions.

Gu Deng frowned, wincing from the pain, “Take it easy, it hurts.”

Zhang Li eased his grip slightly but still didn’t let go of Gu Deng’s arm.

Gu Deng frowned, “Let go.”

Zhang Li remained silent, his gaze growing more intense.

“You think I’m going to jump into the sea?” Gu Deng suddenly looked up at Zhang Li.

“No.”

“Then let go of me.”

Zhang Li stared at him in silence for about four or five seconds before cautiously releasing his right hand, though he still stayed close.

Gu Deng rubbed his sore arm and bent down to pick up his guitar, but Zhang Li beat him to it.

Gu Deng glanced at him, “What are you doing here?”

“I…” Zhang Li paused for a moment before speaking, “The whale hunting team is setting off tomorrow. I came to ask if you want to join.”

Setting off tomorrow, huh? So spring has come? Gu Deng was a bit curious but thought for a moment and shook his head, “No, I don’t really want to see that kind of scene.”

Zhang Li nodded, not persuading him further.

With Zhang Li around, Gu Deng lost interest in stepping on the ice and turned to walk back to the shore, with Zhang Li carrying his guitar and following him.

“Are you going?” Gu Deng asked.

“Yes,” Zhang Li replied.

The conversation ended, and silence fell again.

They walked along the beach, stamping down the nearby snow until Zhang Li finally spoke again, cautiously, “When I came over, I heard Ali crying.”

“Yeah, the song was useless,” Gu Deng laughed self-deprecatingly, looking a bit forlorn. “I don’t even know what we were thinking, how we thought we could actually succeed.”

“Don’t be too discouraged,” Zhang Li said. “Even the Sharman couldn’t wake her up.”

Gu Deng: “…”

That was… He couldn’t help but smile, though his expression was a bit grim.

But Gu Deng’s motives for doing this weren’t as pure as they seemed. In reality, he was using the excuse of helping Ali to satisfy his own creative desires.

He said he’d never write songs again, that he was giving up music. But at the slightest hope, he’d secretly try again, going against his own words.

Saying he’d give up music was a lie; he used this excuse to deceive others and tried to deceive himself.

It’s like those who buy lottery tickets, saying they just want to break even, but deep down, who wouldn’t want to win the 5 million jackpot? The so-called breaking even is just an excuse to avoid facing their own desires.

Afraid of failure, he preemptively placed himself in the position of a loser. This way, he could take pride in every small success. He chose to settle for mediocrity, indulging in small victories, but never daring to reach for the moon hanging high above.

The wind by the sea howled, as if someone was crying.

Gu Deng looked up at Zhang Li, resisting the urge to seek comfort, and simply asked, “Anything else?”

Zhang Li shook his head silently, so Gu Deng stepped forward, taking the guitar from his hand.

As they got closer, they both instinctively held their breath. Gu Deng smelled the herbal scent on Zhang Li, picked up from working with the locals. The mix of wood, earth, and snow reminded him of temperate coniferous forests, vast and resilient, as if they could encompass everything.

He could have asked Zhang Li for a comforting hug, but after their last embrace, they both chose restraint, not getting any closer.

Gu Deng never denied Zhang Li’s attraction to him, which came from Zhang Li’s handsome face, sexy body, accommodating attitude, and the security his personality provided.

He had thought about using a romance to replace growth, using sex to cure depression. But he also knew such treatment was superficial, and inappropriate physical contact could ruin a beautiful friendship. He didn’t want to look back on Zhang Li and only remember vague desires.

Zhang Li’s figure disappeared at the end of the road, and faint music came from the distant village. Gu Deng plucked the guitar strings, producing a series of meaningless notes.

“Gu Deng!” Suddenly, someone called his name. Zhang Li, who had just left, came back. The man’s chest heaved as he panted, having run all the way back.

For no reason, Gu Deng’s heart suddenly skipped a beat, but he showed no sign of it, simply asking, “What’s up?”

“Do you want to hear the Inuits sing the whale hunting song?” Zhang Li asked between breaths, his eyes brighter and more intense than ever.

“Yes,” Gu Deng immediately replied, “I want to hear it.”

Zhang Li was taken aback by Gu Deng’s straightforward answer, suddenly unsure of what to say.

“Then…”

Gu Deng walked towards him, “I’ll go back with you.”

Zhang Li nodded, taking the guitar from Gu Deng’s hand.

On the way back, Gu Deng learned from Zhang Li about the Inuit’s pre-whale hunting ceremony. This tribe was relatively modernized, having simplified most traditional steps, but still retaining the complete song and dance before setting off.

Before setting off, all the whale hunters would sit by the sea, singing and dancing under the Sharman’s lead, summoning the whales and praying for them to offer their bodies to their people.

Inuits believe in animism, with different tribes having similar myths and legends. Some tribes believe they are descendants of whales, while others believe their ancestors were polar bears or ravens. They hunt to take the animal’s flesh, while the animal’s soul enters the spirit world, returning again.

The next morning, at dawn, Gu Deng woke up and participated in the mysterious ceremony with the whale hunters.

Dozens of men sat around an open space, with a masked elder in the center. The surrounding crew beat drums rhythmically, and as the night faded, ancient songs gradually echoed across the land.

The lyrics were simple, with many repeated syllables. After hearing it twice, Gu Deng had already learned the entire song, but he couldn’t capture the local feel.

The sun hadn’t risen yet, but it was already bright all around. The sky was a beautiful pink-purple, the snow sparkled, the sea was deep and serene, and in the gaps between the ice lay whale-attracting grease and dried salmon.

Listening to the repeated syllables, Gu Deng suddenly recalled a theory from his music studies about the origin of music—music being closely related to rituals and work chants.

Back then, music wasn’t about self-expression or aesthetic experience; it had practical functions and purposes.

Functionality… purpose…

Gu Deng’s mind was filled with vague feelings, but he couldn’t piece them together.

Gu Deng began to scratch his head, a frustration he hadn’t felt in a long time. It was like being back in high school, doing test papers, having ideas and inspiration, even clearly recalling the relevant knowledge points’ location in the textbook, but unable to write the answer.

The ceremony ended as the sun fully rose, and the crew gradually boarded their boats and slid into the sea.

Gu Deng still couldn’t grasp that fleeting feeling and left the crowd somewhat dejected. His ears buzzed as if he’d listened to an hour of brainwashing music, and even when he tried not to think about it, the melody still played in his mind.

Speaking of which, ritual songs and brainwashing tunes have a lot in common—repetitive motifs, fast rhythms, simple lyrics, and often rhyming. But brainwashing tunes have a higher pitch, almost like a baby’s cry. The whale hunting song is much deeper, using throat singing during performances to add mystery.

Gu Deng asked Zhang Li, who was preparing to set off, “Does their singing style have any meaning?”

Zhang Li explained, “It’s imitating the sound of whales. Legend has it that the whale hunting song can attract whale pods.”

Imitating whale sounds, using songs to attract whales…

Gu Deng felt he was onto something and asked, “Does it work?”

Zhang Li said, “I’m not sure, but there’s scientific research saying the Inuit’s singing and whale sounds are on the same frequency.”

Inuits imitating whale sounds in their songs, the important thing isn’t the song itself but making sure the other party hears it.

As if struck by a revelation, Gu Deng’s eyes widened, “Could I have been wrong from the start?!”

“What?” Zhang Li looked up.

Gu Deng suddenly hugged him, excited, “Thank you, I have a new idea. Safe travels, I’m going to find Ali!”

The hug came suddenly and ended quickly. Before Zhang Li could react, Gu Deng let go and ran off like the wind.

The whale hunters gradually boarded their boats, and someone called Zhang Li’s name from afar.

Zhang Li joined the group, rowing out to sea.

The oars rhythmically brushed the water, propelling the small boat forward quietly. The morning wind was chilly, but it couldn’t blow away the scent Gu Deng left on him.

·

Ali was upset all night and only fell asleep from exhaustion in the latter half. She woke up the next morning still listless, unable to muster any energy for anything. She had given up struggling, becoming a heartless carving machine devoid of emotions.

Ali had just carved out her mouth when Gu Deng came to her, saying, “Ali, maybe we were wrong from the start.”

“What?” Ali responded lifelessly.

“I think we shouldn’t be focusing on how the song should be sung, but rather on letting Grandma hear it. Whatever she reacts to, we should incorporate those syllables into the song.”

Ali’s eyes brightened for a moment, then quickly dimmed, on the verge of tears as she asked, “Will it work?”

Gu Deng squatted in front of her, his eyes shining brightly, “Let’s try again, okay?”

Ali held back her tears and nodded.

Hearing their conversation, Judy also provided new information.

“Once, when I called her ‘Mom,’ she looked at me. Although she didn’t call my name, I felt she recognized me.” Judy said a bit embarrassed, “But it only happened once, and it didn’t work when I tried again.”

But regardless, this was good news for them.

Gu Deng and Ali went to Carly’s room, where it was dim, and Carly sat in familiar silence. Judy stood in front of her, taking a deep breath.

“Grandma? Do you remember that song? You used to sing it to me when I was little…” Judy sang the familiar syllables, and Gu Deng simultaneously strummed the guitar.

They experimented with different singing styles and melodies, like using the whale hunting song to summon whales, they were also trying to use music to awaken Carly.

Changing syllables and melodies repeatedly, everything depended on Carly’s reactions. Gu Deng had never written a song like this before, but when he saw Carly respond to a particular syllable, he felt that music should be like this, listened to by people, and then resonate with them.

Gu Deng continued to try, while the sea remained silent.

Along the Arctic Ocean’s coast, more than a dozen small boats swiftly glided across the water, quietly and powerfully pursuing the bowhead whales.

Although some modernized Inuits used motorboats and sonar detectors, this tribe still adhered to traditional wooden boat hunting. The elders believed modern technology was cheating, disrespecting the whales.

On the second day at sea, they still hadn’t spotted any whales. As night fell, the whale hunters took turns resting on the boats, and someone quietly talked about their wives and daughters.

The men asked Zhang Li if he was married, and Zhang Li shook his head, casting his gaze towards the distant land. Under the pale purple moonlight, the sea was serene, and he wondered what Gu Deng was doing now.