Snakehead fish cooked with rice noodles, the broth a golden color, piping hot, fresh and fragrant, deeply appetizing.

Once winter sets in, living in a fishing village seems to make you especially eager for news of whether the mullet have arrived, even though Keziliao has long since had no boats catching mullet, because many years ago mullet catches began to decline (no matter the fish, catches are all declining), and before they could swim back to the coastal waters off Keziliao, they were scooped up first in the central and northern areas and even the mainland. Still, from the occasional stake-net fishermen you can sometimes hear news of a mullet catch; I hear that because of the migration route, the mullet caught in the coastal waters off Keziliao are just right for eating!

Looking at this stretch of sea, when the cold snap comes the boats bob up and down on the water, the warning lights on the stake nets blink and blink; Brother Shun always says they are fireflies on the sea, and Big Brother says no wonder his father was against him going out to sea to fish. It feels like going home to fish is much, much harder than going home to farm.

Every couple of days I ask Uncle whether there is any news, or ask Brother Shun, who sells fishing nets, whether there is any news from his customers. It is not just that I really want to eat the fish; I also want even more to see Auntie make mullet roe by hand, and I carry with me the feeling that if the mullet come, everyone will have an easy year.