In Tianjin Wei in the 13th year of the Republic of China, the morning light at Haihe Wharf was always filled with a salty smell. When Xie Feng tightened the last piece of hemp rope, his knuckles were already white from the sea water. He is in his early twenties, and his short game has turned gray, and the muscles on his exposed arms are like knots on an old tree - the muscles and bones that have been trained by ten years of horse racing and five years of boxing.
