The Boeing 777 on the Kyoto–Toronto run was painted with cloud motifs in a soft sky-blue livery. At almost seventy meters long with a wingspan just over sixty meters, its sleek form exuded pure aesthetic grace. Under the cloak of night, the colors gleamed with a dreamlike radiance, filling Eddie with excitement.
When boarding, flight attendants guided him down the aisle. Naturally, they were all blond-haired, blue-eyed beauties from overseas, and Eddie's spirits soared at the sight. As he settled into his seat, he realized—with a thrill—that he was by the window.
At first, this made his heart leap: after takeoff he could watch a tapestry of city lights below. But once the plane roared down the runway and lifted into the sky, Eddie's face drained of color. He couldn't pinpoint the feeling—just that as the engines thrust them upward, his heart pounded wildly, and a stifling pressure in his chest made each breath a struggle. Darkness crept at the edges of his vision, and a warped panorama of the earth rushing beneath him flashed through his mind. Nausea surged, threatening to bring his lunch back up, and it took every ounce of willpower to suppress a dry heave.
As the jetliner finished its second climb, Eddie jolted at a sudden sip of air. Gone was the bravado he'd had moments ago; now he sat deathly pale, sweat beading on his forehead, knuckles white as he gripped the armrests as though fighting off organ failure.
Next to him, Creeper calmly squeezed his wrist and pressed the call button overhead. Within moments, an attendant in a sky-blue uniform and black-silk heels hurried over.
"Could you check on my friend? I think he's air-sick," Creeper said wryly.
The attendant glanced at Eddie's ashen face and hurried off. Before long, Eddie felt a cool, gentle hand touch his forehead.
"It's okay—this gentleman's just afraid of heights. It's quite common," came a soft, pleasant voice.
The hand slid from his brow to his palm. "Relax, sir. Breathe deeply—follow my rhythm. Imagine yourself at your family's dinner table, or in your backyard, or out on the open plain. See your parents by your side… they're smiling at you. What would you like to say? Pour your heart out to them…"
"Mom, I feel sick!" Eddie blurted, picturing his childhood fields. His words were met by Creeper's chuckle.
The attendant continued her soothing whisper in his ear, a faint fragrance drifting into his nostrils—elegant and sweet, like the locust blossoms that bloomed back home at the Dragon Boat Festival.
Slowly, the dizziness and nausea ebbed. Eddie swallowed hard and opened his eyes. A glance to his side banished all lingering queasiness with genuine wonder.
Seated in Creeper's spot was a dark-haired woman with porcelain features: cherry-colored lips, clear blue eyes like a post-rain sky, and skin so smooth and lustrous it rivaled polished jade. Her perfectly tailored navy-blue uniform accentuated her slender figure, and under the warm cabin lights her complexion glowed. She watched Eddie with a gentle, radiant smile that made him feel as if an ethereal sprite had materialized at his elbow.
"Feeling better?" she asked softly, steadying him and helping him into Creeper's seat. Turning to him, she explained, "Would you mind switching seats with this gentleman? He isn't suited to the window row."
"It'd be my pleasure," Creeper replied with a grin.
Once Eddie was settled, the attendant gave him a final nod, smoothed her skirt, and rose. As her long legs, sheathed in sheer stockings, carried her away, he caught one last burst of that locust-blossom scent.
The flight stretched on for twelve-plus hours. Attendants came by periodically, but the one who'd comforted him never reappeared. Creeper had teased out the truth: that kind soul was the purser.
"What's her name?" Eddie had asked the blonde attendant handing out meals.
"She'd tell you herself if you asked," came the polite reply.
Eddie never ran into her again before landing. They changed planes at Toronto Pearson International. Thanks to the twelve-hour time difference between Kyoto (UTC+8) and Toronto (UTC–5), it was still night.
Stepping off the plane, Eddie's gaze was drawn upward: the Milky Way stretched overhead like jewels scattered across black satin. Stars of every size glowed with equal brilliance and softness, forming an endless cosmic masterpiece. Standing beneath that vast dome, Eddie felt an unexpected surge of awe—did his ancestors five thousand years ago feel this same wonder when they first glimpsed the night sky?
As a child, he'd seen stars like these back home. Summer nights in the village meant no fans or air-con; neighbors and family would gather on little stools in the threshing yard to cool off. After playing until exhausted, Eddie would lie on the warm, flat ground and stare up at the heavens.
He'd thought those days were long forgotten. Seeing this Canadian sky now, he realized that the most beautiful moments of his childhood had always stayed sheltered deep within him.
He inhaled deeply. "The air here is nice."
"Toronto's air is terrible," Creeper laughed. "Wait until you get to Farewell—I promise you'll call the air there sweet!"
They boarded again for St. John's. On that flight, Creeper gave Eddie a quick primer: St. John's is the capital of Newfoundland and Labrador, famous for its cod fisheries. The BE Fishery he was set to inherit lay in the heart of those rich cod grounds.
Canada's cod is renowned worldwide. Eddie recalled his middle-school geography book calling the Newfoundland banks "so abundant you could walk ashore on cod."
He'd never eaten cod. He could barely wait to land—two filets, steamed, red-braised, or poached, his choice.
They descended at dawn. From his window, Eddie spotted the wide-blue ocean and, in the bay, chunks of ice drifting with the current. Rows of colorful wooden houses climbed the shore, lending the scene a lazy charm.
St. John's airport sat about ten kilometers from downtown. Unlike bustling Chinese hubs, taxis were scarce. Creeper had noted how small and tranquil the city was; now Eddie saw it himself: wide, clean streets dotted with only a handful of pedestrians.
But the scenery was unforgettable. A fresh, briny breeze greeted him as he climbed aboard a fishing trawler. Ice floes bobbed in the water.
"Your fishery lies southeast, on an excellent site where the Labrador Current meets the Gulf Stream," Creeper said, smiling as he stood on deck.
Eddie's excitement swelled as they neared land. Despite the morning chill, the sea breeze felt warm on his face.
The sun began its ascent, casting a tender, peach-pink glow across the horizon, then bursting forth in golden rays that set the waves ablaze. In that moment, the sea transformed into Eddie's childhood favorite orange drink—sunlight dancing through every ripple.
A few seabirds called out, gliding on the wind. Then land rose before him: a sizable island of over four hundred square kilometers. His fishery was here at last.