The morning sun shimmered over the Atlantic Ocean. Amidst the mist, a large fishing boat cruised slowly through the waters of Sandy Bay, carrying a lively group of tourists. Behind the vessel, a massive trawl net churned through the sea.
Few of the tourists had ever seen such a boat before. A couple of them leaned over the side, watching the waves stirred up by the boat or catching glimpses of small fish leaping from the water. Most, however, were busy snapping photos, eager to post them on WeChat Moments once they got back to the hotel.
Chinese phone cards don't work in the U.S. unless international roaming is enabled—an expensive service that few are willing to activate. As a result, most tourists remained disconnected, soaking in the experience without distractions.
The captain, a white man with a bushy beard named Hai Zhonghua, stood near the cargo hold with a satisfied smile. He watched the enthusiastic tourists with amusement and appreciation. In his eyes, these visitors weren't just people—they were walking dollar bills. Since Winthrop began attracting Chinese tourists, business had boomed.
Locals who owned fishing boats, horse farms, and small hotels had seen their incomes skyrocket. In less than a month, many had already earned more than they typically made in an entire quarter.
Though it was tuna season and many fishermen would normally head to Cape Cod for the big catch, several had opted to stay behind. The Cape Cod run was grueling—two months of relentless labor, day and night. A successful haul might bring in $100,000, but once you paid hired hands $20,000, plus taxes, you were left with just $40,000 to $50,000. It was a decent annual income, sure, but it came at a steep cost.
Now, they could make that kind of money right at home, without the hardship.
Each morning, they'd pick up tourists in Winthrop, head out into Sandy Bay, and cast a couple of nets. The tourists paid $20 each for the experience—ten people brought in $200, and today there were more than thirty on board, totaling over $600.
Better yet, the tourists could eat the fish, shrimp, crabs, and lobsters they caught. But how much could one person really eat? Maybe three, four, five catties at most? And there were seniors and children onboard too. If each person ate three catties, thirty people would only consume about 100 catties.
Yet a single net could easily bring in 200 to 300 kilograms of seafood. Two nets meant at least 500 kilograms—over 1,000 pounds. The tourists also bought fish at a 10% discount off market price, which took care of another 100 kilograms. The rest was sold to the local fishery.
In total, they could rake in over $2,000 a day. That added up to $60,000 a month—$120,000 over two months. And since this type of business could last half a year, the earnings were substantial. Even if they stayed home during winter, six months of work brought in $360,000. After taxes and fuel expenses, they'd still pocket around $150,000.
What about wear and tear on the boat? Hardly a concern. A new boat wasn't overly expensive, and the calm, reef-free waters of the inner bay posed little risk. Plus, they didn't need to hire extra hands—family could handle everything. A fisherman earning over $100,000 a year, all while staying home? What more could they ask for?
And if they wanted, they could still venture out into deeper waters during the winter months for additional income. Life was good.
They'd always heard that Chinese tourists were wealthy and generous—but now they truly believed it.
Everyone in town also knew who to thank for this tourism boom. Jiang Hai's reputation in Winthrop was now through the roof. If he ran for mayor, he'd win by a landslide.
"Captain, are we in the Atlantic now?" a man called out, interrupting the captain's thoughts.
The bearded captain smiled and replied slowly so everyone could understand. He knew some tourists spoke English well, while others only managed the basics.
"Yes, we're in the Atlantic—but not too far from shore. This area is also called Sandy Bay."
He went on to explain. Sandy Bay wasn't a unique name—many coastal regions shared it. The term referred to shallow bays near the continental shelf, with sandy bottoms and no coral or reefs. Ideal for sightseeing and fishing, but unsuitable as harbors or for diving. There were Sandy Bays in both the U.S. and China.
Jiang Hai's own fishing grounds included one such bay, where he first went fishing with Edward Anderson. It had since transformed into a kelp forest, a favorite habitat for his fish. But the Sandy Bay they were in now was a public one—Jiang Hai's was private.
"Whoa, what's that over there?" someone suddenly shouted.
The captain turned around and frowned. Through the mist, he spotted a fast-moving vessel approaching.
If it were just any boat, he wouldn't care. But this one was speeding straight toward them. He wasn't worried about a collision—it was more about disturbing the fish.
Thankfully, the other vessel slowed down once its crew spotted the fishing boat.
As the sleek ship emerged from the fog, the captain grinned. The tourists, too, were in awe, shouting and taking pictures. It was a real yacht—sleek, stylish, and powerful.
"Hi, Jiang, welcome back!" the captain radioed cheerfully.
A familiar voice responded through the crackling speaker: "Thanks! That trip was exhausting. How's business?"
"Great, thanks to the tourists you brought in!" the captain replied.
"Then treat them well," Jiang Hai said. "Let them see how wonderful Winthrop is."
With that, he signed off, and the yacht sped off toward the town.
"Captain, do you know the owner of that yacht?" several middle-aged men asked, crowding around him.
"Of course I do! Everyone in Winthrop knows Jiang Hai. He's the reason you're here. He's the richest, most handsome, and most talented man in town—and he's not even thirty yet," the captain said proudly, as if trying to prove his connection.
Eyes lit up all around.
"Can you ask him to let us ride his yacht?" someone blurted out, clearly excited.
The captain chuckled and shook his head. "No way. That yacht is Jiang Hai's treasure. Not even locals have been on it."
"Then tell us more about him!" some women chimed in, smiling.
The captain happily obliged. Jiang Hai may have been in Winthrop for less than a year, but he'd already become a local legend.
He came alone to America, bought a manor, beat up a dozen thugs, made a splash at a cattle expo, funded the town's tourism, and even fended off the Boston gang with an M134 machine gun.
Of course, Jiang Hai himself would probably cringe at how exaggerated the tales had become.
In the eyes of the bearded captain, Jiang Hai wasn't just a rich man—he was an American hero. Not a flamboyant playboy like Iron Man, but more like a brighter, more approachable version of Batman.
Surrounded by admiring tourists, the captain's storytelling grew even more animated.
Meanwhile, Jiang Hai had already reached his private fishing grounds, unaware that he was once again the center of admiration.