"Let's catch some fish!"
Seeing Jiang Hai's confused expression, Pra Walton smiled, patted him on the shoulder, and stood up to direct Edward Anderson and the others. But unlike yesterday's fishing, which was aimed at selling the catch, today's trip was for testing purposes.
Back then, they had to locate schools of fish before casting the net. This time, the net was deployed early, even before reaching any dense clusters. As they trawled forward, all kinds of fish were gathered into the net.
After about an hour, Edward Anderson noticed the net had collected enough fish. He activated the turbine to haul it up.
As the net broke the surface, countless fish spilled onto the deck.
Yesterday's catch was targeted, focused on fewer species and dictated by the composition of fish schools. Altogether, they had brought in around a dozen species. But today's haul was entirely different.
As fish poured out of the net, Jiang Hai couldn't help but let out a gasp. The sheer variety, not necessarily the quality or size, was astonishing.
The total weight of the catch was about two tons, but it included dozens of species—particularly from the bream and scorpionfish families. While individual populations of these types are usually small, the number of species is vast. Jiang Hai often encountered them when diving.
These fish typically roamed in small groups of three to five. There could easily be over fifty distinct species of them just within the waters of Jiang Hai's fishery.
Among the more recognizable ones were green-mouthed bream, silver bream, white-eyed bream, Irish bream, soft-mouthed fish, mullet, and so on. The scorpionfish family was just as diverse—over fifty species globally, and Jiang Hai's waters had a substantial share of them.
He had netted them all today.
Beyond those, there were also American redfish, groupers, salmon, barracuda, mackerel, sea calcium fish, black haddock, cod, and more.
They even caught a variety of squid, small octopuses, herring—some of which had managed to slip through the mesh previously.
But what caught Jiang Hai off guard was the presence of small eels. He'd seen them while diving but hadn't paid them much attention. Now, seeing them up close, he realized what they were.
"Wait—is this... a lamprey?" Pra Walton suddenly exclaimed, eyes lighting up. The others—Tommy Charles and company—gathered around to take a look.
"Yeah, definitely a lamprey," Tommy Charles said, pulling one from the pile, visibly surprised. "Didn't think there'd be this many here."
Jiang Hai looked puzzled.
"The seven-gill eel, also known as the eight-eyed eel, looks disgusting—especially its mouth. But believe it or not, this thing is considered a top delicacy," Edward Anderson explained. "Mainly consumed in Europe. There's even a story about a European king who died from overeating these. But regardless, it's a luxury food for the upper class."
"This... is considered delicious?" Jiang Hai asked, skeptical.
It was hard for him to imagine. The creature looked more like a blood-sucking, toothy intestine than anything edible.
"You'll see when we get back. I'll cook it for you," Edward Anderson said, chuckling. Despite his misgivings, Jiang Hai decided he might as well give it a try.
Back on deck, the net was emptied and fish were sorted. Different fish have different market values, so separating them was important for testing.
Pra Walton grabbed a knife and got to work like a seasoned fisherwoman. She slit open each fish's belly, checking for parasites, inspecting stomach contents, and snapping photos to send to experts.
At the same time, she made a few calls to arrange for someone to collect samples from Jiang Hai's fishery. With everything in motion, they headed back to the manor.
It was still early—just after three in the afternoon—when they returned. Edward Anderson went straight to Jiang Hai's kitchen to prepare the lamprey.
Despite being called an eel, the lamprey isn't a true fish. It's parasitic and can grow to various sizes. They'd caught six—some as long as half a meter, others around twenty centimeters.
Anderson's method was simple: he beheaded them, then roasted the larger ones and stewed the smaller ones.
Half an hour later, both dishes were ready.
Jiang Hai took a bite. How to describe the taste? It wasn't terrible, but he didn't love it either. He'd eaten yellowfin before, and the flavor reminded him of yellow trout—slightly more pungent. The texture was soft, with a sweetness unique to seafood from his fishery. It tasted decent—if you could ignore the creature's horrifying appearance.
While they were eating, the team Pra Walton had called arrived. Two pickup trucks pulled up, and they casually loaded them with fish before driving off. The samples would be tested for nutritional content, parasite levels, potential harm, and overall value—all part of determining pricing. The fish's yield would also be factored into the assessment.
Watching the trucks drive away, Jiang Hai turned to Pra Walton, still unsure. "Can you finally tell me how this will make my fish famous?"
He didn't get it. Was this about resisting Wall Street's pricing games? That didn't make sense—why would buyers go along with it?
He thought back to stories he'd read in China. In those farming novels, characters grew radishes and sold them at absurd prices—hundreds of yuan each—and people rushed to buy them.
It sounded satisfying, but Jiang Hai knew it wasn't realistic. Pricing something too high—or too low—distorts market balance and leads to unhealthy competition.
Even in the U.S., where such restrictions were looser, why would someone pay $30 for a redfish that usually sells for $10 per kilo? Jiang Hai himself wouldn't buy it. Superior quality wasn't enough. Unlike beef, where marbling and tenderness are easy to feel, the gap between wild fish and his farmed fish wasn't that drastic.
"Everything needs advertising—just like your cattle. Without that gold medal from the New York Beef Show, no one would've noticed them. It's the same for your fish. You need to participate in a fishery expo," Pra Walton said, smiling confidently.
She'd tasted Jiang Hai's fish herself. From a business perspective, pricing it at three times the market rate might even be undervaluing it. Jiang Hai shouldn't be raising redfish; species more valuable than grouper would earn him far more.
"Branding is everything. If your beef wins gold at the national show, we can raise the price with justification. Same goes for your fish—win an award, and you can sell redfish for $30 a kilo without flinching," she said earnestly.
Jiang Hai fell into thought. "A fishery expo, huh?"
He had assumed that if there were beef shows, there must be fish shows too—but he had never bothered to look them up.
"The world's largest fishery expo, the WFE, was founded in 1973 and held every six years. But you missed the last one—it was held just last year. The winners get international attention. Still, there are three other major fishery expos."
She began listing them.
"The biggest is the China International Fisheries Expo—the largest in Asia and one of the top three globally. Rated five stars by the U.S. Department of Commerce. But it's far away for you.
"Then there's the European Seafood Exhibition in Brussels. But... you probably know how Europeans can be. Many still act like they're colonial powers. You'd likely be seen as a vendor, not a contender."
Jiang Hai frowned. "Just tell me the one I can go to."
Pra Walton shot him an annoyed look. "The Boston Fish Show. That's your best bet."
"In Boston?" he asked, puzzled.
"Yes, it's held in Boston. First launched in 1981, it's now one of the three largest fishery exhibitions worldwide—and the biggest in North America. If your fish stand out there, you can raise your prices legitimately. You should also register a brand or company. It'll make promoting your fish and beef much easier."
Jiang Hai nodded slowly. That made sense. The Boston show was nearby, and he had faith in the quality of his fish. Whether it was local favoritism or the product itself, he believed he had a good shot at winning.
But... a company?
He hated paperwork, bureaucracy, and hassle. Just the thought of forming a company gave him a headache.
"Forget it for now. When is the expo, anyway?" he asked, trying to focus on one step at a time. Spring would already be busy.
"Mid-April, I think. You can attend the Texas beef show and make it back in time," Pra Walton said, though she wasn't entirely sure. Usually, her assistant kept track of such things.
Time passed as they talked.
Before long, night fell, and Qi Ya, Qi Jie, Azarina, Darlene, and Marian returned. Seeing Pra Walton and Cheryl Lee in the villa, they were momentarily stunned—they hadn't known guests were coming.
"Seriously? You didn't even tell me?" Qi Ya smiled as she stepped inside. "I'll go make dinner."
But before she could head to the kitchen, Pra Walton stood up as well.
"Oh, we're sisters! No need to be so formal. Cheryl, come help me!"
The moment she said that, the villa—previously buzzing—fell into a moment of awkward silence...