Chris Song’s Note: Xu Dishan wrote “The Gills of the Metal Fish” 鐵魚底鰓 in either 1940 or 1941 when he was living in Hong Kong. Different from his previous fiction with various religious elements, “The Gills of the Metal Fish” is a work of science fiction that tells the story of Lei, an under-appreciated weapons scientist in his early seventies who, without losing his ambition, astonishingly designs a new type of submarine at home in wartime southern China in the twentieth century. Without attention or support, the design suffered with the protagonist’s flee from war.
That afternoon, the all-clear from the alarm had already sounded. On a lively street in a large city in southern China, two rows of people stood solemnly, their eyes fixed on a parade of young men ready to defend their land. Curiously, none of them were bearing arms. They wore ordinary bamboo hats and grey attire, appearing neither as soldiers nor farmers. This procession, a display of strength for their own people, harboured unknown purposes.
As the group passed, an old man, his hair so unkempt it looked like a fur hat, emerged from the roadside. Wearing a suit that had seen better days, he clutched a roll of something, hurrying across an alleyway and bumping into a person inadvertently.
“Mr Lei, in such a rush!” the stranger remarked.
Lei looked up, recognising a vaguely familiar friend. He had no close confidants; this man, too, had been momentarily hindered by the parade and was hurrying home. “Ah, Huang, I seldom see you. Did you also emerge from the bomb shelter? While they rehearse for war, we, the redundant ones, rehearse for escape!”
“Indeed!” replied Huang with a laugh.
Their conversation drifted to casual matters until Huang inquired about the roll Lei was carrying. “This is my life’s work, a long story. If you’re interested, you’re welcome to visit my home. I’ll open it for you to see, and perhaps seek your advice.”
Huang knew of Lei’s past: one of the first students sent abroad to study artillery, returning to a country without the means to cast cannons, leading a life of unfulfilled ambitions. He had had stints as an English and math teacher, managed factories for years, and ended up working in a naval dockyard on a nearby ceded island, a job he had long since abandoned. Knowing Lei’s fascination with weaponry, Huang guessed the roll was yet another weapon design. “Another ‘death ray mirror’ or ‘plane arrow’ blueprint, Mr. Lei?” he asked, half in disbelief, aware that none of Lei’s designs had ever been adopted. Though not entirely unsuccessful, Lei had no tangible achievements to show.
“No, not those, this is more crucial,” Lei responded, a hint of resignation in his voice. “I doubt it’ll interest you. Goodbye.” And with that, he began to walk away.
However, Huang’s interest was piqued. “A new invention? I must see it. Your place isn’t far, let’s talk there.”
“It’s not worth your trouble. The blueprint alone isn’t interesting. But I’ve built a small model. Come, I’ll show you the experiment at my home.”
Huang simply followed Lei without further inquiry. Side by side, they chuckled, soon reaching Lei’s home. Panting slightly, the old man let his guest enter first, then placed the rolled-up paper on the table and sat beside it. It was Huang’s first visit; he observed the walls adorned with various blueprints, their purposes unclear. A small workbench in the back of the room was neatly arranged with saws, pliers, screws, and other tools, and several small wooden boxes were placed on a shelf.
“This is the model of a submarine I’ve recently devised,” Lei began, following Huang’s gaze to a shelf. He took down a wooden box, about three feet long, and retrieved a “metal fish” from it. “I’ve been pondering over this for years. My submarine’s uniqueness lies in its fish-like gills, allowing it to ‘breathe’ underwater.”
He led Huang to a courtyard at the back, where there stood a large basin made from lead plates and protected with wooden boards. It was evidently fashioned from three large shipping crates and filled with over four feet of water. Before submerging the “fish”, Lei opened its top and explained its internal mechanisms to Huang. He boasted that his creation’s air supply method was unlike any current mechanism, allowing the “fish” to extract oxygen from water, staying submerged for days. He unfurled the blueprints he had grabbed during the alarm, detailing each part. He then elaborated on its other features: “My fish has many ‘wandering eyes’. No matter how deep it sinks, it can project the surface and aerial situations onto screens inside the submarine through electrical transmission, thanks to these eyes floating on the surface. They’re small, easily disguised, and hard for low-flying aircraft to spot. The torpedo tubes are external, allowing changes in direction without moving the submarine and avoiding the risks old-style submarines face when launching torpedoes. Plus, each sailor inside has an artificial gill. In case of an emergency, they can quickly escape through an exit and float to the surface.”
While explaining, Lei opened a honeycomb-style door on the model, showing how sailors could escape. But Huang was growing impatient. “Let’s skip the technical talk and put it in the water for a test, shall we?”
“Alright, alright,” Lei replied, activating a small generator, sealing the top, and placing it in the water. The submarine sank, released a small torpedo, and resurfaced. “This doesn’t yet demonstrate the metal gills’ function. Let me show you another model inside.”
He carried the model submarine back to the table and led Huang to another part of the shelf, taking out a model of the metal gills. It resembled a home aquarium, divided by two glass plates with a clever mechanism sandwiched between them. Lei filled one side with water and connected electrical wires. The waterside had finely slit glass plates allowing water seepage. Soon, the mechanism and bellows inside started functioning. On the dry side, representing the interior of the submarine, several bellows-like devices were connected to tubes on the plates. He explained to Huang that this model was an artificial gill, extracting oxygen from water and expelling carbon dioxide, with a regulator inside the submarine to maintain breathable air. Regarding water pressure, Lei mentioned that combat submarines wouldn’t dive too deep but admitted he was still researching how to create one for deep-sea exploration.
As Lei spoke of things Huang barely understood, the latter refrained from questioning, letting him speak passionately until he rolled up the blueprints and returned the models to their places. They sat down again, intending to discuss something else.
But Lei’s interest remained fixated on his metal gills, incessantly discussing their utility and how they could strengthen China’s naval capabilities.
“You should present your invention to the military authorities. Perhaps someone will notice and give you a chance to build a prototype at the dockyard,” Huang suggested, rising to leave.
Lei, knowing his guest’s intention to depart, implored, “Mr. Huang, why the hurry? Let’s dine together at the tea house tonight. Allow me to host.”
Aware of Lei’s financial constraints, Huang declined, sitting back down, “No, thank you. I have some other matters to attend to. Let’s just talk a bit more here.”
They resumed their conversation, shifting from theory to construction issues.
Lei shared his journey from artillery production to dockyard work, lamenting his missed opportunities to make use of his talents. “Others may not apply what they learn, but in my case, it’s as if I’ve learned for naught.”
“Why did the naval dockyard let go of someone with your inventive capabilities?” Huang inquired.
“You must remember, it’s their dockyard, sir,” Lei replied, with a hint of resignation. “To be honest, my interest in submarines grew during my time there. Before that, I managed a sock factory, but after it closed, the naval dockyard needed a machinist, and I joined as a skilled worker. I dared not reveal my specialised education, for they only sought skilled labour.”
“Perhaps revealing your qualifications would have earned you a higher position,” suggested Huang.
Lei shook his head. “No, they would have dismissed me outright. A salary of thirty ‘Western notes’ was more dependable than vague hopes. They soon discovered my aptitude for repairing cannons and electrical systems and often sent me to work on battleships and submarines. The knowledge I had acquired over the years was outdated, but working under the chief engineer at the dockyard, I gained new insights. I avoided using technical jargon with the foreign engineers, fearing they might suspect me. When they questioned my unusual accent, I claimed to be an overseas Chinese from British America, and they believed me.”
“Why did you quit, then?” Huang asked.
“The reason is simple. I was researching submarines, and during my visits, I talked with the sailors, inquiring about their experiences and challenges. Once, an officer took notice and thereafter, I was no longer assigned to work on submarines. They suspected me of espionage. Fortunately, I had hidden my own designs elsewhere. Otherwise, had they searched my residence, it would have been troublesome. I saw no reason to offer them my designs, as the interests of my nation come first. So, I resigned and left the dockyard.”
“Why not seek employment at a Chinese shipyard?” Huang proposed.
Lei quickly dismissed the idea. “Chinese shipyards? No, that’s not feasible. Some are practically clan associations. You must have connections with the powers-that-be to secure a respectable position. Even if I managed to enter and propose my plans, the actual funding for experimentation would likely be meagre. Lack of success would not only be laughable but might even attract accusations. Who could endure that?”
“I believe your invention, if realised, would be significant,” Huang said. “Why not approach the academic research institutes that have been established? They might take interest in your theories and models.”
Lei sighed. “Do you think a man of about seventy years harbours a desire for fame? Many self-proclaimed inventors invite reporters, give lectures at schools, boasting of their prowess, claiming superiority over Edison or Einstein. Most heads of these institutes are young, arrogant academics, quick to judge, and involved in factionalism, like gangs. I’ve always disliked associating with such people. Why should I submit my work for their scrutiny and criticism? It’s not worth the trouble.”
Huang glanced at his watch and stood up. “It seems you’ve understood the ways of the world too well. Unfortunately, it appears your invention may never see realisation.”
“I’m aware, but what can be done? It’s not something one person can help with; it requires significant funding, and military equipment can’t be manufactured casually. I only hope to live to see the day my country needs and trusts my work.”
As Lei spoke, Huang stepped out the door. “Farewell, I too hope for that day.”
Lei’s straightforward nature often led those who didn’t know him well to mistake him for someone with a mental ailment. In fact, some had even started calling him “Foolish Lei”. His household was small, with only a widowed daughter-in-law teaching in Manila and a grandson studying there. Since leaving the dockyard over a decade ago, his living expenses were provided for by his daughter-in-law. His modest workshop meant he couldn’t afford to live on the ceded island. Despite being in his early seventies, he was still robust, with few hobbies beyond tinkering with wheels, pipes, copper, and iron. He didn’t smoke or drink tea too often. Relying on his daughter-in-law’s support often made him regret quitting his job at the dockyard. Continuing there for another year would have meant a pension, a better alternative to depending on his daughter-in-law. But he didn’t regret his decision too much, as his resignation had come just before a major strike at the dockyard, a time when patriotic fervour was at its peak, making his choice to wait for opportunities elsewhere seem meaningful.
He had many books on shipbuilding and often thought of selling them, but there were no takers. His wife had passed away long ago, and the only other person in the house was Laixi, an old maid who had been part of his wife’s dowry. After her husband’s death and with no means of support, she returned to work for him. Although she received no wages and was essentially the housekeeper, Lei obtained his spending money through her. This co-dependent arrangement had lasted over twenty years.
After Huang’s departure, Laixi served dinner, and they ate together. Lei mentioned, “The winds of change are stirring. The uniforms may be coming in. We should prepare in case of trouble; it’s better to be ready than caught off guard.”
Laixi reassured him, “The officials and their families haven’t left yet. It’s unlikely there will be any major disturbances.”
“How would we know about the movements of official families? Announcements and news are utterly unreliable. People trust printed words too much. Many current authorities are cowardly, unimaginative, and greedy. If they aren’t betraying the country like Shi Jingtang, they’re considered patriotic. You read historical novels; you remember how Shi Jingtang surrendered territories.”
“Yes, I remember,” Laixi nodded. “But even after surrendering sixteen states, Shi Jingtang became an emperor!”
Lei was agitated. “You don’t understand history! Never mind, let’s organise things tomorrow. I’ll write to my daughter-in-law; we may need to head to Guangxi.”
After dinner, Lei carefully stored the submarine model and other components. As he busied himself, Laixi entered, “Sir, the monthly allowance from your daughter-in-law hasn’t arrived yet. If we need to leave in the next few days, will we have enough money?”
“How much do we have left?”
“Less than 50 yuan.”
“That’s enough. Traveling from here to Wuzhou won’t cost 30 yuan.”
Time waits for no one, and within three days, the streets by the riverbanks saw the arrival of the invader’s tanks. The city’s populace, jolted from a dream-like state, scrambled chaotically, boarding any vessel they could find. Fires broke out everywhere, and with no trains running, Lei and Laixi, each clutching a few belongings, hurried to the river and haphazardly jumped onto a boat. It wasn’t bound for Wuzhou; as more and more people boarded, the vessel sank within half a day. Thankfully, the water wasn’t deep, and many managed to escape on small boats to the shore. However, Laixi never resurfaced, whether she perished from aerial gunfire or was claimed by the river dragon palace’s depths remained unknown.
With just 12 yuan left, Lei eventually made his way to the island where he had once worked. The hardships he faced en route were indescribable. His rigid character didn’t help; it had been years since he last visited the island, and even if he did find old workmates, it was doubtful they could offer much assistance. Now, unable to afford even a modest inn, he joined a group of refugees sleeping on the streets of the western market. His neighbour was a middle-aged woman with two young children, also fleeing the recently fallen city.
Within days, Lei had befriended a small food stall owner and wrote to his daughter-in-law in Manila, detailing his plight and urging her to send money care of the food stall.
He and the middle-aged woman beside him developed a mutual aid system. As she had more luggage and young children, moving around was not only inconvenient but also risky, as their spot could be taken at any moment. They looked after each other’s belongings; Lei would bring her food after his meals, and she would guard their possessions when she went to wash clothes.
One day, he unexpectedly met Huang on the street, and they shared their respective sufferings.
“Where are you staying now?” Huang asked.
“To be frank, on the streets of the western market.”
“That’s unacceptable!”
“What can I do?”
“Come stay with me.”
“We’re all refugees; I shouldn’t impose further burdens on you.”
Huang insisted sincerely, “Two more people won’t make much of a difference. I’ll come with you to help you move.” He started to hail a vehicle, but Lei stopped him, “Thanks for your generous offer, but I have too many people depending on me. It won’t be convenient at your house.”
“You only had one servant, right?”
“Laixi is gone. I’m now with a woman and her two children I met on the road. We help each other out. I can’t just leave them.”
“That can be easily resolved. Just send her to a refugee camp. I hear they’re organising them quite efficiently now.”
Lei knew Huang wasn’t wealthy and probably felt obliged to offer help upon hearing of his plight. Yet Huang was earnest, insisting on Lei staying with him, “It’s not right, a man of your age. Not just for your daughter-in-law’s sake, but as a friend, it troubles me.”
Lei firmly refused to let Huang visit his makeshift outdoor lodging, suggesting that once the refugee camp was organised, and he had settled the woman and her children, they could talk further. Reluctantly, Huang took Lei to a tea house. There, Lei revealed that he had lost the model submarine with Laixi. All he had left were a large roll of blueprints and the model iron gills. He had carried these during the escape, hiding the blueprints in a small mattress and managing only two items in his hands. People had mocked him for carrying a small wooden box during the evacuation.
“Let me store your important items at my place,” Huang offered.
“There’s no need. Children abound at your place; if they break the model, I’ll never be able to remake it.”
“That shouldn’t be a problem. I’ll lock it up in a box. Won’t that work? What are your plans?”
“I still intend to head to Guangxi. I’m waiting for my daughter-in-law to send some travel money. In a month, maybe two, I should be able to make my way to Kouang-Tchéou-Wan or some other safe route.”
“I’ll take your important items with me,” Huang persisted.
“Where are you staying now?”
“I’m with a relative across the harbour. Let’s go back together.”
Hearing that Huang was also staying at someone else’s place, Lei declined firmly, “No need. I prefer to keep my few belongings with me. It’s not much of a burden, and everything will be in order in a few weeks.”
“But at least let me see where you’re staying, so I can find you later.”
Unable to dissuade him, Lei reluctantly led Huang from the tea house to the western market. Passing the food stall, the owner called out, “Mr. Lei, your letter has arrived! I told the postman to return tomorrow since you weren’t here.”
Hearing this, Lei nearly jumped for joy, thanking the stall owner and telling Huang, “My daughter-in-law has sent money. I think I’ll manage to get through this hardship.”
Huang congratulated him, and they reached Lei’s street-side ‘living room.’ Lei explained, “Sorry, but this is where I stay. We can’t talk long here. After I collect the money tomorrow, I’ll visit you. Please give me your address.”
Huang reluctantly handed over a business card with his address, saying, “I’ll await you at my place tomorrow,” and left.
That night, Lei eagerly awaited dawn, and early the next morning, he was at the small food stall, waiting for the postman. As expected, the postman arrived, took a receipt, and handed him the letter. Upon opening it, Lei found that his daughter-in-law had sent money for a ship to Manila, including funds for a passport and other expenses, to be collected from the remittance company. He had no desire to go to Manila, but first, he needed to withdraw the necessary funds. At the company, the clerk told him he needed to get his photograph taken for a passport. Lei explained that his daughter-in-law had misunderstood; he didn’t want to go to Manila and asked for the money. The clerk refused, insisting on sending a telegram for clarification. With the money out of his reach, Lei had no choice but to let them send the telegram.
After leaving the remittance company, he met Huang as agreed and shared his recent troubles. Huang also thought it best for him to go to Manila. Lei, however, believed his invention was his contribution to the nation. Although not currently needed on a large scale, he was sure it would eventually be widely used. If not for combat, at least for facilitating underwater navigation, rendering the enemy’s blockades ineffective. He seemed to think that construction was a secondary concern, hopeful that if the authorities adopted his idea, they could first build a small prototype in the river. If successful, his wish would be fulfilled. He hadn’t deeply considered where the materials would come from. Ideally, he thought, a standard submarine could be ordered from abroad and modified upon arrival with his gills and “wandering eyes”.
Knowing Lei’s stubborn nature, Huang didn’t press further. After a while, they parted ways.
A few days later, Lei returned to the remittance company and received his money. The company informed him that Manila had replied, leaving the decision to him. He took only 500 yuan, instructing them to remit the rest back. He then visited a travel agency and learned of a ship leaving for Kouang-Tchéou-Wan the next day. He immediately informed Huang, and together they went to the western market to pack his belongings. Only then did Lei discover that many of his blueprints had been torn. Furious and shocked, he learned the woman had been using the papers to clean her children. Relieved, he found the iron gills blueprints intact, though the less crucial overall diagrams were destroyed. The metal gills model in the small wooden box was still safe.
Lei gave the woman fifty yuan, introducing her to Huang for further assistance. He suggested she could use the money to start a small business or seek Huang’s help in getting her and her children to a refugee camp. Grateful and apologetic, the woman watched Lei and Huang leave with the remaining blueprints and the model.
On the ship, Lei advised Huang not to become too comfortable with the refugee lifestyle. He believed that by facing adversities head-on, one could withstand anything. He saw the transition from practicing to actual disaster management as invaluable. He hoped Huang would soon follow him to Guangxi.
After the ship had departed, Huang anxiously awaited news from Lei. It was only much later, from someone who had come from Chikan, that he heard a distressing story. An old man, having boarded two ships to reach the port, accidentally dropped a small wooden box into the sea as he disembarked. In a desperate attempt to retrieve it, he too plunged into the water. Tears fell from Huang’s eyes as he thought of the iron gills, perhaps doomed to remain submerged, a creation ahead of its time.
Header image via here.
How to cite: Song, Chris and Xu Dishan. “The Gills of the Metal Fish.” Cha: An Asian Literary Journal, 18 Dec. 2023, chajournal.blog/2023/12/18/metal-fish.
Xu Dishan 許地山 (1893–1941), originally named Zankun 贊堃 with the courtesy name of Dishan and the pen name Luohuasheng 落華生, was born near the Wang Temple in Yanping County, Tainan. At the age of three, Taiwan fell to Japanese colonial rule, leading his family to leave the island. He grew up in Fujian and Guangdong, graduated from Yenching University, and studied abroad at Columbia University in the US and Oxford University in the UK. Upon returning to China, he served as a professor at Yenching, Peking, Tsinghua, and the University of Hong Kong, teaching religious studies, anthropology, and folklore. In the early Chinese New Literature Movement, he was involved in the Literary Research Association 文學研究會, and published works in its official publication, Fiction Monthly 小說月報. His works mainly consisted of fiction and essays, with a few plays, fairy tales, and translations of Indian literature.
Chris Song (translator) is a poet, editor, and translator from Hong Kong, and is an assistant professor in English and Chinese translation at the University of Toronto Scarborough. He won the “Extraordinary Mention” of the 2013 Nosside International Poetry Prize in Italy and the Award for Young Artist (Literary Arts) of the 2017 Hong Kong Arts Development Awards. In 2019, he won the 5th Haizi Poetry Award. He is a founding councilor of the Hong Kong Poetry Festival Foundation, executive director of the International Poetry Nights in Hong Kong, and editor-in-chief of Voice & Verse Poetry Magazine. He also serves as an advisor to various literary organisations. [Hong Kong Fiction in Translation.]