My father and his father before him fished the Yangtze. They spoke of the bai xun, the Chinese Paddlefish, with reverence. They called it the "King of Fish." In my youth, in the 1970s, seeing one was still possible, though it was always an event. They were immense, powerful creatures that commanded respect.

We never targeted them, but sometimes they would be caught in our nets. The meat was prized, but my father always said it was bad luck to catch one, that it meant the river was losing its spirit. By the time I was a man, they were like ghosts. A rumor of a sighting would ripple through the villages, but they were just stories.The river grew quieter, and the king was gone.