Reporting by The Krakow Post
TAIPA – For a pirate, Liang Bao is remarkably silent. His modest White Banner Fleet is impressively immaculate; the floors are unscratched and no ropes lie tangled on the deck, unlike the ships of his brothers. Of them all, he is the smallest. His robe hugs his thin frame loosely, and even when ordering his men, his voice is soft. They all look to him with authority though— he never needs volume to be listened to. They look to him as a son looks to a father.
He told me that Taipa, where the confederacy of pirates has convened, is an odd homecoming for him. When he was 2 months old, he washed up in a wooden crate onto the golden sands of the island. Ching Shih, mourning the death of her longtime husband and now commanding the entire Canto-Delta confederacy of pirates found the boy wailing, sand stuck to his skin. She bathed him and took him in as her son.
He was always quiet growing up. Cheung Po Tsai, his older brother, led the siblings boisterously and Bao always followed closely behind. With no father, Tsai was the only masculine presence in his life. Bao said the way he saw him was almost a kind of piety, and it is still difficult to see him as an equal now that they are all fleet leaders.
He struggled saying that they were equals. “Equal, but different,” he said thoughtfully. He told me it was difficult sometimes even saying he was a pirate— pirates were violent raiders, and he was a careful planner who sometimes preferred business to looting.
A decade ago, Bao was preparing to leave Macau when he heard a distant noise. A child in a crate had floated to the front of the ship, and a horrible pang ran through his spine. He dove overboard and brought the child back onto the ship, both of them drenched. He named him Liang Yakang, and took him in as son.
Yakang is his right hand man today, taller and broader than his adoptive father, but just as silent. Bao can be found looking forward into the sea, always searching for something— another wooden crate, perhaps, or anything too young to be in the sea alone. He said that the sea has taught him nothing is fair— the universe consumes without regard for how we feel. For this reason, he does not blame his parents. He said that he understands they had to give him up, and does not blame them for anything.
He sails on in an ocean vast enough to separate even a father, even a son.


