The midday sun hung low over Gurney Drive, Penang, painting the turquoise Strait of Malacca in streaks of molten gold.
Along the shoreline, the massive new reclamation site stretched for miles—rows of concrete pillars jutted from the waves, cranes loomed like steel giants, and heavy trucks rumbled past, carrying piles of sand and rock to build the luxury coastal city set to be Malaysia’s pride.
At the edge of the construction fence, Zhang Jiuxuan squatted on his heels, clad in a faded grey T-shirt, knee-length black shorts, and a pair of scuffed red rubber flip-flops.
He held a half-eaten packet of nasi lemak in one hand, wiping a smear of sambal from his chin with the other, his dark eyes narrowed as he stared out at the churning sea.
Behind him, a dozen men in tailored suits stood stiffly in the sweltering heat, beads of sweat rolling down their necks.
At their head was Lin Weiyao—the richest man in Penang, owner of the reclamation project, a man whose name carried weight across all of Southeast Asia.
Right now, though, his face was pale, his hands trembling as he watched the young man in cheap clothes.
“Master Zhang,” Lin Weiyao said carefully, bowing slightly, “the site… has been nothing but trouble.
Three workers fell into a sudden whirlpool last month.
Night guards hear wailing from the waves after dark.
Our best feng shui masters all ran away, saying they dare not meddle here anymore.
I’ve heard rumors… of something waking beneath the water.” Zhang Jiuxuan took another bite of coconut rice, chewed slowly, and nodded toward the dark, swirling eddies near the breakwater.
“Not rumors,” he said, his voice casual, like he was commenting on the weather.
“You drove a hundred and eight iron piles straight through an ancient sea god’s slumber bed.
Pissed it off.
Now it’s gnawing at the foundation, and feeding on the workers’ fear.” A murmur of alarm rippled through the group.
One of Lin’s advisors stepped forward, frowning.
“Young man—Mr.
Lin paid a fortune to bring you here.
We expected a serious assessment, not tall tales about sea gods.
This is a modern engineering project, not some old ghost story.” Zhang Jiuxuan stood up slowly, brushing sand from his shorts.
He didn’t look angry—just glanced at the advisor, then flicked a finger toward the man’s pocket.
“Check your left breast pocket.
You’ve been carrying a lucky jade pendant your grandfather gave you, right?
Since you stepped onto this site yesterday, it’s turned black, and you’ve had sharp pains in your chest every night.
That’s not stress.
That’s the sea demon’s breath clinging to you.” The advisor froze.
He fumbled open his jacket, pulled out the jade pendant—and gasped.
The once bright green stone was now dull, streaked with veins of jet black, cold as ice in his grip.
The sharp pain in his chest flared so intensely he doubled over, clutching his ribs.
Lin Weiyao’s eyes widened.
“Master Zhang… you really are—” “Last of the Celestial Masters of Mount Longhu,” Zhang Jiuxuan said simply, pulling a crumpled yellow talisman from his pocket.
“Sent south to tie up loose ends before the old dragon wakes up.
Your little construction mess just happens to be the first one I found.” He stepped past the fence, walking straight toward the water’s edge.
The air grew thick and cold, the wind suddenly howling with the sound of screaming voices.
The waves rose higher, crashing over the rocks, and a shadow darker than the depths began to swell beneath the surface—twisted, scaled, far larger than any ship.
“Get back!” Zhang Jiuxuan called over his shoulder.
“This thing’s been eating resentment for three hundred years.
It’s not going to listen to reason.” He bit his thumb, smearing a drop of blood across the yellow talisman.
His fingers moved in a blur, tracing a complex seal in the air, and his voice dropped to a deep, resonant chant that cut through the gale like steel.
“Heaven and Earth open, thunder and fire descend!
All evil spirits, bow or be broken!” With a sharp snap of his wrist, he hurled the talisman.
It didn’t fall—instead, it blazed with blinding golden light, tearing through the air like a falling star.
The moment it struck the water, a roar shook the entire coastline, loud enough to rattle windows miles away.
Steam exploded upward in a towering column, and the shadow beneath the waves thrashed violently before slowly sinking back into the depths, the dark energy curling away like smoke.
The wind died.
The waves settled into a gentle rhythm.
The terrible cold vanished, replaced by the warm sea breeze.
Zhang Jiuxuan dusted his hands, turned back, and looked at the stunned group.
The advisor’s chest pain had vanished completely; the jade pendant in his hand was slowly turning bright green again.
Lin Weiyao rushed forward, bowing so low his forehead nearly touched the ground.
“Master!
Thank you—thank you for saving us all!
What… what is that thing?
And why did the other masters run?” Zhang Jiuxuan glanced out at the calm blue sea, his expression turning sharp for the first time.
“Because they felt what I felt,” he said quietly.
“This isn’t just a random sea demon.
Someone woke it up.
Someone is siphoning its rage to feed a bigger curse.
I can smell it—stale incense, dried blood, and the stench of Western iron crosses.
You haven’t just disturbed a sleeping god, Mr.
Lin.
You’ve walked right into a trap laid for the whole of Southeast Asia.” He picked up his half-empty nasi lemak packet, took one last sip of iced tea, and nodded toward the construction site.
“Now.
Show me your blueprints.
I need to see exactly where you drove those piles—and what else is buried under your new land.” Behind him, the sun broke through the clouds, casting golden light over the shore.
But Zhang Jiuxuan’s gaze stayed fixed on the horizon, where faint, dark clouds were gathering far out at sea.
The first battle was won.
But the real war had only just begun.