The whaling ship tossed violently in the furious sea.
Outside the hull, the black waves sometimes resembled steep, perilous peaks on the verge of collapse, and other times like abyssal cliffs that would shatter one into pieces upon falling.
Yun Zhao's hair had come undone, clinging damply to her neck. She gripped the slick, waterlogged bluish-green rotting wood of the ship's railing, struggling to stand firm in the storm.
The icy waves and torrential rain lashed at her body, making it difficult to even catch a breath.
Battling the wind and rain, she clung to the hemp rope, inching forward step by step.
The ship was thrown up and down, left and right, as towering waves crashed against it, inevitably forcing seawater into her mouth. The taste was indistinguishable—was it the briny tang of the ocean, or the blood splattered from Wen Changkong?
The roar in her ears was deafening.
Most fishermen by the sea were superstitious—in such a situation, one could only resign to fate; superstition was unavoidable.
It was a terrifying night of storms, a bizarre and gruesome scene of a slow, torturous death.
As Yun Zhao passed by the crew members, she could hear the gurgling sounds in their throats.
Step by step, she approached Wen Changkong.
He had been impaled by a massive whaling harpoon, lifted off the ground, his toes stretched taut, desperately thrashing but unable to touch the deck.
He had no leverage, no way to struggle.
He was still alive, but death was imminent. His body convulsed in agony, and a death rattle escaped his throat.
"Tch."
Wen Changkong's eyeball suddenly burst.
The blood that flowed out was instantly swept away by the oncoming wind and waves.
A flash of lightning illuminated the scene, and Yun Zhao clearly saw the wound that had appeared out of nowhere.
It was an extremely thin, crooked, triangular gash.
Wen Changkong's feeble screams were drowned out by the storm.
His shoulders, chest, neck, forehead…
Slash marks, stab wounds, cuts, hooks…
Blood gushed from his body, only to be swept away by the wind and waves in an instant, leaving behind pale, horrifying gashes.
The assailant was nowhere to be seen.
A sense of weightlessness struck as the whaling ship was plunged into a trough by a massive wave.
The sails, clothes, and knees were all immobilized by the terrifying force of inertia.
The ship plummeted rapidly into the depths.
The roar of the waves was accompanied by a dreadful, resonating hum.
Out of the corner of her eye, Yun Zhao suddenly caught sight of a figure.
Amid the raging storm, a man was holding onto the ship's sail with one hand, leaping down from the mast.
Her ears were nearly deafened, but she could still hear his laughter.
His black cloak billowed in the storm, the massive sail unfurling behind him.
The intermittent flashes of lightning made his figure seem to teleport, flickering and drifting between the masts.
It was as if he had completely broken free from the constraints of the natural order.
When he landed on the deck, he had already secured the sail. His cloak flared, revealing his long, straight legs tucked into black boots.
In the midst of the storm, a pale, cold hand reached out.
He steered the ship with one hand, the massive hardwood wheel as large as a millstone turning effortlessly in his grasp. He didn't even switch hands, casually tilting it up and down.
It was as if he were merely playing with a child's toy.
Soon, the whaling ship sailed out of the storm zone.
The sea suddenly fell silent, a deep, inky black.
There was no sky, no earth, no waves, no wind.
Wen Changkong was completely lifeless, and the crew members stood like clay statues, frozen in various poses, unmoving.
The man tossed the wheel aside and walked forward.
A lantern had somehow been lit on the mast.
The lantern cast an eerie yellow light, elongating his shadow as he swayed with each step.
He passed by Yun Zhao, his cold cloak brushing against her arm.
"Well?" he casually examined the pale wounds on Wen Changkong's body, not turning back as he asked cheerfully, "Wasn't that fun?"
He seemed to be thoroughly enjoying himself.
Yun Zhao: "…"
She was drenched, her clothes clinging tightly to her skin. Her internal organs were just settling back into place, her heart still racing, her chest tight, and she felt like vomiting.
It wasn’t fun at all.
Yun Zhao weakly replied, "…An illusion."
She looked around—everything felt so real, without a single flaw.
It had even made her seasick.
He used two fingers to lift a flap of skin from Wen Changkong’s arm.
In the black-and-white silhouette, his fingers looked excessively long, revealing their bony structure.
"The knife work is decent, but the strength is lacking," he remarked with regret, shaking his head.
With a soft "plop," he let go, and the flap of skin slapped back into place.
Yun Zhao: "…"
She let out a sound of utter despair, "You actually dared to cause trouble in the Supreme Hall."
"Ah," he said nonchalantly, "I’ll blow it up later."
He tilted his cloak slightly, smiling at her, "You’ll help me do it."
Yun Zhao: "…" Thanks for the vote of confidence.
Her chest felt tight and suffocating; she didn’t want to speak.
She forced herself to step forward, using the flickering light of the lantern to carefully examine Wen Changkong’s corpse.
The wounds varied in depth and shape.
He helpfully reached out, pinched the back of her neck, and pushed her closer, "Look here, doesn’t it resemble a plum blossom—"
The pale wound rapidly enlarged before her eyes, and her nose bumped into something icy cold.
Yun Zhao: "?!!!"
*
"Miss Yun?" "Miss Yun!"
Yun Zhao snapped out of her daze, instinctively jerking backward, nearly losing her balance and tumbling off the shaky shrine.
Several torches were shone in her direction.
What her nose had bumped into wasn’t Wen Changkong’s corpse, but the statue of the Supreme Deity.
By the torchlight, she could see that the statue before her wasn’t the breathtakingly handsome man she had glimpsed earlier. Its face was covered with a silver mask, making it impossible to discern its features.
Yun Zhao raised her nearly exhausted hand and, with great audacity, tried to pry it off—the mask was part of its face and couldn’t be removed.
"Miss Yun!" Yu Fengyun barked with irritation.
Yun Zhao turned around.
He took one look at her and was momentarily stunned, frowning as he asked, "…What’s wrong with you?"
"What’s wrong with me?" Yun Zhao squinted, "I’m perfectly fine!"
Yu Fengyun hesitated, wanting to say more.
In those brief moments, her face had turned as pale as frost, her forehead and temples drenched in cold sweat.
She mustered her strength and jumped down from the shrine, casually pointing out two crew members she had seen in the illusion, ordering the guards to wake them and bring them forward for questioning.
These crew members, weathered by the storm, had deeply lined faces and an air of simple honesty.
"Where were you when it happened?"
"By the port side, holding onto the box wheel."
"And you?"
"Outside the starboard cabin, gripping the rope."
"What was the weather like? How long did the storm last? How long did the murder take?"
She asked each question in turn, and the crew members answered, their details matching exactly what she had witnessed on the ship.
Yu Fengyun, meanwhile, stood nearby, clenching his fists in nervous tension.
Once Yun Zhao finished her questioning, he let out a soft sigh of relief and stepped forward to comfort the two elderly men.
"Does Miss Yun wish to continue the investigation?" a guard asked.
Yun Zhao was utterly exhausted. She waved her hand dismissively and wearily walked out.
Her clothes clung to her, cold and sticky, and the night breeze made her shiver.
As soon as she stepped out of the Supreme Hall, she saw the bright glow of torches. Yan Nantian, draped in a black crane-feather cloak, stood properly at the foot of the steps, waiting for her.
A sedan chair was also prepared beside him.
It seemed that as soon as someone noticed her poor condition, they had rushed back to inform him.
He had come personally to fetch her.
Yun Zhao was somewhat satisfied. She dragged her feet, swaying unsteadily as she walked to his side.
He reached out and placed a hand on her forehead.
"You got dizzy just from climbing the shrine?" he asked, amused.
Yun Zhao stubbornly replied, "No, I didn’t."
Yan Nantian: "Do you feel like throwing up?"
Yun Zhao: "I said no!"
Yan Nantian: "It’s alright. If you do, just rinse your mouth with tea afterward. It won’t be so bad."
Yun Zhao spoke with difficulty, "…I. Said. No."
Yan Nantian: "Don’t feel embarrassed and try to hide it."
Yun Zhao couldn’t take it anymore, "Yan! Nantian! Are you a parrot, repeating everything I say?"
He burst into laughter.
*
Jokes aside, Yan Nantian had already prepared sweet orange honey water and small green plums for her.
A cool, refreshing aroma wafted from the octagonal purple-gold incense burner.
After eating a few plums, taking a sip of the honey water, and inhaling the minty scent, her dizziness and nausea subsided.
Yun Zhao regained her composure and glanced at him.
Whether intentionally or not, he hadn’t prepared the sour jujube preserves for her.
If he had, she definitely wouldn’t have touched them.
He rolled up his sleeves, dipped a towel in warm water, and gently wiped her forehead and the back of her neck.
When he touched the nape of her neck, she suddenly remembered another sensation.
The villain’s fingers had been cold and hard, gripping her neck like skeletal claws.
"What are you thinking about?" he asked casually.
Yun Zhao took a moment to respond, "The murder case."
She had never kept a secret from Yan Nantian for this long before.
In the past, she would have spilled everything about the villain without hesitation.
But that day, when Yan Nantian had brought Wen Nuannuan back…
She suddenly caught a whiff of sandalwood.
He reached over with his warm, wet hands and began massaging her temples.
"Think about it tomorrow. Close your eyes and rest. You’ll feel better once you fall asleep," he said.
"I can’t sleep," Yun Zhao said petulantly, her eyes closed, "Tell me a story."
"What do you want to hear?"
"Tai Shang."
He paused slightly, his fingers slowing their movement: "You've heard this since you were little. Aren't you tired of it?"
Yun Zhao sweetly replied without hesitation: "Not when Brother Yan tells it."
Yan Nantian sighed helplessly, adjusting her soft pillow and tucking in the blanket corners. He deliberately lowered his voice and began slowly.
Yan Nantian: "In ancient times, there was Mount Buzhou, which connected heaven and earth. If one kept walking up the mountain, they could reach the realm where the gods resided."
Yun Zhao teased mischievously: "So, are the gods up there upside down, with their heads down and feet up?"
"Of course not," he chuckled. "As you ascend Mount Buzhou, there comes a moment when heaven and earth invert, and climbing up becomes descending. Once you descend, you enter the realm of the gods."
Yun Zhao continued to stir trouble: "But why is that?"
Yan Nantian: "That’s just how the legend goes. There’s no particular reason."
Yun Zhao: "Alright, go on."
Yan Nantian continued: "The gods of heaven could also descend to the mortal world, receiving offerings and protecting mortals. Until one day, the Demon God toppled Mount Buzhou, severing the connection between heaven and earth, and plunging the mortal realm into peril. (Eight hundred words of landscape description)"
Yun Zhao: "Oh."
Yan Nantian spoke even slower: "The Human Emperor slew the Demon God at the Abyss of Desolation. As the Demon God fell, he cursed the Human Emperor to share his fate. In this battle, the Human Emperor was also gravely wounded and lacked the strength to break the Demon God’s curse. Thus, he abdicated the throne and became Tai Shang. (One thousand words on palace construction)"
Yun Zhao: "Hmm."
Yan Nantian glanced down at her sleeping face: "Tai Shang left a divine decree, ordering the succeeding dynasty to build the Sky-Reaching Tower to restore the connection between heaven and earth. Afterward, Tai Shang’s divine spirit dissipated, leaving only his mortal body in the world, like a walking corpse."
His voice grew softer and softer.
Seeing that she had fallen asleep, he rolled up his sleeves and prepared to leave.
Just as he moved, her eyes fluttered open.
Her eyes were bright and clear, showing no sign of drowsiness.
She was bursting with excitement: "So, is the Demon God sealed within the Tai Shang Temple? If the temple were destroyed, would the Demon God be released? What would happen if he were set free? Would he topple the Sky-Reaching Tower, just like he did with Mount Buzhou back then? Come on, tell me more!"
Yan Nantian: "...Are you going to sleep or not!"