The world was still veiled in the hush of early morning, the air thick with a lingering mist that clung to the docks like a restless spirit. The sky, a deep shade of indigo, carried the last whispers of night, with only the faintest hint of dawn peeking over the horizon. It was the hour of Mao (卯时), between 5 and 7 a.m., but the harbor was already alive with activity.


    Zhao Ming stepped onto the damp wooden planks of the dock, his breath visible in the cold air. Around him, lanterns flickered, their golden glow illuminating the bustling figures of sailors and merchants. The scent of salt, damp wood, and fish filled his nostrils as workers hurried to load cargo onto the massive vessel moored before them—a large merchant ship bound for Beihai.


    The ship itself was an imposing sight, its dark wooden hull sturdy and well-maintained. Thick ropes secured it to the dock, creaking under the strain as waves lapped against its side. Crates of silk, barrels of rice wine, and sacks of dried herbs were being hoisted aboard, while passengers—merchants, scholars, and a few travelers—waited patiently for embarkation.


    Murong Xue stood at the foot of the gangplank, speaking with the ship’s quartermaster to finalize their arrangements. She moved with practiced ease, her authoritative presence ensuring that her sect’s accommodations were in order. Meanwhile, Zhao Ming’s gaze wandered toward a group of men already aboard—the mercenaries.


    Gao Ren, the leader of the hired blades, was a mountain of a man, clad in dark, weathered armor. He leaned casually against the ship’s railing, his arms crossed as he surveyed the activity below. His men, already settled, were sharpening weapons or adjusting their gear. Their presence was a silent reminder that this voyage might not be a peaceful one.


    Beyond them, Zhao Ming caught sight of a few robed scholars conversing among themselves. Unlike the warriors, they seemed lost in their own discussions, completely at ease despite the unknown dangers of the sea.


    As he made his way toward the gangplank, something else caught his attention. Near a stack of cargo, a few sailors were huddled in hushed conversation with a pair of hooded passengers. The figures were cloaked in dark fabric, their faces obscured by the early morning gloom. The exchange was brief, and as soon as it ended, the hooded figures slipped aboard the ship without a word.


    Zhao Ming narrowed his eyes. Something about them felt… off.


    Before he could dwell on it further, a horn sounded, signaling the final call for departure. The last of the cargo was secured, the sails unfurled, and the ropes untied. With a slow, steady motion, the massive ship drifted away from the docks.


    As the first rays of the sun pierced through the mist, Zhao Ming stood at the deck, watching the harbor fade into the distance. The journey to Beihai had begun.


    <hr>


    The ship rocked gently as it sailed across the calm waters, the early morning mist gradually thinning under the rising sun. Zhao Ming walked along the deck, taking in the details of the vessel. The ship was a well-built merchant vessel, large enough to carry both cargo and passengers, yet compact enough to navigate unpredictable coastal waters.


    The Azure Dragon Sect disciples had been assigned modest quarters below deck, a shared space with simple bedding. Meanwhile, Zhao Ming and Murong Xue had separate rooms near the captain’s cabin, a subtle acknowledgment of their status. His own quarters were small but comfortable—a wooden bed, a writing desk, and a single lantern swaying with the ship’s movement.


    After ensuring his belongings were in order, Zhao Ming ventured back onto the deck. The wind carried the scent of salt and damp wood as he observed the passengers settling into their routines. Some stood by the railing, gazing at the endless sea, while others spoke in hushed tones, their expressions wary.


    As he passed by a group of merchants, he caught fragments of their whispered conversation.


    “…another ship vanished last month, barely a day from Beihai.”


    “Pirates again?” one asked.


    “Who else? They’ve grown bolder. I heard they don’t even take hostages anymore—just kill and plunder.”


    Zhao Ming frowned but continued walking, making his way toward the ship’s galley. The scent of freshly steamed buns and boiled fish broth drifted from the open hatch, drawing him inside.


    The cook, a burly man with a thick beard and rolled-up sleeves, was kneading dough with practiced ease. He glanced up as Zhao Ming approached.


    “Looking for breakfast?” the cook asked, smirking.


    “Not yet,” Zhao Ming replied. “Just wanted to ask about this route. Seems like many passengers are uneasy.”


    The cook exhaled through his nose, wiping his hands on a rag. “They have a right to be.”


    “Pirates?”


    The cook nodded. “Aye. Used to be they only hit small fishing boats or lone traders. Now, they go after merchant ships like this one.” He paused, lowering his voice. “Heard from a few sailors—some refuse to take this route anymore. Too many attacks. Too many vanishings.”


    Zhao Ming’s fingers tapped lightly against the wooden counter. “Do we know what they’re after?”


    The cook hesitated before answering. “Treasure, obviously. But some say they’re looking for something else. They board ships, ransack everything, and if they don’t find what they’re looking for…” His voice darkened. “They kill everyone.”


    A heavy silence hung between them.


    “…And what about Beihai?” Zhao Ming finally asked.


    The cook scoffed. “Used to be a prosperous port. Now? More and more wealthy folk are heading there—running from war, bandits, whoever’s chasing them. But safety? Hah. Who knows how long that’ll last.”


    Zhao Ming gave a small nod of thanks before leaving the galley. The ship creaked beneath his feet as he stepped back onto the deck. His gaze swept across the open waters, thoughts lingering on the cook’s words.


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    Something was happening in Beihai. And whatever the pirates were searching for, it was valuable enough to leave a trail of bodies behind.


    <hr>


    As the ship continued its voyage, the morning mist had long lifted, revealing an endless stretch of sea under a brightening sky. Murong Xue gathered the Azure Dragon Sect disciples on the deck, arms crossed, her expression calm but expectant.


    "Training doesn’t stop just because we’re on a ship," she announced. "Footwork is crucial in battle. If you can stay balanced here, you’ll be even more stable on solid ground."


    The disciples exchanged determined looks before nodding in agreement. They began moving across the deck, carefully adjusting their steps to the shifting rhythm of the waves. Some struggled, nearly stumbling, while others, with more experience, adapted swiftly.


    Murong Xue, however, moved with absolute grace. Her footwork was light, her posture steady, as if the ship’s swaying had no effect on her at all. Even when the vessel tilted slightly with the waves, she barely wavered.


    Zhao Ming leaned against the railing, watching with mild amusement. "I’m starting to think you don’t even need solid ground to fight."


    Murong Xue smirked. "You should try. If you fall into the sea, I might even consider fishing you out."


    He rolled his eyes but stepped forward. “Fine, let’s see what all the fuss is about.”


    At first, Zhao Ming moved cautiously, his steps controlled as he felt out the ship’s movement. It wasn’t as difficult as he had expected—until a much larger wave suddenly struck.


    The ship lurched violently.


    His foot slipped.


    Before he could catch himself, he stumbled forward—straight into Murong Xue.


    With a startled gasp, she lost her footing. Zhao Ming instinctively reached out, but instead of steadying her, his weight only sent them both toppling onto the wooden planks.


    For a brief moment, silence filled the air.


    Murong Xue lay beneath him, her chest rising and falling with a sharp intake of breath. Her face was just inches from his, eyes widened—not in anger, but something else entirely. A faint flush crept onto her cheeks, a soft pink dusting her usually composed expression.


    Zhao Ming’s mind froze.


    Then, the sound of a disciple coughing awkwardly shattered the moment.


    Realizing their position, Zhao Ming quickly pushed himself up, clearing his throat as he offered Murong Xue a hand. "That—uh—was the ship’s fault."


    Murong Xue hesitated for a split second before accepting his hand. She stood swiftly, dusting off her robes while keeping her gaze slightly averted. "Of course. We should blame the sea itself next time."


    Some disciples snickered, while others pretended not to notice the unusual exchange. Zhao Ming rubbed the back of his neck, feeling the warmth of embarrassment creeping up his ears.


    As the laughter died down and training resumed, Zhao Ming’s eyes instinctively wandered toward the passengers.


    That was when he saw it.


    A hooded figure stood at the edge of the crowd, their posture stiff, as if observing him intently.


    Zhao Ming narrowed his gaze, but before he could get a better look, the figure turned and slipped away into the ship’s lower decks.


    A flicker of unease settled in his chest. Who were they? And why did they seem so interested in him?


    <hr>


    As night descended upon the vast sea, the sky darkened faster than expected. Heavy clouds rolled in from the horizon, blotting out the moon, and the once-gentle breeze turned into a restless wind. The ship rocked slightly more with each passing wave.


    Zhao Ming stood at the railing, staring into the distance. The salty air carried an eerie chill, and an unshakable unease settled in his chest.


    Near the helm, the ship’s captain frowned as he scanned the sky. His years at sea had taught him to recognize the signs of a coming storm.


    “Lower the sails slightly,” he ordered the crew. “Keep the ship steady. The wind’s shifting.”


    Sailors hurried to follow his command, muttering among themselves. The atmosphere had changed—tension now crackled in the air, much like the distant rumble of thunder on the horizon.


    Zhao Ming exhaled and turned to head back to his quarters when—


    SPLASH!


    A loud, unnatural sound echoed from the side of the ship.


    For a brief moment, silence followed. Then—


    "Man overboard!" A sailor’s panicked scream tore through the night.


    Zhao Ming spun around, rushing toward the source of the commotion. Several sailors were already leaning over the railing, peering into the black waters below.


    The sea, once calm, now churned restlessly. Waves crashed against the hull as the wind howled louder.


    “I—I don’t know!” a sailor stammered. “I just heard the splash, and when I looked, someone was gone!”


    Murong Xue appeared beside Zhao Ming, her expression sharp with concern. “We need to check on the others,” she said, urgency lacing her voice.


    Together, they hurried below deck. Murong Xue moved swiftly between the disciples and scholars, her gaze scanning each face. One by one, they confirmed that no one from their group had gone missing.


    When she returned to the upper deck, the ship rocked violently, and she gripped the railing for balance. Although she wasn’t prone to seasickness, the constant swaying, combined with the chilling winds and eerie echoes of the sea, made her feel lightheaded. Pushing through the discomfort, she made her way to the helm to speak with the captain.


    "How bad is it?" Murong Xue asked, steadying herself against the swaying deck.


    The captain''s face was grim. "Winds are picking up faster than expected. If it keeps up, we might be looking at a full storm before long. The currents are shifting too, which makes it harder to keep the ship steady."


    Murong Xue nodded, absorbing the information. "Is there anything we should prepare for?"


    "Tell your people to stay below deck. We’ve adjusted the sails, but if the wind gets worse, we might have to secure everything down tighter. If you start feeling anything unusual, find shelter immediately."


    She tightened her grip on the railing, her unease deepening. "Understood."


    With a final glance at the darkened horizon, she turned back and made her way below deck, heading toward her quarters.


    By the time she reached her quarters, fatigue pressed down on her. The storm outside raged, and the howling wind rattled the wooden walls. She sighed, rubbing her temples. The rain had lowered the temperature considerably, yet she still felt a lingering warmth against her wrist.


    Meanwhile, Zhao Ming remained below deck, ensuring the disciples were unharmed. His eyes scanned the room before settling on a female disciple who seemed unaffected by the ship’s movement.


    “Come with me,” he instructed. “Check on Murong Xue and make sure she’s all right.”


    The young woman nodded and followed his orders, making her way to Murong Xue’s quarters.


    Inside, Murong Xue glanced down at the jade bangle Zhao Ming had given her. Despite the cold, its smooth surface radiated a gentle heat, as if shielding her from the chill.


    A soft knock sounded at her door.


    Murong Xue turned, steadying herself as she opened it. Zhao Ming stood there, his brows slightly furrowed when he saw her pale face.


    “You’re not feeling well,” he noted.


    “It’s nothing. Just the ship rocking…” she murmured, but her voice lacked its usual steadiness.


    Zhao Ming didn’t argue. Instead, he reached into his satchel and pulled out a small porcelain vial.


    “The medicine from the old woman,” he said. “It should help.”


    Murong Xue hesitated, but the warmth from the bangle pulsed gently, as if reassuring her. She accepted the vial with a small nod.


    After handing over the medicine, Zhao Ming turned to the female disciple. “Stay with her. If she needs anything, you can knock on my door.”


    Murong Xue uncorked the vial and took a small sip of the medicine. The herbal mixture was bitter, but warmth spread through her chest almost immediately. She exhaled softly, her body relaxing as the effects settled in.


    The female disciple helped her lie down, adjusting the blanket over her. "Try to rest, Senior Sister. I''ll be here if you need anything."


    Murong Xue nodded weakly, her eyelids growing heavier. As the storm raged outside, the warmth of the jade bangle and the presence of her companion provided a small comfort. Before long, exhaustion overtook her, and she drifted into uneasy sleep.


    Outside, the storm continued to rage, but within the dimly lit cabin, a quiet sense of calm settled between them.