The storm had passed, leaving behind a sea that shimmered under the soft morning light. The once-violent waves had calmed, rolling gently beneath the ship as if they, too, were recovering from the night’s ordeal. The air carried the scent of salt and damp wood, but now, it lacked the eerie chill that had unsettled everyone the night before.


    Zhao Ming stepped into Murong Xue’s quarters, balancing a wooden tray in his hands. The faint aroma of warm rice porridge and ginger tea filled the room, a contrast to the damp air outside. The female disciple, who had stayed with Murong Xue through the night, stirred at the sound of his arrival.


    “I brought breakfast,” Zhao Ming announced, placing the tray down on a small table near the bed. The bowls of rice porridge steamed softly, accompanied by a side of pickles and a cup of ginger tea.


    Murong Xue shifted slightly, her movements slow. She still looked pale, though the worst had passed. She accepted the bowl with a slight nod, her fingers brushing against the smooth ceramic.


    The female disciple also took her portion, murmuring a polite thank you before eating in silence.


    Zhao Ming, meanwhile, sat across from them, unwrapping a steamed bun. He dipped it into a small dish of pickled vegetables, taking a bite with an expression of pure contentment. Beside him, a portion of dried meat rested on a plate, completing his meal.


    Murong Xue, despite her fatigue, arched an eyebrow. “You really do love buns.”


    Zhao Ming smirked, chewing leisurely. “They’re convenient. And good.”


    The female disciple stifled a smile but quickly finished her meal. She set her bowl aside and stood, stretching slightly.


    “I should go back and check on the others,” she said casually. Then, with a teasing grin, she glanced at Murong Xue. “Senior Sister, take your time. You two should talk.”


    Murong Xue shot her a look, but before she could say anything, the girl had already slipped out of the room.


    Annoyed, Murong Xue made a mental note to train the disciples harder once their mission in Beihai was complete. Their endurance needed improvement—but more importantly, they clearly had too much energy for teasing.


    After finishing his meal, Zhao Ming stood. “Get some more rest. I’ll be on deck.”


    Murong Xue merely hummed in response, already feeling the pull of sleep again. As the door shut behind him, she leaned back against the pillows, the warmth of the tea still lingering on her lips.


    <hr>


    Stepping onto the deck, Zhao Ming inhaled deeply, letting the crisp morning air fill his lungs. Though the sea had calmed, the sky remained a dull gray, heavy with lingering clouds. The scent of rain still clung to the wind, hinting that the storm hadn’t entirely passed.


    He made his way toward the helm, where the captain stood, arms crossed, surveying the horizon. The man’s weathered face bore the marks of long years at sea, but his eyes remained sharp, ever watchful.


    “How’s the ship?” Zhao Ming asked, stopping beside him.


    The captain exhaled through his nose, his expression unreadable. “We’re still on course to Beihai, but the storm set us back. We’ll be delayed by a day.”


    Zhao Ming frowned. “A day?”


    “The sails took some damage. My men are patching them up, but the wind is weak. Even if we fix them quickly, we won’t be moving as fast as before.” The captain gestured toward the mast, where sailors worked to repair torn fabric. “Weather’s still uncertain. Might get another light storm before we reach land.”


    Zhao Ming nodded, absorbing the information. A delay wasn’t ideal, but at least they were still on course. His gaze flickered toward the railing, where the sea stretched endlessly into the misty horizon.


    “That splash we heard last night,” he said after a pause. “Any news on the man overboard?”


    The captain glanced at him, then shook his head. “No one’s missing.”


    Zhao Ming’s brows furrowed. “Are you sure?”


    “I counted the crew myself,” the captain said firmly. “Everyone’s accounted for. If anything fell into the water, it wasn’t one of my men.”


    Zhao Ming crossed his arms. “Then what was it?”


    The captain scratched his beard. “Could’ve been a barrel. Cargo shifts in a storm. Something heavy might’ve broken loose and gone overboard.”


    Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.


    Zhao Ming wasn’t convinced. The splash had been loud—too loud for a mere barrel. But with no missing crew and no other clues, there was little more he could press on.


    As he mulled over the captain’s words, a presence lingered nearby.


    Unseen by either man, a hooded figure watched from the shadows, hidden between the stacked crates near the stern. Their posture was still, their eyes locked onto the captain as if waiting for something.


    But as Zhao Ming turned slightly, the figure slipped away, disappearing into the maze of ropes and barrels before he could notice.


    <hr>


    Zhao Ming left the helm, his thoughts still lingering on the captain’s words. A barrel falling into the sea? Perhaps. But something about the explanation didn’t sit right with him.


    As he walked along the deck, he noticed something strange. The usual chatter among the sailors had quieted. Some of them moved with an air of unease, exchanging glances before quickly looking away when they saw him. Others worked with stiff shoulders, as if forcing themselves to focus.


    He narrowed his eyes.


    Something was off.


    Near the stern, movement caught his attention. A hooded figure stood close to a crew member, their voices hushed. Zhao Ming couldn''t make out the words, but their body language told him enough—this was no casual conversation.


    The crew member nodded sharply before turning away, disappearing below deck. The hooded figure hesitated, as if sensing Zhao Ming’s gaze, then subtly shifted, blending into the ship’s shadows.


    Zhao Ming took a step forward.


    The moment he did, the figure turned and walked briskly toward the other end of the deck, slipping between stacked crates and barrels.


    Not wanting to alert them, Zhao Ming adjusted his pace, casually moving in the same direction. He might not have proof of anything yet, but his instincts screamed at him—something was happening on this ship. And he intended to find out what.


    <hr>


    By the time Zhao Ming returned to Murong Xue’s quarters, she was sitting up, looking much better than earlier. The color had returned to her cheeks, and though she still appeared tired, her sharp gaze met his the moment he stepped inside.


    “You’re back,” she said, setting aside the empty cup of ginger tea. “Something on your mind?”


    Zhao Ming closed the door behind him, lowering his voice. “The crew is acting strangely. Some of them seem tense, as if hiding something. I also saw a hooded figure whispering to a sailor. When they noticed me, they scattered.”


    Murong Xue frowned. “That doesn’t sound like simple ship business.”


    “No,” Zhao Ming agreed. “And the captain claims no one fell overboard last night. He thinks it was just a barrel or cargo lost in the storm.”


    Murong Xue’s fingers tapped lightly against the blanket. “Convenient excuse. But you don’t believe it.”


    “I don’t.” His expression darkened. “Something’s going on, and I don’t like it.”


    She let out a quiet breath. “Neither do I.”


    A moment of silence passed between them, both weighing the situation. Then, Murong Xue shifted, her tone turning firm. “We should stay on guard. If there is trouble brewing, we need to be ready.”


    Zhao Ming nodded. “I’ll inform the others.”


    That evening, the disciples received quiet, careful warnings. Nothing too alarming—just a simple message to stay alert, keep their weapons close, and move in pairs.


    Outside, the sea stretched into endless darkness. The ship creaked under the weight of its secrets.


    And as the wind carried whispers of unease, Zhao Ming and Murong Xue prepared themselves for whatever was to come.


    <hr>


    The night was thick with tension, the moon obscured behind heavy clouds. The ship swayed gently on the dark waters, an eerie calm before the storm. Then—


    Clang!


    The sharp clash of swords shattered the silence. A shout rang out, followed by the unmistakable sound of steel meeting steel.


    Zhao Ming’s body tensed. His grip instinctively tightened around his sword as he rushed out of his quarters, his mind already piecing together the worst possibilities. As he reached the deck, chaos erupted before him.


    Sailors clashed violently, their figures illuminated by the flickering glow of lanterns. Some fought fiercely, while others hesitated, uncertain where their loyalties lay. Amidst the struggle, Zhao Ming’s sharp eyes scanned for a leader—but none stood out. This wasn’t a spontaneous brawl. This was planned.


    Ducking past a group of fighting men, he made his way below deck. He needed to regroup with Murong Xue and the others before the situation worsened.


    Inside, Murong Xue and Gao Ren were already moving with urgency.


    Gao Ren’s deep voice cut through the tension as he directed the disciples and mercenaries. “Secure the scholars at the back. Form a defensive line—mercenaries at the front, disciples behind them. We hold the corridor. If anyone tries to force their way through, cut them down.”


    The mercenaries quickly took position, drawing their weapons with quiet efficiency. The disciples, though less experienced, moved with discipline under Gao Ren’s command.


    Murong Xue glanced at Zhao Ming as he entered. “What’s happening up there?”


    “A mutiny,” Zhao Ming said grimly. “It’s not clear who’s leading it yet, but it’s no random fight. Someone planned this.”


    Gao Ren let out a sharp breath, his brow furrowed. “Damn it. I knew something was off the moment I saw those sailors whispering among themselves today. Should’ve trusted my gut.”


    “We don’t have time to regret it now,” Murong Xue said firmly. “Our priority is keeping the scholars safe.”


    Before anyone could say more, hurried footsteps pounded down the stairs.


    A man emerged from the shadows of the stairwell, his boots striking the wooden planks with heavy confidence. He was broad-shouldered, with sun-darkened skin and a rough beard, the kind of man who had spent most of his life at sea. His stance was relaxed but firm, like someone who knew he had the upper hand.


    His gaze swept over them before he let out a low chuckle. “Smart of you to gather here,” he said, his voice carrying a smug edge. “But don’t get any ideas.”


    The flickering lantern light revealed a red scarf tied around his arm.


    Zhao Ming’s eyes narrowed.


    The man took another step forward, resting a hand on the cutlass at his side. “Orders from above: Stay put and don’t cause trouble. We wouldn’t want to spill unnecessary blood, would we?”


    His words were laced with thinly veiled menace, and his gaze flicked to Murong Xue, then the mercenaries, as if assessing their strength.


    “You fight back, and we’ll make sure this ship never reaches Beihai,” he continued. “So be good passengers, and maybe you’ll see the sunrise.”


    For a moment, silence hung heavy in the air.


    Then Zhao Ming spoke, his tone cold. “And if we don’t comply?”


    The sailor’s grin widened. “Then you’ll wish you had.”