Captain Ruan Hei barely managed to avert a catastrophic collision by throwing the rudder hard to port. The bows of the two vessels scraped past each other, nearly side-by-side, the gap between them less than a meter—a near-miss as tight as "the devil's brush." Everyone aboard our ship held their breath; if the hull had been breached, we would all have become exhibits in the deep-sea graveyard alongside the Trident.

Fortunately, Ruan Hei turned fast enough that the ships didn't actually scrape. In the blink of an eye, they had passed each other. The old white, ghost-like sailing ship, propelled by the current, swiftly vanished back into the fog, disappearing as suddenly as it had appeared—truly like a maritime phantom, glimpsed and lost.

The fog-laden sea remained utterly still. Because the event had been so sudden and unexpected, everyone only slowly snapped back to reality after the other ship disappeared into the mist. A layer of cold sweat coated their foreheads. No one knew where that vessel had materialized from, and a vague, indefinable dread permeated every one of them.

Any seasoned sailor could recount strange tales of the sea—ghost ships and water spirits were common lore—but most of these were hearsay, rarely witnessed firsthand. Helmsman Ruan Hei had never faced such a terrifying, direct encounter with a phantom vessel. Fishermen dreaded meeting ghosts at sea; it was considered a terrible omen. While they could handle a gale or huge waves, Ruan Hei wasn't a tomb robber navigating the Netherworld. How could he not be unnerved by matters concerning the dead? Despite his usual stout heart, his legs were trembling now. If he hadn't gripped the helm to steady himself, he might have collapsed entirely.

It wasn't just Ruan Hei shaking like a leaf; even I felt my heart leap into my throat. When the two ships passed so closely, even with the fog limiting visibility to about twenty meters, we were close enough to clearly see the frayed mooring ropes on the three-masted schooner. I distinctly saw the deck and the doorways stained with splotches of dried, blackened blood, a stark contrast against the white hull. It was terrifying to look at—was this the blood of the crew? But where had the crew gone? Not a single body remained, only bloodstains everywhere.

When I mentioned this to the others, it turned out I wasn't the only one who saw it. Fatty, Inley Yang, and even Ruan Hei's two apprentices, Gu Cai and Duo Ling, had all noticed. It seemed I hadn't been hallucinating. In fact, I could even recall smelling a strong scent of blood wafting from that ship just moments before. Fatty quickly offered a solution: "We saw a ghost. It has to be a ghost ship. We should prepare the water cannon and blast it if it shows up again. We can't let some lingering spirit derail our egg-harvesting mission."

I thought that cannon fire might be useless against a true ghost ship. I turned to Inley Yang to see what she thought—what sort of ship had that been?

Inley Yang shrugged helplessly. "I have as many questions as you do, but I don't even know how to begin asking them right now. Still, I have a feeling that if that ancient-looking three-master was targeting us, it will reappear sooner or later. This low visibility is a major disadvantage for us."

We had only exchanged a few hurried words, debating whether to retreat or stand our ground, when a mast light began to flicker in the fog. The same three-masted ship that had just grazed past us was now silently sailing directly toward us from the direction of our bow. Everyone exchanged horrified glances, quickly urging Ruan Hei to turn the ship around to avoid it.

If the first encounter minutes ago was successfully navigated at the last second thanks to Fatty's sharp eyes and Inley Yang’s swift warning—allowing the captain to react instinctively without even pausing in surprise—who could have predicted that this spectral white ship would materialize again from the fog ahead in such a short span? If that wasn't a ghost ship, what was it?

Faced with this baffling anomaly, we were struck dumb. This time, we weren't so lucky. The ancient white sailing ship, like a phantom coalesced from the sea fog, appeared without warning, vanished without trace, and reappeared just as suddenly. Although Captain Ruan Hei fought desperately with the rudder, he could only avoid a direct head-on collision. The ship's sides scraped together. The three-master had fishing nets hanging along its sides, complete with white buoys. The Trident had inflatable lifeboats lashed to its railings. The two ships instantly became entangled, hopelessly bound.

The collision caused the hull to shake violently. We lost our balance, stumbling across the deck. Gu Cai lost his footing and fell, nearly rolling overboard, screaming in terror. Inley Yang quickly tossed him a mooring line to hold onto tightly.

Our vessel, the Trident, being copper-plated, withstood the direct impact without damage. Furthermore, due to the submerged ramming spur at the waterline, we managed to slice a gash into the side of the three-master. Seawater immediately began flooding in through the breach. Since the Trident was still snagged against the sinking white ghost ship, our vessel immediately began to list sharply.

The initial tilt wasn't severe, but the other vessel was massive. If the entanglement lasted too long, we risked being pulled down with it. Seeing this, Fatty prepared to use his fish-slashing knife to cut the ropes securing our lifeboat to the railing—a sacrifice to save the whole. I quickly stopped him: "Set up the gangplank! Go cut those fishing nets!"

Should our own ship meet disaster on the vast ocean, only the lifeboats offered the sea wolves a sliver of hope for survival. We absolutely could not abandon the lifeboats unless all other options were exhausted. The nets and buoys of the three-master had ensnared our boat. Even if we weren't dragged down by the sinking ship, damage to the hull or equipment was inevitable. The situation demanded immediate action, leaving no time for second thoughts. We had to cross onto the other ship via the gangplank and cut those nets loose.

At this point, Captain Ruan Hei dared not increase speed. The Trident could only circle sluggishly around the other vessel on the surface. Fatty and I quickly erected the gangplank. As Gu Cai and Duo Ling braced it, Inley Yang was the first to cross, agilely leaping onto the three-master and immediately hacking at the heavy netting with her fish knife.

Fatty also wanted to cross, but the narrow, swaying plank, rocking violently with the movement of the two ships, made it terrifying. One misstep meant a plunge into the sea. Anyone afraid of heights or timid couldn't possibly manage it. Fatty didn't mind many things, but he suffered from acrophobia and was half-scared before even stepping onto the board.

I pulled Fatty aside and shouted to him as I rushed across the plank myself, "You stay here, throw us the reserve rope, and be ready to receive us on this side. Once the nets are cut, we need to retreat immediately." As I spoke, I seized a brief, momentary lull in the plank's sway and lunged across, landing safely on the deck of the three-master.

Although the gangplank was narrow and shaky, during my military service, I had practiced breaching obstacles almost daily, crossing tightropes thousands of times. But those were fixed training obstacles. Crossing between two ships heaving on the open sea made my legs weak. I dared not glance down; the plank, barely the width of my hand, was dizzying. Any hint of fear could lead to a slip. I crossed purely on raw adrenaline.

Once across, my legs felt slightly cramped, and I envied Inley Yang’s composure. However, realizing that the Navy's training focus might differ from the Army's, I didn't feel too ashamed. I grabbed the serrated fish-slashing knife and began hacking and sawing at the heavy netting.

I had never seen a ghost ship, but from the legends I’d heard, maritime ghost ships generally fell into two categories. The first type was a vessel whose crew had all died or vanished due to myriad causes—perhaps human understanding of the ocean is too limited. Some say sea demons or shapeshifting Jiaoren lure sailors into the water with seductive sounds and sights, causing them to jump overboard to their deaths. Others suggest that certain unpalatable fish cause hallucinations, leading the crew to commit mass suicide, thus leaving behind unmanned vessels, which people dubbed "ghost ships."

The other category of "ghost ship" typically involved vessels missing for years, sometimes centuries, only to suddenly reappear. These too lacked any crew or bodies, yet all onboard systems appeared functional, as if they had only recently set sail. No one knew where they had drifted during their centuries of absence.

Because people couldn't explain these bizarre phenomena, strange legends like "ghost ships" arose. Yet, these legends seemed insufficient to explain what we encountered. When we saw the ship the second time, I wondered if there were multiple such three-masters hidden in the fog. However, I remembered a few small identifying marks on the hull, confirmed by the position of the masthead lamp—it was definitely the same ship.

This monstrous three-master was solidly there before me; a good swing of my knife left a definite mark on the hull. Moreover, the ship reeked heavily of blood. The strangest thing was its ancient design, devoid of any modern shipbuilding features, yet the three-master did not look dilapidated; in places, it appeared surprisingly new.