As I glimpsed the radiant clouds veiled over the sea from afar, the view vanished as the boat drew nearer, likely due to the converging embrace of two underwater mountains, which caused the sea mist to swirl and shift, a phenomenon intensified by the thick overhead clouds; otherwise, a direct ray of sunlight would have conjured a phantom image of a mirage. Checking the readings of the two celestial secret instruments, I confirmed this area was precisely where the residual energy of the Southern Dragon held a smoldering, latent Yin fire.

Of the world's Dragon Veins—Southern, Northern, and Central—the Northern and Central veins, stemming from Kunlun, were stable and resolute, possessing an aura of immutability spanning ages. However, the Southern vein held the greatest influence, though its trajectory was elusive and lacked the essential element of royal destiny; it possessed a head but no discernible tail. Originating from Mount Emei, it flowed eastward through the Jiangdong region, entering the sea near the mountains of Haiyan in Zhejiang, then winding its way through the strait between Korea and Wa, its ultimate terminus unknown—truly, a divine dragon that shows its head but hides its tail. Unless one were a sage of the highest virtue, it would be unwise to establish a resting tomb along the Southern Dragon Vein. The Coral Spiral at the terminus of the South Sea, a tributary of the Southern Dragon, presented a formation of rare, unmatched wonder.

This, however, was only a preliminary assessment requiring further confirmation before deploying the "diving bell" for underwater reconnaissance. I instructed Uncle Ming to halt the boat, retrieved the prepared white rice and oil, and poured them into the sea. The rice floated, refusing to sink, while the oil failed to rise, an unmistakable sign of a sunken ruin field. If an underground Yin Fire Dragon Lamp existed beneath the waves, it should be located here. I then measured the water depth; where the boat rested, it was less than seventy meters. I immediately lowered a lead weight with a marker buoy to establish our position.

Next, the crew gathered on deck for a briefing to hash out an action plan. This stretch of ocean was almost the very core of the Coral Spiral. So far, things had gone smoothly, but the conditions here were entirely unknown, and finding the sunken ship remained uncertain. From this point on, absolute caution was paramount, requiring a step-by-step approach. To avoid lingering too long in this volatile area, we decided to seize the current lull in the wind and waves to initiate action immediately: first, a reconnaissance dive to locate the wreck and the Southern Pearls, and once the seabed topography was mapped, we would adapt our strategy accordingly and assign tasks.

The ship only carried two "diving bells," each accommodating one person. The final decision was that the Boat Captain, Ruan Hei, and I would descend. Since Ruan Hei had worked as a danmin (sea egg gatherer) and was intimately familiar with diving, he was chosen to be my partner underwater. Once arrangements were finalized, Fatty, leading Gu Cai and the others, busied themselves preparing the "diving bells," meticulously checking the reliability of the equipment.

Before descending, Shirley Yang cautioned me, "Although we've entered the Coral Spiral, the progress has been too smooth, which makes me uneasy. Professor Chen mentioned that the Sea Eye within the Coral Spiral is the Guixu—the great gathering point between heaven and earth—where the waters of all rivers, lakes, and seas eventually flow into the void of the Sea Eye. The water flow is endless, yet Guixu never fills. This concept appears repeatedly in ancient texts and records, known even to many boatmen. Yet, look around: a thousand miles in every direction, and there’s no massive vortex indicating a Sea Eye on the surface. Of course, Guixu is only legend, and I hope I’m worrying needlessly. Still, be exceptionally careful once you’re down there; don't act rashly."

I nodded in agreement. After all, the "diving bell" was incredibly sturdy; should any unforeseen incident occur on the seabed, it would at least guarantee the safe return of the reconnaissance personnel. Driven by intense curiosity, I was eager to dive and observe the underwater conditions. After a few hurried words with Shirley Yang, I quickly climbed into the "diving bell" prepared by Fatty and the others.

The bronze "diving bell" was completely sealed, designed for depths up to fifty-five meters underwater. It featured surrounding observation windows and was equipped with a specialized high-intensity underwater illumination device, the "Poseidon’s Radiance." Inside, there was a speaking tube, known as a diving telephone, for communication with the command center on deck. Although a breathing tube connected to the ship's air pump, we carried supplementary oxygen tanks inside the metal chamber as a precaution.

Once prepared inside the cabin, I gave a signal to the people on deck, and the "diving bell" began its slow descent. It felt unremarkable on the surface, but once submerged deep underwater within the bronze shell, an immediate, powerful sense of pressure welled up, breeding a deep-seated fear of isolation from the world. I concentrated fiercely on the view outside the observation window, attempting to diffuse this persistent unease and anxiety.

Though the descent depth was only slightly over fifty meters, the process felt unnervingly long. I tracked the water outside the viewport while secretly counting the rhythmic sound of air venting from the pressure release valve inside the bronze chamber. When I reached the count of fifteen, the diving bell finally reached its limit. Under the overcast daylight, underwater visibility was mediocre, darkening rapidly below twenty meters as particulate matter increased, causing visibility to plummet. With illumination both inside and outside the bronze hull, I first located Ruan Hei's diving bell and gave him a thumbs-up, signaling that everything was fine on my end. Ruan Hei returned the same gesture.

We then activated the "Poseidon’s Radiance" to light the way, beginning our reconnaissance of the underwater terrain, relaying our observations via the diving telephone. This mysterious water, rumored to be haunted by phantoms, slowly revealed its true face under the beams of light. Dozens of meters below, the seabed was a dense forest of marine growth. Surrounded by peaks, the undulating topography contained a deep, gorge-like trench where strange, sporadic whirlpools constantly churned. Even direct flashlight beams could not penetrate to the bottom, and dark shapes seemed to probe briefly near the depths, though indistinct. Schools of fish dared not venture near.

Among the coral clusters at the edge of the trench grew numerous ironwood trees. One underwater ironwood, tens of meters tall, was profoundly unusual, appearing entirely semi-transparent, resembling tortoiseshell—daimao—which is also known as poison shell. It has thirteen main scutes overlapping like roofing tiles, pale yellow tinged with black, marked with dark spots. Its outer shell, when processed, can be softened to create various precious ornaments. This massive underwater tree shared the color and stacked-tile shape of tortoiseshell, its surface encrusted with giant, ancient conchs, the smallest of which were the size of millstones. As their shells slightly gaped open, they seemed to shimmer with moonlight, drawing surrounding marine life to hover nearby.

I swallowed hard, thinking that finding eggs down here was indeed true—this trip was worthwhile. However, in this vicinity, I saw no wreckage of the SS. Marie Celeste. Not only was that specific wreck missing, but there wasn't a shadow of any other sunken vessel in sight across the entire visible seabed. I surmised that if the legendary wreck graveyard truly existed, its only possible location lay within the abyss of the coral forest. If the Marie Celeste had plunged into that deep, anything beyond two hundred meters would be beyond our capacity to recover.