Turning my head to look through the observation port at the activity in the deep chasm, I was startled to find that a monstrous fish, its skin covered in bumpy, coarse hide like rough granite, had materialized beside the Bathysphere without warning. It thrashed its tail towards my copper cabin and struck with violent force, causing the entire submersible to shudder and shake. The external searchlight was instantly knocked out. After the initial impact, the fish circled back from the water, its cavernous mouth gaping wide as it lunged again, seemingly intent on swallowing the entire copper hull whole.

Most sea creatures reach their peak vitality according to the lunar cycle, possessing an innate instinct to seek the moon. This sudden attacker must have been drawn by the lights on the Bathysphere. It shook its tail and charged again. The impact shook the submersible violently, extinguishing the two external lamps immediately. I heard the metal hull groan under the stress, knowing that one more blow of that magnitude could compromise the sealed copper cabin and cause it to flood.

This specialized submersible, modified by the British, was designed for reconnaissance in hazardous deep-sea environments. To withstand harsh operating conditions, beyond its intricate engineering, the hull was equipped with comprehensive defensive measures, including iron grating outside the observation windows to guard against being swept into reefs by strong currents. However, facing a mobile, living threat, I had no choice but to take emergency action: I pulled the safety pin on the water-spikes, causing over a dozen steel quills to shoot out from around the Bathysphere, instantly turning the copper cabin into a metallic "hedgehog."

The moment the spikes sprang from their housings, the massive fish—seven or eight meters long, with skin as tough as bedrock—swam headlong toward me. It seemed to recognize the danger posed by the sharp steel, but it was too late to dodge. Although its head twisted away, its body took the full brunt of the spikes, which tore a long gash across its durable hide and flesh. It then dragged a trail of murky blood as it fled back into the seabed depths.

In the other Bathysphere, Captain Ruan Hei swung his searchlight to track the spreading bloodline. I looked down through my observation port and saw several large sharks emerging from the coral clusters, drawn by the scent of blood. They immediately converged on the more severely wounded fish, tearing at it relentlessly. For a moment, the feeding frenzy churned up the fine sand, silt, and algae of the seafloor, mixing with the copious blood and completely obscuring the sharks’ gruesome feast.

I breathed a quiet sigh of relief. Clearly, the endeavor of these "Nanhai Eggs Men" was no simpler than that of tomb robbers. By now, the underwater terrain lighting was damaged, and the extended steel spikes hindered a good portion of my view. Staying submerged was pointless. I quickly used the communication tube to instruct those topside to jettison the ballast weights and begin the slow ascent to the surface according to the decompression schedule.

The two submersibles surfaced one after the other. Those on the Trident who had remained aboard were aghast to see that the copper hull of my Bathysphere was noticeably dented from the fish impact. Everyone understood then that the operation to retrieve the South Sea Eggs had officially begun, and extracting the superior "Green Heads" would require risking even greater dangers.

Yet, as the saying goes, one cannot catch large fish without battling huge waves. Fortune must be sought amidst danger. Now that the location where the colossal clam, housing the pearl, was hidden within the Coral Spiral had been pinpointed, the egg hunt finally had a clear direction. Spirits soared; everyone bustled about, shaking off weariness to thoroughly prepare the deck for the dive.

I stood on deck, assessing the surface conditions. Even without wind, the tempestuous South China Sea churned with three-foot swells. Yet, strangely, once the tide receded, this area within the Coral Spiral became unusually calm. Although the sky was heavily clouded, there were no signs of high winds or heavy surging. Had it not been for the terrifying phenomenon of the "Dragon Drawing Water" during the earlier atmospheric venting, the current sea state might not be so stable. It seemed we arrived at the perfect time—the tide was low, presenting an ideal window for diving.

Scanning the surroundings, I suddenly noticed a pitch-black island emerging from the sea behind the stern. I hadn't spotted it before going down. When did that appear? I quickly raised my binoculars for a closer look. I had often heard tales of islands suddenly appearing at sea, revealed to be the backs of colossal fish or the shells of giant turtles. Unwary sailors who anchored and went ashore were dragged under by the diving leviathan, taking their ships with them.

Shirley Yang explained that she had already sent Ah Ming and the others to investigate with the Zhenhai Cannon. It wasn't a massive sea beast rising to the surface, but rather a "Ghost Island" formed by tidal action. This black landmass would submerge when the tide surged and reappear partially when the water level dropped, hence the name—it was ephemeral.

The Coral Spiral is a convergence point for all manner of mysterious oceanic phenomena; a Ghost Island was not entirely unexpected. We had heard rumors of Ghost Islands before near Coral Temple Village, where local fishermen called it the "Black Whale." Though many tales existed, few had actually seen one. If we could use this island as a marker, the salvage operation might proceed more smoothly.

I intended to have Ah Ming pilot the ship toward the Ghost Island to investigate, but Shirley Yang expressed a distinct sense of foreboding about it. She felt it was not a stable location and advised against approaching it, urging me to abandon the idea and avoid unnecessary risk. Moreover, with the tide so low, the terrain around the Ghost Island was relatively high, making it difficult for the Trident to get close.

Shirley Yang then asked if I had spotted any signs of sunken ships below. The word "sunken" (chén) is heavily taboo at sea; it must always be replaced with the euphemism "ascended" (shēng). However, I put no stock in such superstitions. During the Cultural Revolution, Red Guards smashed the Four Olds with such fervor that it extended even to rivers, lakes, and seas. I was forced to make the boat captain shout "sunken" over a thousand times during one trip without the vessel sinking. I’ve never trusted that sort of thing since—perhaps if someone onboard has a sufficiently strong destiny, it's hard to sink the ship regardless. Shirley Yang certainly didn't harbor such Chinese-style reservations.

I shrugged at her. There wasn't a single trace of a shipwreck on the seabed. Still, we couldn't abandon hope entirely, because I had identified several deep, inscrutable troughs—gorges on the seafloor. Given the immense size of the nearby conches, mussels, and ironwood corals, sights rarely seen elsewhere, it was evident this place was the terminus of the Southern Dragon's pulse line, unless the abyssal energy was too overwhelming to allow such formations. If the legendary underwater Yin Fire existed, it must erupt from these deep trenches. Therefore, the mythical ship graveyard should not be far. I instructed everyone to pay close attention during the egg retrieval dive; we might make a breakthrough discovery.

Shirley Yang nodded in agreement. Just then, Duo Ling called from the deck for everyone to come eat. We retreated to the cabin for a hearty meal and to finalize plans for the egg collection. A rough map detailing the general layout of the dense coral thicket had been sketched based on the reconnaissance reports from me and Captain Ruan Hei.