The sea caves and the South Sea Dragon’s eye-pits are not entirely the same. The so-called sea eye, rumored to be the "Guixu," is described as a massive sinkhole in the earth, into which all the waters of the world eventually flow. It is an eternal, fixed existence, yet no one can say for certain whether it is real or myth. In contrast, "sea caves" can be large or small, appearing and disappearing. They form when rising, condensed sea vapor dissipates, and the surrounding seawater rushes in to fill the resulting vacuum. Others are caused by undersea earthquakes, fissures, or collapses—a natural phenomenon generating massive swirling currents on the ocean surface.

The group watched vortex after vortex appear across the sea, their vision blurring from the sight. No one dared to count the dozens, perhaps hundreds, of sea caves forming. A chill, as if drenched in icy meltwater, ran through them. Snapping back to reality, they realized the caves were only just beginning to form, the seawater not yet draining significantly. They immediately spun the boat around and retreated. A half-step slower, and had they been caught in the suction of a sea cave, forget the Sea Willow Ship Trident, even an aircraft carrier would have been mercilessly dragged into the abyss below, torn into countless fragments.

From the depths of the sea caves, the sound of surging waves boomed like colossal bells, one after another. The churning seawater vibrated with a deafening hum. Conventional man-made navigation tools possessed absolutely no defense against these world-ending, destructive natural forces. Knowing it was futile to strike a rock with an egg, all thought of searching for the Qin Emperor’s bone-revealing mirror vanished. Under the bright full moon, they pushed the vessel’s engines to their limit, desperately turning west, hoping only to put as much distance as possible between themselves and the vast, ominous expanse of sea caves. Every meter gained meant one more chance to escape the ocean’s maw. Under the clear moonlight, the scene was terrifyingly distinct: the ocean currents spun into circles, generating vortex after vortex on the surface, while the seabed roared with deafening force. The "sea caves" and the "rising water dragon" represented two monumental catastrophes of the tide’s ebb and flow. Though not fully formed yet, the precursors to this "sea collapse" far exceeded the destructive power of the surging waves from the "dragon rising." It was sheer luck that they spotted it in time; the "sea leak" had not truly materialized. Although the Sea Willow Ship was being driven by the currents, its heading remained controllable, and at this critical juncture, it immediately cleaved through the waves, beating a swift retreat.

We didn't know the scale of the impending sea collapse. For safety, our only option now was to withdraw from the "Coral Spiral" region and wait for a better opportunity to return for the shipwreck. I raised my telescope to look eastward. At that moment, the combined tide generated by the moon’s gravitational pull was also occurring simultaneously. The dark lines on the horizon, faintly visible during the day, were now submerged by the rising tide. The black "Ghost Island" was gradually disappearing. The water level was surging, providing the perfect opportunity to use the rising tide to escape the "Coral Spiral."

Uncle Ming gripped the helm in the cabin, steering the vessel forward like an arrow loosed from a bow, rocketing eastward across the surface. Ruan Hei, accompanied by his two Danmin apprentices, waved his arms and shouted from the bow, but their voices were swallowed by the sound of the subsiding sea. I couldn't hear a single word they yelled and initially thought they were simply stunned by the sudden appearance of the sea caves. But I quickly sensed something was wrong; they seemed to be desperately signaling that something terrifying had materialized on the water directly ahead of the bow.

I peered east through the moonlight and immediately broke out in a cold sweat. There was a huge, pale, indistinct object in the water, rapidly approaching. The surface waves, displaced by this mass, trailed behind it in a long string of waves that formed and vanished instantly. Before we could react, with water churning wildly, it was upon us. Our full-speed vessel felt as though it had slammed head-on into an iron wall.

The bow nearly shattered from the impact. On the foredeck, Duolang tried to grab a mooring rope to steady herself, but losing balance, she missed entirely and was instantly thrown into the air by the violent shuddering of the hull.

Just as she seemed certain to plunge into the vast ocean, Ruan Hei, without a second thought, grabbed a rope and leaped overboard. Because Duolang had been flung upward first and was falling afterward, there was a vertical difference between them. As he jumped, he caught her mid-fall, and the force of her descent sent them tumbling together toward the sea.

Ship Captain Ruan Hei had taken Duolang in as an apprentice before fleeing Vietnam, and for years they had fished and gathered eggs together; their bond was like that of a father and daughter. Seeing Duolang in mortal danger of falling overboard now, he acted instinctively to save her life. However, when he jumped from the ship, although he managed to grasp a rope, that rope was not secured to the deck. With the combined force of him and his apprentice pulling on it, the coiled rope whipped off the ship like a living snake, whistling as it went.

The only person close enough to that tangle of rope was me. Beyond the single thought—"rescue requires induction"—I had no time for anything else. Amidst the pitching, I lunged forward a step and seized the end of the rope, only a short length remaining. In my haste, finding no secure anchor point, I simply spun around and wrapped the thick, arm-sized rope twice around my waist.

Suddenly, an immense force yanked me forward, stealing my breath. Blood surged violently within my chest and abdomen, my feet left the deck, and my vision blackened. The downward force of Ruan Hei and Duolang’s fall nearly dragged me overboard as well. At that critical moment, Fatty rushed two steps up from behind me, grabbed the rope, and braced his feet against the main structure of the ship. His ox-like musculature proved vital, managing to just hang the pair who were moments from plunging into the sea.

Feeling instantly pardoned, I quickly rolled aside, wrestled the rope free from my waist—where it had already drawn blood—and clutched it in my hand. I glanced toward the sea and realized with a jolt that the Trident had just collided with the giant sea serpent we encountered in the trench. The white, dragon-like creature normally feared the light, staying in depths below a hundred meters, only surfacing on dark, moonless nights. Under the high, bright moon, this should not have been its active time. However, the churning "underwater yin fire" and the "old clam playing with pearls" deep below had made the seabed brighter than the sky, disturbing it until it was forced to the surface, enraged and roaring, seeking to overturn boats in fury.

If the Sea Willow Ship Trident hadn't been protected by its copper plating, it would have breached from that collision alone. But just as that strike passed, a white streak churned the water, and it immediately turned, sweeping its tail across the hull. Even the Sea Willow Ship, the sturdiest vessel afloat, was no match for the serpent’s tail, which was as thick as the ancient, tortoiseshell-hard tree at the bottom of the sea. This creature, no ordinary dragon traversing rivers, struck with enough force to shatter the hull to pieces.

The ship was pitching violently. Fatty and I clung to the rope, too terrified to let go, while Ruan Hei held Duolang; the pair dangled in mid-air, swinging dangerously with the movement of the ship. Shirley Yang and Gu Cai rushed up behind me and grabbed hold, encircling me. From the cabin to the deck, the six of us formed a chain in the swaying vessel, which moved as if falling leaves in the wind. If even one person lost their grip, someone would instantly drop into the sea.

Misfortune seldom comes singly: while we struggled to hold on, resisting the impasse, white waves surged up from the sea, and the giant serpent’s tail swept across the hull from above. I was pulling on the rope, gritting my teeth and exerting all my strength, daring not to slacken, watching the serpent's tail, as thick as a massive vat, coil toward us, powerless to change the outcome.

Precisely at that moment, the undulating currents whipped up by the serpent's thrashing caused the Trident to be tossed up and down. As the ship fell with the surge, it suddenly dropped to the trough of the wave. A fierce, fishy wind blasted my face, and I felt a violent impact against my chest. I saw the serpent’s coil sweep right over the ship; our vessel had narrowly, seamlessly avoided the fatal blow.

The serpent’s body whipped up a huge curtain of white, frothy water, and the beast submerged beneath the watery screen. We knew it wouldn’t give up so easily, likely unnerved by the full moon. Indeed, moments later, the water behind the ship began to churn again, and the massive white sea beast resurfaced. Without pausing to catch our breath or celebrate the hull remaining intact, we immediately strained our arms, hauling on the rope to pull Ruan Hei and his apprentice back aboard. Ruan Hei and Duolang were soaked, their faces bloodless from shock. We shoved and carried the two survivors of this near-disaster into the cabin.

Unexpectedly, Uncle Ming, determined to retrieve the jeweled mermaid, remained steadfast at his post, jaw clenched, standing firm against the raging sea—possessing the resolute aura of a lone wolf of the ocean. I inwardly cursed the greedy old Hong Kong man, so blinded by profit that he disregarded life and death; it was, admittedly, admirable. I immediately signaled with my hands, telling Uncle Ming the sea serpent was back, urging him to evade, and try to swing clear for a firing angle. Our only recourse now was the "Sea-Shaking Cannon" to blast it back into the deep.

The initial collision had taken a serious toll on the exceptionally capable Trident. Though not wrecked, the most critical problem had arisen: the steering was jammed, forcing the ship to move in only one direction. The sea serpent, driving the currents, pressed its relentless pursuit. Under the illumination of the moonlit sea, the sea beast and the ship were locked in a desperate chase for their lives.

As I wrestled with Uncle Ming over the unresponsive helm, I noticed the cursing stop abruptly. Uncle Ming’s expression froze into a vacant stare. I looked up, following his gaze forward, and felt my blood run cold instantly. In the chaos of the previous moments, the Trident, as if guided by some phantom hand, had swung back to the sea east of the "Coral Spiral." There, countless sea leaks were gradually closing, coalescing into an unfathomably deep, massive sea cave—likely the legendary South Sea Eye, the Guixu.

The ocean finally revealed its maniacal fangs. Endless seawater churned, plunging into the depths of the Guixu. Both the sea serpent and our vessel were caught in the maelstrom. The water within the sea cave rose like chilling, sheer walls, sucking in and devouring heaven and earth. At this point, even if we had wings, escape would be virtually impossible.

The Sea Willow Ship 'Trident' was caught in the vortex of the collapsing sea cave. The closer the massive surface whirlpool approached its center, the stronger the suction became. The churning water spun down into the pitch-black abyss. Seeing the helm unresponsive and the vessel heading directly toward the gaping hole, the spirits of the crew plummeted; they knew disaster awaited within minutes.