The Jianmu tree, floating above the coral spiral sea, had remained undecayed for millennia, sustained solely by the sea's vital energy. Now, separated from the Guixu and battered by several heavy blows, the scales that patterned its bark began to peel away, along with the arrowheads embedded within it. The corpse of the Jiaomu was dislodged by the waves, slowly detaching from the Jianmu, and the ruined half of the divine tree drifted aimlessly on the water. We watched this massive, natural "dugout," knowing it wouldn't last long before being shattered by the currents. Yet, under the star-spangled night sky, surrounded only by endless ocean, we were powerless; there was nothing left to do but let nature take its course and trust fate.

I was watching the surrounding turtle rafts, desperately trying to devise a solution, when I noticed what looked like a person lying on the back of a turtle not far off. The figure, starkly visible against the water in a diving suit marked with yellow insignia, had long hair spread out—it was Duoling, who had fallen into the Guixu. She lay motionless on the turtle's back, whether dead or alive unknown. As the giant turtle drifted with the current, it suddenly submerged, and Duoling’s body was immediately swept aside by the water.

Perhaps she survived the fall from the divine tree and, relying on the aquatic mastery of the Danmin, managed to grab hold of one of the giant turtles escaping the Guixu, thereby returning to the surface. Seeing Duoling slip from the turtle’s back into the sea, drifting past the Jianmu, I had no time to think. I quickly called out to Gucai, leaped off the tail end of the log, grabbed an arrowhead, and jumped into the water. I caught Duoling by her hair. By then, Gucai and the others had arrived, and with everyone lending a hand, we managed to haul Duoling onto the log.

I scrambled back onto the Jianmu by clinging to an arrowhead and saw Shirley Yang working desperately to revive her. Duoling’s face was ashen, and she was unconscious, but after resuscitation efforts, she managed to cough up a few mouthfuls of seawater, showing a faint sign of life.

A heavy stone lifted from my heart. I glanced at Gucai, who was bowing deeply toward the east, perhaps thanking Ruan Hei for watching over Duoling’s escape from death, or maybe venerating the ancestors of the Danmin. Fatty hauled him up: “Stop banging your head on the wood, kid! Are you trying to make this thing sink faster? Thanking heaven and earth is nonsense. Death doesn't belong to the proletariat. Back when I was tomb raiding in the mountains…”

On the sea, mentioning words like "capsize," "overturn," or "sink" is strictly taboo. Before Fatty could finish, Uncle Ming clapped a hand over his mouth: “Fatty, you’re going to kill us all! Never challenge the mountain, but never offend the water! How dare you utter such taboo words!”

Fatty was furious, about to lash out at Uncle Ming, calling him an absurd "reactionary academic authority," but just then, everyone felt the ground beneath them suddenly shift. We staggered, unable to stand steady, as the body of the log beneath us cracked and pieces began to fall away. I knew this was bad. I had thought this rotting log could float for at least another hour, but now it seemed it was about to break apart immediately.

By then, the gathering of turtles had already dived to the seabed and vanished without a trace; the sea surface was utterly empty. A wave crashed over us, instantly smashing the part of the Jianmu that was above water to pieces. Everyone plunged into the water and could only grab at the scattered fragments of wood. The South Sea is full of sharks; even if we were lucky enough to avoid the vicious ones, how long could we last immersed in this icy water?

Carrying the heavy bronze mirror, I managed to grab a few planks, but they were all rotten and brittle, unable to bear weight. I had no choice but to pull the safety latch on my shoulder strap. A small life raft instantly inflated, bobbing up and down on the surface. Just as I was lamenting our misfortune, I heard Shirley Yang call out to me: “Lao Hu, look! A boat!”

I thought I had misheard. How could there be a boat in the Coral Spiral Sea? But then Fatty and the others started shouting on the water, seemingly having spotted a vessel. I focused my gaze, but it wasn't an outside boat. It turned out the very tip of the Jianmu, though lacking an entrance, was hollowed out and filled with strange burial objects. When the Jianmu shattered, these items scattered into the sea, including, unexpectedly, a complete ancient ship. This boat had a shallow draft and a short mast, with an oval hull; it appeared to be a funerary object intended for the dead beneath the sea—in our terms, this boat was a Mingqi.

Amidst the surging waves, we couldn't get a clear look at the boat, but with this rare chance for survival, whether the boat was a Mingqi or a ghost ship, we had to climb aboard first. We feared that any hesitation might result in us being scattered by rising swells once the waves intensified.

I shook off my lethargy and swam toward the boat. Only upon reaching it did I understand: the hull of this vessel was crafted from the carapace of a giant turtle, slightly larger than a standard lifeboat, capable of holding five or six people. Inside, there was only a shallow compartment, too small for anyone to enter, filled with burial goods like coral. Since it was meant for the dead, it contained nothing practical. The sail was made of whale hide, and the rigging from shark tendons. Compared to ordinary wooden boats, this vessel of nearly fossilized turtle shell and whale bone could remain as good as new, still usable. However, this ancient boat was clearly more style than substance; it would surely sink in a storm or heavy seas.

But we couldn't afford to be choosy. Helping one another, we successively boarded the "underworld vessel," collapsing onto the turtle shell, panting and exhausted, too weary to move. It wasn't the stormy season here, and with the sea mist condensed from the Nanlong in the sea eye dissipating, the chances of the terrifying trip back were slim. As long as the Goddess Mazu protected us from hurricanes and typhoons, resting on this tiny ark meant we wouldn't immediately face feeding the sharks.

Duoling remained unconscious in the boat. Everyone else was utterly spent, closing their eyes in deep sleep, unwilling to open them even if the sky were to fall. My own eyelids drooped, and I drifted off for an hour or two, my mind faintly grappling with the details of the "Mountain Shifting and Sea Filling Technique"—desperately trying to figure out how to utilize the methods of the Mountain Shifters to navigate this bone-and-shell boat back to Coral Temple Island without water or food.

In the latter half of the night, gnawing hunger woke me. I saw Shirley Yang was also awake, leaning against the whalebone mast, gazing up at the starry sky. I stared at the densely packed stars for a while too. The experiences of this voyage flashed through my mind. Feeling deeply moved, I couldn't help but say to Shirley Yang, “We knew the Coral Spiral Sea was unpredictable and dangerous, but we rushed in headfirst anyway. Now look at us: a boat full of priceless Qingtou, yet we can’t trade them for a flask of clean water or a piece of dried ration. Thinking back, we must have been insane then…”

Shirley Yang replied, “If you were mad, I was just a fool, tricked by you into sharing the madness.”

I quickly defended myself: “If I was mad, Professor Chen egged me on. I truly admire our predecessors who dedicated their lives to tomb raiding and mountain shifting. This life—not knowing what tomorrow brings, having no fixed home yet belonging everywhere—it’s not something everyone can bear. How many brain cells must die daily living like that? It’s time we lived a quiet, law-abiding life.”

Shirley Yang sighed softly, “If only you genuinely felt that way. But it’s easier to change rivers and mountains than a person’s nature. In your eyes, the scenery is always distant; there is no scenery up close. You can’t sit still at home for more than a few days. However, this time, drifting at sea—the ruthless winds and waves are indeed different from before. Let’s pray to God we don't end up as the Flying Dutchman.”

The "Flying Dutchman" is a synonym for a ghost ship, a legend about a vessel cursed to sail forever without making port. Shirley Yang had mentioned it before, and the thought sent a shiver down my spine. I quickly tried to distract myself by examining the Qingtou we had salvaged from the South Sea.

The gains from being a Mojin Xiaowei doing mountain scouring could never compare to this haul as Danmin. We had practically dredged up everything from the South Sea’s eye, the most important being the Qin Wang Zhaogu Jing (King Qin’s Bone-Revealing Mirror), the head of the Eight Mirrors of Qin. If we could deliver it to Professor Chen, one major desire would be fulfilled.

However, this ancient bronze mirror held a heavy Yin energy; since finding it in the sunken ship, I had kept it sealed in a bag and hadn't looked at it again. I took it out now and examined it closely with Shirley Yang again. A bright moon hung high over the sea, but under its light, the ancient mirror showed little luster. The surface was heavily worn. Looking at the fine seal script carved on the body, it was extraordinarily intricate. Summer artifacts were plain and unadorned; Yin artifacts were ancient and majestic, their patterns like crawling insects or swimming fish. But the carvings on the Qin Wang Zhaogu Jing resembled tadpoles forming an array, seeming to contain ancient trigrams. It was likely a secret artifact cast during the Western Zhou Dynasty.

As I marveled at its craft, my gaze fell upon the four-legged mer-fish decorating the mirror's edge, and I froze, as if mesmerized. The stylized four-legged fish adorning the mirror body were simple yet evocative, but their eyes were hollow, lacking pupils, much like the bronze dragon talisman I discovered in the Hundred-Eye Cave over a decade ago. That blind dragon talisman was also an antique of unknown provenance, placed inside the bronze coffin of Huang Daxian as a Mingqi. Recalling it now, the dragon talisman and the fish ornamentation on the bronze mirror shared extremely similar antique style, form, and size.

Chen Jingzi, who made a living by fortune-telling in Beijing, seemed to know the secret behind this, but our last meeting was rushed. When I mentioned the blind dragon talisman, he only made a gesture of "Four," and then vanished. I had pondered it repeatedly but couldn't decipher what "Four" meant. Now, seeing the pupil-less four-legged fish adorning the bronze mirror only deepened my confusion. Did "Four" refer to four types of bronze artifacts, with the dragon and the fish being two of them, leaving two others unknown? What were these eyeless bronze beasts used for? What secrets did they hide? The tadpole patterns on the Qin Wang Zhaogu Jing seemed to contain trigram numbers; perhaps these mysterious, sightless bronze dragons and fish were related to the comprehensive celestial trigrams of the Western Zhou period.

The Sixteen-Character Celestial Trigram Numerology contained infinite inherent numerical possibilities, capable of deriving various trigrams. These trigrams, in turn, required specific texts for interpretation—a task that seemed as difficult as scaling the heavens for someone with my amateur skills. However, Gucai’s ancestors, the Danmin, had passed down the most rudimentary oral chants of the Western Zhou Celestial Trigram system across generations. Though the chant itself wasn't complex, its content was even more profound than what Zhang Yingchuan, the descendant of the author of the Sixteen-Character Yin-Yang Feng Shui Secret Arts, had studied. Yet, the Danmin had always treated these verses as protective incantations for the seabed, seemingly unaware of their origin or source.

Thinking of this, I turned to look at the sleeping Gucai, considering asking him about the Qin Wang Zhaogu Jing once he awoke, hoping he might know the hidden meaning behind the blind bronze beasts.

While I was lost in thought on the boat, Fatty and Uncle Ming also woke up, driven by hunger. The sea was calm now, the wind settled, and we had no idea where this broken vessel had drifted. We shared the last few drops of water in the canteen to moisten our throats and discussed how to catch a few flying fish if they swam by, to eat raw for sustenance.

I too felt the burning hunger. I carefully re-sealed the Qin Wang Zhaogu Jing and told the others, “Revolution is a banquet; you can’t do anything without filling your stomach. You must approach eating and drinking with the ruthlessness and appetite of autumn sweeping away fallen leaves; there can be no carelessness. So, we need to figure something out quickly…”

Fatty, Uncle Ming, and I started trying to figure out how to catch fish. Uncle Ming mentioned that the South Sea had "Flying Colors" (Feise), which often traveled in schools, weaving through the waves. If we used luminous pearls as bait at daybreak, we could lure the winged flying fish to skim past the side of the boat. But it was still the middle of the night, and we waited by the bow for a long time without seeing any fish breach the surface.

In desperation, we decided to wait for dawn. Turning back, I saw Shirley Yang checking on the still-unconscious Duoling. Without medicine or doctors on the vast ocean, if she remained in a coma, her life could be in danger; the situation was grim.

Shirley Yang, noticing her condition worsening, quickly asked me to check Duoling’s pulse. But the moment I touched Duoling’s wrist, I felt something hidden beneath her sleeve—it seemed she was wearing a watch. I assumed it was a dive watch and tried to remove it, but surprisingly, what Duoling wore on her wrist was the diamond-encrusted gold watch Fatty had pried off the arm of a dead man in the sunken ship. Seeing this, Fatty tried to retrieve the watch, but the gold watch was already deeply embedded in the flesh of Duoling’s wrist; it might require cutting to remove it.

I looked at the gold watch in confusion: "This gold watch... how did it end up on her?" Just as I was wondering, an intensely foul, fishy odor drifted in with the sea breeze. Having dealt with corpses many times, we all recognized it as the smell of decay, but there were no rotting bodies on the boat, which was very strange.

Uncle Ming, having handled ancient corpses for over a decade, immediately recognized it as true rigor mortis stench. After sniffing each other for a while, everyone confirmed the stench was coming from Duoling. A closer inspection revealed faint rigor mortis spots on her body, and a few drops of foul, oily fluid were trickling from her mouth and nose. I had long suspected the Mary Celeste wreck was problematic and that the captain’s gold watch might be deeply cursed. At that moment, I didn't care about injuring Duoling's flesh; I used my dive knife to forcefully pry the gold watch loose and threw it into the sea.

Uncle Ming exclaimed in horror, “It’s bad! That gold watch was salvaged from the wreck; it must have been tainted with a Nanyang Jian Tou hex. Throwing away the watch is useless! The hex is already on her now. The corpse stench on her is worse than an infectious disease. If you don’t throw Ah Ling into the sea to feed the fish, none of us on this boat will survive!”