“Yutong has always been cool and distant, not one for many words. Let me speak on her behalf.”
“Li Xiaoshaogu, three days ago we all tumbled onto this vast bronze ship—a ship so enormous that you can’t tell its direction. You lost a lot of blood and were on the brink of death. You urgently needed a blood transfusion, and only your senior brother and I, your caring senior sister, were willing to donate.”
“But your senior brother’s blood type didn’t match, so it all fell on her!”
Qi Shanshan’s lips were plump and glistening, and a smile graced her face, exuding a captivating charm. In her graceful and dazzling way, the healer herself was like a remedy. Only then did Li Weiyi realize that he had been unconscious for three days.
“Thank you, senior sister. Thank you, Dr. Qi,” Li Weiyi said.
He tried to sit up, but apart from a searing pain in his left arm, he perceived nothing else. The right arm, still receiving the blood transfusion, was barely strong enough to help. His injuries were even more serious than he had feared.
“Just rest well! The wound on your left arm nearly tore through all the muscle. You can see the bone, and even the bone has cracks. Although we managed to clean and stitch it up, almost all the medicines in the infirmary were ruined. We could only find a few that might work. You may hold on for now, but there could be complications later.”
“Just rest and drink some water.”
Cai Yutong, who rarely spoke, handed him a bottle of water already unscrewed and then left the infirmary with Qi Shanshan. The deck of the bronze ship was vast—its width alone reached five hundred meters. Thick fog made it impossible to see the ship’s other end from here.
Outside the infirmary was the eerie, murky Graveyard Stone Forest. The stone tablets, shrouded in ghostly mist and dark energy, exuded a terrifying aura reminiscent of a haunted domain—just like a foggy winter morning. A few nearby burial mounds, rising as high as seven or eight meters like little earthen hills, could be clearly seen.
One did not know what kind of beings lay buried there. In front of some tombs, there were tattered, old ghost flags flapping in the wind, their strange patterns bizarre and unsettling. The stone monuments were immense, weighing tens of thousands of pounds.
Their stone surfaces were severely eroded, and the ancient inscriptions had blurred over time. A few old professors were gathered below, studying and debating them. Elsewhere, a scientific survey ship over a hundred meters long lay on its side like a steel beast on the open deck, broken in two.
Jagged and warped steel structures were exposed at the break, forming passages that led into the interior of the vessel. A large number of strong and youthful survey team members were inside, scrambling to rescue supplies. They were trying to transfer everything salvageable.
The shouts, the clanging of colliding goods, the sound of hurried footsteps—all intertwined amidst the dense fog. Cai Yutong did not wear her usual thick cold-weather gear; instead, she wore a leather windbreaker over a knitted half-skirt.
Her figure, with smoothly flowing lines around the chest and waist, and tight jeans that showcased her long, straight legs, caught the eyes of many survey team members who passed by. Some stole furtive glances, others watched from a distance. There were also some admiring looks directed at Qi Shanshan.
Even under her healer’s uniform, her long, smooth jade-like legs attracted attention—a beauty that ranked just a bit below Cai Yutong’s. “Do you feel any changes?” Qi Shanshan asked softly, gazing out at the dark, ghostly mist beyond the ship’s side wall, her smile subtle and her voice barely above a whisper.
“Changes? What do you mean?”
Cai Yutong replied.
“You, with all your cleverness and wisdom, have focused solely on scholarship!”
Qi Shanshan’s expression grew serious and her voice dropped lower.
“Have you not noticed that the way people look at us has become bolder and more aggressive than before?”
“Really?”
Cai Yutong glanced over at the busy survey team members, deckhands, and security personnel. Qi Shanshan sighed in slight disappointment.
“Do you think we can ever return?”
“Earth… you mean the world we knew?”
Cai Yutong thought for a moment.
“We don’t even know how we tumbled onto this bronze ship. To try to go back now seems nearly impossible. The microscopic and the macroscopic are two entirely different realms. So tell me, in which direction is this bronze ship sailing? And what kind of shore will it lead us to?”
The mist was so thick it obscured the sea below the ship, but one could feel that the bronze ship was moving rapidly. Qi Shanshan, uninterested in discussing matters beyond her control, said, “If we can’t go back, do you think everyone will continue to adhere to the laws and morality of our old world?”
Cai Yutong was far from naïve; in fact, she was brilliant, though she tended to focus solely on her work rather than be as contemplative as Qi Shanshan.
Since she raised the question, Cai Yutong began to deliberate in her mind: When human nature is unrestrained, civilization and morals will collapse, and old social identities lose their meaning, replaced instead by savagery or… by strength, absolute strength.
“Whoever holds the more powerful strength will never be willing to be led or commanded. Instead, they will choose to rebel and seize power—accompanied by blood and violence.”
“Right now, this bronze ship seems to have become an independent little world.”
“And it’s one with scarce resources,” Qi Shanshan added.
“If this bronze ship keeps chugging along without pause, it won’t be long before power shifts and the darkest sides of human nature are laid bare in blood. We, with our feeble abilities, and ironically blessed with the kind of beauty no one in such chaotic times should have, will face a terrible end if we don’t plan ahead.”
Cai Yutong asked, “Are you really that afraid of attracting attention?”
“It’s not fear of being noticed—it’s the clear knowledge that, stripped of all learning and status, I am but a weak woman. How is it that you seem to lack even this sense of crisis?”
Qi Shanshan chided her a bit, then continued, “On this ship, the one with the strongest martial might is undoubtedly First Mate Zhao Meng.” With a faint smile in her eyes, Cai Yutong teased, “So you’re scheming now? Don’t tell me you’re thinking…?”
Before she could finish, Qi Shanshan shook her head.
“Zhao Meng has impressive individual strength and carries an air of righteousness—a natural leader. But his sensitivity to changes in the situation is far too low. Right now he’s still busy helping to rescue the supplies from the survey ship.”
“On the other hand, Second Mate Xie Tianshu—I have observed him secretly these past three days. He’s been actively bonding with the security team members and getting close to the young survey team members. This son of a high-ranking family knows power and human nature all too well, and he harbors ambition.”
Then, in a half-joking tone, Qi Shanshan added, “I see that his cousin Xie Jin is rather fond of you. How about this—we each take one, use our own methods, share things fairly, and neither of us competes with the other. That way we can secure those two brothers ahead of time.”
Cai Yutong knew that Qi Shanshan wasn’t simply spouting empty threats, yet she had little interest in any kind of ‘preemptive planning.’
“When the day comes that civilization and morals collapse, why should I continue clinging to this hell on earth? It wouldn’t be so hard to jump off the side of the ship, after all.”
Rolling her eyes, Qi Shanshan retorted, “I hardly know you. Didn’t you set your eyes on that robust junior fellow inside? I must remind you seriously—don’t get infatuated.
In our current situation, a pretty face isn’t enough.”
“Besides… his condition is terrible. Even if that wound on his left arm heals, he’ll never be able to lift heavy objects again—he’ll essentially be half crippled.”
“Moreover, creatures’ claws usually carry viruses. The virus on that bear-like creature’s claw is bound to be even worse, posing a huge potential threat.”
“Are you really sure that, in a future of scarce supplies and potential turmoil, you want to choose someone who would only weigh you down?”
Cai Yutong extended a hand as pure and pale as snow, speaking in a serious tone, “First of all, I haven’t chosen anyone. Secondly, on that survey ship, if he hadn’t stepped up to lure away the bear-like creature, I might have died long ago!
One thing is one matter and another is another; what I owe, I will definitely repay. And besides, you’d best not mention“a burden”where he might hear it—imagine the psychological pressure he’d be under.” Qi Shanshan laughed, “So you say you don’t mind?
I’ve never seen you so infatuated with any man before. Remember that old saying from our school days—‘Senior sisters full of affection, handsome juniors studious; first they learn, then they love…’ Fine, I won’t say it anymore.
But don’t say you’re not thinking of planning ahead—you’ll regret it!” Ignoring her, Cai Yutong walked straight toward the overturned, broken section of the survey ship where an open-air makeshift kitchen had been set up. …
Li Weiyi had not found the Yellow Dragon Sword, nor the Dao Ancestor Taiji Fish that was meant to hang around his neck—its whereabouts unknown. His body was terribly weak. It took him nearly half a bottle of water to regain a little strength.
Yet the fierce hunger soon returned. Cai Yutong, cradling a bowl of steaming fish soup, entered the infirmary. The aroma filled the tin walls of the infirmary instantly.
Helping Li Weiyi sit up, she said, “I knew you were hungry, so I grabbed a bowl for you ahead of time. Enjoy this rare delicacy—the freezers are broken, the refrigeration is failing, and this meat and fish is likely all we’ll get in the coming days. Vegetables and fruits won’t last much longer either.”
Her remark about the future clearly owed much to the concerns raised earlier by Qi Shanshan about what lay ahead. Li Weiyi’s right arm was still dribbling blood, unable to help him. So, word by word, Cai Yutong fed him with a spoonful at a time.
One had to admit, Cai Yutong was a top-notch beauty—her beauty and figure unhidden by bulky cold-weather gear. Her eyes, though cool, shone brightly; her skin was delicate and pure; her lips carried a gentle, refined hue. Even separated by a thin veil of fish soup vapor, her beauty took on an almost hazy, dreamlike quality.
No matter how dire the circumstances, having a senior sister so attentive made one’s heart warm. Li Weiyi, well aware of Cai Yutong’s usually indifferent nature, couldn’t help but feel touched. He thanked her once again.
At that moment, Qi Shanshan and two trainee researchers entered, carrying bowls of fish soup, to check on Professor Xu, whose legs had been broken in the fall.
“Your senior brother asked me to ensure you were well looked after. As for the injuries—they’ll heal if they can, and some may even lead to death. We simply don’t have enough hands now for extra duties, so I can’t afford to be idle,” Cai Yutong said, almost tempted to put the bowl down and let Li Weiyi drink on his own, feeling that the three who had just passed by were watching her with strange eyes.
Right now, the connection between her and Li Weiyi had grown somewhat ambiguous, easily leading to misunderstandings. Professor Xu lay on the bed next to Li Weiyi, his eyes no longer shining as they once did, his mood unstable.
“We definitely cannot go back. With the freezers out of commission, our food supply might only last half a month. No, in just ten days, things will go terribly wrong. Once all the perishable food spoils, there will surely be disaster… survival of the fittest… I have seen that day coming… where even animals return to their basest instincts…”
Hearing the worries expressed by Cai Yutong and Professor Xu, the once-delicious fish soup lost its flavor to Li Weiyi. He longed to step outside and see what kind of world awaited beyond.
Ten days.
The injuries on his arm would surely never recover. With doubt and perplexity churning in his heart, Li Weiyi drank the entire bowl of soup. Slowly, his body began to warm, and strength returned.
Once Cai Yutong, Qi Shanshan, and the two graduate trainees left, he finally asked Professor Xu about the “Buddha's Relics” and the “microscopic world.” After learning the truth, he secretly pondered, “The Buddha’s Relics might just be that recovered fish eye from the Dao Ancestor Taiji Fish!
Could it be that the Dao Ancestor Taiji Fish activated the bronze ship, causing the entire survey team to plunge into the microscopic world, setting us on this unknown journey?”
“Microscopic? Is it really the microscopic world as taught in textbooks?”
Everything felt so bizarre, completely beyond comprehension. Coupled with his serious injuries and profound insecurity, his emotions began to mirror Professor Xu’s instability, growing increasingly agitated.
“No, I can’t let this happen.”
“If even senior sisters like yourself and Dr. Qi can remain calm and composed through such drastic changes, must my state of mind be any less? I would be betraying many years of Master’s teachings.”
“When your mind is in disarray, your spirit falters. When your will is disturbed, your soul is lost.”
In his mind echoed his master’s oft-repeated words. Then he took a deep breath and began practicing the Jade Void Breathing Technique, drawing in and expelling the energy of heaven and earth. Back on Earth, he had practiced this breathing technique for at least three hours every day, year after year.
Even though he had never cultivated any real inner strength or true qi, the practice allowed his mind to quiet swiftly with each breath, banishing all distractions. It was this method that enabled him to face danger without succumbing to fear.
When confronted by those bear-like creatures, he would actively engage the Jade Void Breathing Technique, seeking that state of calm, free of all muddled thoughts. Lying on the bed, after about half an hour of controlled breathing, Li Weiyi finally reached a profound, serene state—a mysterious emptiness.
Then, suddenly, the sole of his right foot grew scorching hot, as if it were burning. He had never experienced anything like it before. …
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(The chapter ends.)