Chapter 70: Surging Waves, Hidden Reefs

Lin Qian's original intention was to find where this spy came ashore.

That was why he deliberately sailed to Ma'er Cove, waiting until near nightfall before turning back.

Per Lin Qian's instructions, Bai Qing was to return to the island and report once she had seen where the spy went.

But the man before her was acting strangely, and she found herself wanting to follow and see what he was up to.

After a moment of hesitation, Bai Qing made up her mind, gently worked the oar, and followed anyway.

Both vessels were small sampans, so Bai Qing dared not get too close, trailing far behind at a distance of five or six li.

To avoid being spotted by the boat ahead, Bai Qing simply crouched half-way down as she rowed.

This posture was extremely taxing; after the time it takes to burn one stick of incense, Bai Qing's arms ached and her legs went numb, but to avoid detection she gritted her teeth and pressed on.

An hour later, her arms felt heavier than a thousand jun, her legs throbbed as if pierced by needles, and she was drenched in sweat.

By now the sky had grown darker, the sun already more than half sunk below the sea's surface.

The boat ahead gradually faded from view in the darkness.

Bai Qing quickened her rowing and drew a bit closer to the boat ahead.

The sky grew ever dimmer, the sun's last trace of afterglow about to be swallowed by the sea.

If she did not turn back now, once the sea was pitch black, there would be no going home.

She no longer knew how far from shore she was; all around stretched an endless black ocean. Their boats were mere sampans, unable to withstand wind and waves—if a gale rose in the night, she would surely end up buried beneath the sea.

Bai Qing could not help feeling afraid, but thinking of how far she had already followed, giving up now would be a bitter regret.

Moreover, the man in the lead was no fool—he steered steadily eastward with confidence, which meant there must be a way through ahead.

Lin Qian had once risked his life to help her and her brother avenge themselves, and she had always kept that debt in her heart. Now that she finally had a chance to repay him, how could she let it go? She forced down her unease and continued to follow closely.

Just as the sky was nearly pitch black, the boat ahead suddenly slowed, then inexplicably began turning left and right across the sea, as if it had run into a ghost wall.

At first Bai Qing found it baffling, but after watching closely she realized the man's movements followed a distinct pattern—he seemed to be dodging something.

She suddenly understood: there were hidden reefs beneath these waters.

These reefs were positioned just right—blocking sampans from passing through while never breaking the surface.

Had the man ahead not led the way, Bai Qing, who had spent nearly half her life rowing boats, would have crashed straight into them.

Now she could only focus her mind and memorize the man's route.

After twisting through more than a dozen turns, the man finally cleared the reefs, straightened his boat, and continued east—and faster than before, vanishing into the night in the blink of an eye.

Seeing she had lost him, Bai Qing felt anxious, but she knew that crossing the reefs demanded care, and not the slightest haste.

These reefs were sharper than knives; if a boat struck one, it would tear open a gash, seawater would pour in, and she would have no chance of survival.

She pulled in her sculling oar, bent down to take out a paddle, and carefully rowed toward the reef zone.

By now the sea breeze was rising, the waves far larger than during the day, and Bai Qing's sampan bobbed unsteadily as the swells struck it.

Bai Qing bent her legs, crouched low, and planted herself firmly on the sampan, her upper body almost entirely unaffected by the motion.

Her eyes locked onto the reef zone. She had only remembered seven or eight parts of the man's evasive route, so she had to be doubly careful.

Fortunately, because the waves were high and the swells churned, the reefs occasionally revealed themselves above the water—it wasn't entirely like crossing a river by feeling for stones.

Bai Qing's eyes lit up. Seizing the moments when the reefs flashed into view, she paddled through, and with a few deft twists and turns, she passed several reefs.

Just then another swell surged forward, and the reefs were instantly swallowed beneath the wave.

The sampan was lifted high by the swell, hurtling straight toward a submerged reef.

Bai Qing remembered where the reef was. Just as the sampan was about to slam into it, she braced her paddle against the rock and pushed the hull back into position.

There was only a light scrape against the reef.

Bai Qing's heart leapt into her throat. She checked the hull—thankfully no leak—and only then let out a breath of relief.

Just then she hit the trough between two waves, and in the moonlight the jagged reefs showed themselves. Bai Qing seized the moment, striking out with her paddle again and again, the little boat weaving through the rocks like a sea snake, until at last she cleared the reef zone.

Only after emerging did Bai Qing realize she was soaked through with sweat, her heart pounding without cease, her hands and feet gone weak.

Crossing those reefs had taken only a few breaths, but it had been perilous in the extreme—had her luck been the slightest bit worse, she would now be food for the fish. Now that she was safe, she could not help feeling a wave of lingering fear.

The man she had been following had navigated these reefs as easily as walking through his own front door—clearly he knew this place intimately.

This must surely be the enemy's lair.

At that thought Bai Qing felt a surge of excitement. Since she had lost the man anyway, she decided to rest a moment before moving on.

Strange to say, the sea that had just been churning with treacherous currents now grew calm.

Bai Qing looked behind her and was astonished to find that the sea behind still rolled with waves, while on this side of the reefs the swells were much gentler.

She watched for a while and gradually understood: the seabed beneath those reefs must be elevated overall, like an underwater plateau, blocking the swells and forming a natural breakwater.

If that was so, this place was even more likely to be Li Kuiqi's lair.

Bai Qing steeled herself, took out her paddle, and slowly rowed into the darkness.

She rowed for what felt like an age, her sweat long since dried, her soaked clothes clinging coldly to her skin, even her rowing motions growing stiff.

Not knowing whether more reefs lay ahead, she dared not use her sculling oar, nor row too fast—she could only inch forward slowly.

All around was utter blackness; she could see only a few steps ahead. Light bumps came from beneath the hull from time to time—whether reefs or fish she could not tell. The sound of wind and waves drifted from afar like the sobbing of some deep-sea leviathan.

An ordinary person alone in such a place—let alone keeping up the rowing—would be brave just to keep from wetting their pants.

Bai Qing, who had spent years diving for pearls, was used to such scenes, yet still her muscles were taut and her hands and feet ice-cold.

Just then, to her right, a faint light flickered on.

Bai Qing looked to the right and saw the light was extremely weak, barely visible, but it blinked on and off, as if beckoning her over.

She had heard the Tanka elders tell of a great fish in the deep sea that bore a ship's lantern on its head. On pitch-black nights it would swim to the surface and use its light to lure boats closer; by the time one saw the monster's hideous face, it was too late—the great fish would swallow boat and crew whole and carry them down to the deep, never to surface again.

When Bai Qing was little, her mother had always used that story to scare her and her younger brother, warning them never to sail at night.

Now, the ship's lantern from the story hung right before her eyes. Bai Qing's breath caught in her throat. She hesitated for a long while, then steeled her heart and rowed toward the light.

The closer she drew to the light, the brighter it shone.

And gradually they scattered, spreading out across the sea's surface.

Drawing closer still, one could hear women's shrill screams and men's lewd laughter.

The sounds came in fragments on the wind—indistinct, yet enough to make one's scalp crawl.

Under cover of darkness, Bai Qing closed to within a dozen-odd zhang and finally made out the full picture from afar.

Yahei

Fenyuan

Pen