Chapter 135

“I didn’t know—thought some kind soul was sharing their fruit?” Kraft picked up the tray and turned the blue-purple berries toward Ma Ding.

To someone with average color perception, these two were nearly indistinguishable—like a batch of oranges slipped into a pile of tangerines. Shape and color differed slightly, but the distinction was minimal, easy to overlook.

Given his grim expression, the deep purple berries mixed in could not possibly be blueberries or any edible relative variant.

“We call them devil cherries.” Ma Ding plucked a few from the pile, placed them on the table, and crushed them with the tray’s base, revealing their utterly different interior. Deep purple juice seeped into the rough wood grain, carrying none of the odd odor of inedible fruits.

Anyone accustomed to grabbing a few—or even a handful—would never notice in time that one crushed berry in their mouth was an impostor.

“I thought doctors would be more familiar with these.” Kraft knew Ma Ding’s movements better than the berries; the so-called “messenger” subtly brushed his sword hilt, scanning the surroundings as casually as if in idle chat.

As a fellow traveler, Kraft read the meaning: danger present, but location uncertain—pretend not to notice and test the waters.

“I’m not close to those herb folks. Sounds like you know what it is?”

Kraft withdrew his gaze and saw the same hesitation in Ma Ding’s eyes.

Only seven sailors were on duty, grouped in threes and fours, laughing loudly, occasionally tossing off crude innuendos unsuitable for a child like Yin Feng’s ears.

This wasn’t some obscure vessel—the captain had a solid reputation in the trade circles, a “friend of a friend” through Weilian. There was no chance this was a ship that normally traded goods but occasionally slipped into illicit asset transfers.

“Can’t get any more familiar. This is simple. The worst is when it’s boiled into tea—it makes you thirsty, and before you realize it, you drink more, and soon you’ll never need water again.” Ma Ding spoke in a low voice, his tone dripping with revulsion, as if recounting a conspiracy.

“Convulsions, dilated pupils, vacant stare, then collapse—as if the devil stole their soul. We found this in the galley, boiled with sugar and other seasonings, masked by tea’s slight bitterness—who’d ever suspect?”

Hearing “dilated pupils” and “thirst,” Kraft finally recognized what it was.

【Belladonna】

A classic, timeless poisoning case: patients claim they ate “a few black wild berries.” Due to its pharmacological similarity to atropine, it’s specifically noted as a potent anticholinergic that inhibits contraction of the pupil sphincter and salivary secretion, triggering a cascade of symptoms.

The lethal dose is tiny—the extra belladonna berries on this tray could kill everyone on deck.

To sink this low was beyond ordinary people. Kraft couldn’t imagine who’d want to kill a doctor—surely not a medical dispute?

He hadn’t performed any surgeries lately that ended badly, and the general tradition was “once you leave the clinic, you’re no longer the doctor’s problem”—he’d even had to personally explain post-op care.

Or perhaps someone tied to the black fluid had come knocking. But that didn’t feel right—showing up now with poisoned berries to silence him? The reflex arc was too long. Beyond that, he’d never clashed with anyone, had no known conflicts of interest.

“Any ideas?” Since it wasn’t him, it must be Ma Ding’s side—he’d clearly dealt with this before.

“Not yet.” Ma Ding swept the “devil cherries” aside, selected a handful of normal blueberries, and carried them toward the sailors chatting at a distance. “Hey lads, want some blueberries?”

The sailors, parched from long hours in the sun, gladly took the berries—just moments ago mixed with deadly poison.

Aside from Kraft, no one noticed Ma Ding watching everyone’s reactions the moment they turned away, his cupped fingers blocking the light so only the berry shapes were visible, not their color.

Without hesitation, the blueberries were shoved straight into mouths. Ma Ding frowned slightly—no one showed the slightest hesitation or picked through them between handoff and ingestion.

Not surprising. With their short shirts, hiding a handful of berries and slipping away unnoticed to refill the tray under everyone’s eyes? Impossible.

“Has anyone else come up on deck?” Kraft asked.

“Don’t know.”

“Maybe, didn’t pay attention.”

The sailors shook their heads—they’d been too absorbed in their chatter. This wasn’t the open sea; if someone fell over, they could still jump in to save them. Who cared?

The two abandoned questioning the sailors, returned below deck with the tray, and Kraft stopped Ma Ding from dumping the fruit overboard.

“Keep it. I might need it.”

Natural atropine, with traces of scopolamine—one of the few usable drugs available now. With careful dosing, it had many applications, like the famous hospital’s “6542” joke—same class of antispasmodic, though controlling dosage in herbal form would be tricky.

Ma Ding shot him a look that said, “So you’re no good either,” and silently allowed it.

The doctor offered no explanation—no need to lecture on acetylcholine M-receptors or competitive inhibition. “Visiting the other passengers might be a good idea. What do you think?”

“Of course.”

The ship carried few passengers, each occupying separate cabins. The captain offered expensive, private options.

After interrupting a nap, declining two backgammon matches, and refusing a lunch invitation, the two arrived at a cabin locked even in broad daylight.

The occupant was remembered only as a city dweller who boarded two stops ago; his personal books revealed wealth and education.

“Hello? Sorry to disturb, but the ship’s so dull—could I borrow a book? I’ll pay.” Kraft knocked lightly, offering a flimsy excuse, expecting nothing.

The occupant hadn’t yet woken, wasting the afternoon in sleep. Moments later, a faint creak of wooden hinges came from inside.

Somewhere far from the door—Kraft didn’t recall the captain being generous enough to provide cabinets in passenger cabins.

An arm shot out, shoving him away from the door. Ma Ding pressed a finger to his lips, signaling silence, then stepped back two paces to clear space.

【Porthole】

“What a shame—I’ll come back later…” Kraft kept talking to mask his movement, stepping back and drawing his sword as Ma Ding pushed off the wall, ran, and slammed his shoulder into the door with eyes closed.

Objects were hastily swept aside; a heavy object landed on the table placed before the porthole to ensure light.

His shoulder crashed into the door—the seemingly unsecured cabin door shuddered violently but held.

“He changed the bolt!” Ma Ding stepped back again, then charged forward with renewed force, as if the man inside were his father’s murderer.

The bolt’s latch tore free from its nail, and Ma Ding kicked the door open, bursting into the cabin.

Splashes echoed outside the porthole; discarded clothes lay scattered around, but the cabin’s owner had already fled—showing excellent swimming ability, heading toward the distant shore.

The two men, dressed neatly and formally, couldn’t possibly dive in after him immediately. Kraft, never having chased a killer across water, stared blankly—the northern climate was too cold for swimming practice.

“Can you swim?”

“No!” Ma Ding angrily flung open his robe. Kraft was about to tell him it was too late to undress when a small, well-hidden mechanical device appeared.

A crossbow.

With swift, deft hands, he removed, loaded, and aimed in two breaths. The trigger snapped—the small barbed bolt shot out, then he reloaded, firing at the man in the water who thought he’d escaped.

Even reduced in size, its accuracy and power were more than enough to strike an unarmored target just ten meters away.

After one miss, the shooter adjusted his breath and fired the remaining two bolts precisely into the white splash of the fleeing figure. Kraft’s sharp eyes saw the man stagger, a streak of red dissolving into the fading ripples.

“Someone’s in the water! Three silver coins to pull him up!” Ma Ding leaned out the porthole, shouting to the sailors, and reloaded again.