Chapter 83

After several days of sailing, when they returned to the sunlight, Captain William was already at the bow of the Bingshan, talking with Kraft about the next Haigang.

After getting to know each other, the two quickly grew close; so when Kup, barely adapted to life aboard, returned to Kraft's side clutching his stomach, he was astonished to discover that his own retainer was not the person closest to Kraft on this ship.

Realizing this fact, the already chilling night wind grew colder still. Kup rubbed his hands and walked toward the bow, preparing to fulfill—merely in theory—the duties of a retainer.

He thought a man who could drive away such things wouldn't need a guard. Added to his days of seasickness, he hadn't done a single chore, yet still drew pay without working—it unsettled him.

The night wind howled mournfully; vivid scenes from the captain's terrifying tales surfaced in his mind. Kup shivered, pulled his coat tighter, and hurried toward the two shadowed figures in the dark.

The bulkier figure on the right extended a hand, pointing toward the darkness ahead—darkness like the world's birth, before the gods had demanded light appear.

"Yes, right there. You'll see it soon."

"Are you certain?" asked the younger voice on the left, tone skeptical. Kup followed his gaze—same doubt rose in him. What could possibly be worth seeing at this hour?

"Trust an old captain's hard-won experience—you'll see it soon. And I strongly recommend you go down there. Rare opportunity. You won't regret it." He left the suspense hanging, as every story does, urging the listener to imagine what came next.

The bow fell silent. Kup stared into the distance—nothing but darkness. Yet the two ahead waited patiently, showing no sign of impatience.

Just as he was about to give up on the endless wait, a bright point appeared far in the distance, piercing the dull black. Like the Morning Star, but far brighter—and slowly rotating. Within a few breaths, it vanished into the heavens.

As the ship drew nearer, the periodic light rose higher, its brightness intensifying. Thin beams like lightning sliced through the night sky, leaving a horizontal streak of luminance in their wake.

"Welcome to Haigang!" The captain turned, arms wide, introducing for the first time a stop on the journey—his mood clearly excellent. "We'll stay here for several days."

Behind him, a line of tiny points appeared—lines, if he wasn't mistaken, each of a different color. The brilliant guiding light overhead had so dazzled them that they'd overlooked these.

They were the shore's lanterns—dreamlike and enchanting at night. Kraft hadn't imagined he'd ever see something resembling neon here.

"Christen Mountain Lighthouse, isn't it beautiful? But don't just stare up high—we'll be there soon." William proved his experience, lowered his hand, and stepped beside the young man. "Remember to bring your money. And keep hold of your purse."

Cheers rose from the deck. The captain left the bow, symbolically reminding his crew not to get carried away, shooing them back to their posts to prepare for harbor entry.

Far more vibrant than Wenden Haigang, Kup had never seen so many colors of light outside a church. The line of glowing points grew richer, more continuous as they neared shore.

They were flames glowing through colored glass—brilliant, shifting hues that bathed the entire waterfront street in warm, hallucinatory tones. Merely looking eased the damp chill; the lively atmosphere drove away homesickness.

The scent of food and alcohol tugged at the noses of those just disembarking. Alongside them, unfamiliar scents—essential oils, incense-like aromas—rose, a fragrant dust amplifying their presence, rivaling the others.

"Ugh." Kraft pressed his nose. The powdered scent stung, making him want to sneeze—and it was growing stronger, creeping up behind him.

He remembered the captain's words, clutched his purse, and turned guardedly—only to see a face thickly painted white with red powder leaning close, offering a forced, artificial smile. The strange odor came from the falling powder.

"Stay away from my friend." William appeared beside Kraft, replacing Kup's duty in his daze, swatting away the hand reaching for Kraft's shoulder. The woman took the hint and withdrew, seeking another customer.

"Looks like you've never been here? Need me to recommend a reliable place?"

"No." Kraft declined awkwardly. He now understood what William had meant. "I think I'll just find a tavern."

William confirmed Kraft had truly never been here, laughed, and slapped his back. "No need to be shy. Some places aren't reliable—they'll give you diseases you can't even name. My recommendations? Absolutely trustworthy."

"Allow me to decline." In this age, no such thing as "trustworthy" places existed. He'd read enough about those incurable diseases in books—he had no desire to experience one where medicine was scarce.

"Kup, over here!"

Pulling Kup free from the crowd, the three walked into the city under Captain William's lead. The nightlife here far surpassed Wenden Haigang's, with even a rudimentary concept of colored lights.

Kraft approached to examine the lanterns, discovering their colors were richer than he'd imagined—even within the same hue, differences abounded. A single red split into pale red, deep red, orange-red, and more.

Perhaps it was the handcrafted workshops—soulful but lacking technique—that gave each its character: irregular edges, uneven impurities within the glass, creating gradients and speckled effects in the light.

In effect, the poor quality produced varied results. Even most of them were merely shards of glass set into lanterns, with grease or other fuel burning behind them. Every tavern still open, every primitive entertainment spot, bore some decoration.

Sailors in seafaring garb came and went, moving from one establishment to another, spending their coins before departure. The bright beam from the mountain lighthouse was entirely drowned out by the riot of colored lights. The reek of alcohol and itchy powder numbed the nose.

The decadent, indulgent atmosphere unsettled Kraft. He understood the repression of life at sea, knew sailors and captains alike needed psychological release—but only to a point.

This place, where he felt so out of place, resembled the early prototype of a commercial street—yet its consumption structure was simplistic, and no other industry could be discerned.

As they walked deeper into the city, away from the harbor, the colored lights diminished, the streets grew darker. Captain William's steps never slowed—he led them purposefully down the main road.

The crowd didn't thin with distance from the port. Many sailors walked beside them, their lanterns and torches casting flickering shadows that illuminated the path ahead, moving silently toward their destination.

The atmosphere tilted toward its opposite pole. Before he realized it, they stood immersed in solemnity. Kup, who had been gawking, fell quiet.

After walking in silence for over ten minutes, estimating they neared the city's center, the street turned a sharp corner, angling at a right angle.

A faint song drifted on the wind—not the sailors' hoarse, sea-dried chorus of shanties, nor the sultry tunes from dubious buildings luring customers.

Ethereal, crystalline voices—voices frozen before puberty—sang in unison across a vast space. Harmonies layered over indiscernible hymns, forming wave after wave of sacred, untouchable resonance.

The man ahead stiffened abruptly, his clear hostility halting him as he gripped his sword. Kup nearly collided with him—he remembered this same tension in Kraft only when discussing his illness in the Salt Tide District.

William heard the footsteps stop behind him, turned. "What's wrong? We're almost there."

"Nothing. Just remembered something unpleasant." Kraft steadied himself and followed William around the corner.

In the night, a brilliantly lit, magnificent building burst into their vision at the city's center—as if it had gathered the colored lights of half the street and piled them all upon itself.

Countless stained-glass windows, each composed of translucent, polished glass arranged into symmetrical floral geometric patterns—or figures clad in vivid robes—were crowned by halos of white and gold, refracting the cathedral's daylight-bright candles, as if angels walked among mortals.

The central golden ring was flanked by stained-glass figures on the façade. A massive chandelier's light pierced the white-glass wings, transforming the glass's brilliance and splendor into divine majesty.

"The Haigang's Comfort Church—the source of the harbor's name." William dared not point directly at the glass figures, whispering to Kraft amid the crowd. "Be quiet inside."

"Huh? I thought it was…"

The contrast was too great. Neither Kraft nor Kup had realized how they'd wandered from the harbor's intoxicating revelry to a church. They'd assumed "Haigang" meant sailors came here for spiritual comfort through alcohol and carnal release.

Fortunately, he caught himself before finishing. Nearby sailors turned, glaring at them. The unspoken second half was obvious—everyone had walked from the harbor. They knew exactly what you were thinking.

"Sorry, sorry. First time here. Deceived by those reckless rascals." Kraft quickly apologized—purely unintentional, please don't take offense.

It seemed this misunderstanding wasn't new—the sailors didn't press the matter. But that glance triggered Kraft's memory: at least two of them had emerged from the lantern-lit doors near the harbor and walked with them all the way to the church.

The stark contrast no longer felt so jarring. An unspoken understanding bridged the two ends of the street: indulgence was comfort. Religion was comfort too.

"The sage time, huh?"

Maybe he hadn't needed to apologize after all.