Chapter 69: Entering the Deep Sea

Sometimes Ye Jingqiu felt that sleep after utter exhaustion was eerily close to death—a kind of aimless drifting without a shred of self-awareness.

That was why, when she finally woke fully on the bed, an almost surreal comfort washed over her like a surging tide.

It was already morning on the second day.

Had she really slept a straight twenty-four hours?

Ye Jingqiu gazed lazily at the numbers on her phone, every muscle and bone in her body aching as if a steamroller had passed over them. Her stomach rumbled twice. With a deeply contented sigh, she dragged herself slowly out of bed.

“Morning.” She reached out to stroke the Little Candle Dragon’s bright eyes at the bedside, yawned hugely, and shuffled toward the bathroom.

Three seconds later, she bolted back inside.

Bewildered, the Little Candle Dragon blinked its enormous, sparkling eyes and wagged its tail.

She’d almost forgotten: the day she’d returned, the base had been crawling with people. There was no way the little dragon could have slipped away, so it had huddled in her pocket and been smuggled right back to the Yangon Branch—like a prize hog trotting eagerly toward the slaughterhouse, blissfully unaware.

Ye Jingqiu sucked in a sharp breath through her teeth. This was a real mess.

She couldn’t reach Olivia at all right now, which meant the little dragon had to stick close and stay hidden.

If that Little Candle Dragon so much as peeked out, the prize hog’s fate would be a sterile lab under blinding lights and cold iron cages.

“You really want to stick with me?” Ye Jingqiu prodded one of its front claws and whispered.

Strictly speaking, she still bore a grudge against this little dragon deep as blood. Yet here it was, nodding furiously, as if it had already decided she was its ride-or-die.

No helping it. She couldn’t bear to turn it over to the base, and setting it loose on its own was far too risky. With Olivia out of touch for the moment, there was only one best play: she’d keep the little dragon with her and turn this into a game of hide-and-seek espionage against the base.

Oblivious to the whirlwind of calculations racing through her mind, the Little Candle Dragon simply assumed she was okay with it staying. Delighted, it flicked up its tail, coiled affectionately around her neck, and let out a couple of eager little barks.

Ye Jingqiu: “…”

Why was it still barking like a puppy? Where was that majestic dragon roar?

It would have to do for now. Ye Jingqiu fashioned a nest out of the blanket for the little dragon, watched it burrow in and settle, then gave it a thousand dire warnings and ten thousand earnest instructions before heading out for food.

The little dragon could subsist on raw elements, after all, but her own fragile human body was starving.

After a quick splash at the sink, she pushed open the door. The fierce tropical sunlight unique to the region cascaded down from the skylight in a blinding flood. But it wasn’t Mother Nature’s glare that left Ye Jingqiu dumbfounded—it was the familiar figure just a few meters away.

Snowy bandages wrapped haphazardly around her body, the left shoulder so pale it almost glowed, revealing faint pink scars beneath. Shi Zui, who never went anywhere without her signature pure-black shirt, had shrugged off half her top. Her lean, narrow waist teased glimpses from beneath the hem.

Captain Shi slid her mouse across the pad with one hand, scanning data at high speed. She registered the sound behind her but didn’t so much as twitch, keeping her eyes locked on the screen as she extended the jar of ointment backward. “You’re here? Guess I’ll have to trouble you to apply this for me again.”

Ye Jingqiu: Huh? Me???

The room hung as silent as the dead of night. Getting no reply, Captain Shi simply set the ointment down, her gaze still riveted to the screen. “Make it quick this time—no need to be thorough. We’ve got to re-evaluate the Submerged Abyss Plan’s viability right after.”

That crisp, all-business tone signaled Captain Shi was deep in work mode, no bandwidth for distractions. Experience had taught Ye Jingqiu the wisdom of staying quiet in these moments. Her mind swirling with massive question marks, she hesitated just two seconds before stepping carefully behind the captain and silently claiming the ointment jar.

It’s just smearing ointment on a shoulder and back! The captain hasn’t even complained—why are you blushing like an idiot, Ye Jingqiu?

You’ve seen it before!

Bolstering herself, Ye Jingqiu drew a deep breath. She dabbed a careful layer onto her fingertip and smoothed it gently over the pale pink scar. Then…

She froze, rooted to the spot.

The ointment clung sticky as glue but spread gossamer-thin, like a dragonfly’s wing. The slightest shift, and her fingertip registered the captain’s skin—smooth and warm as polished jade.

Ye Jingqiu went still.

Ye Jingqiu turned to stone.

Ye Jingqiu turned on herself in disgust.

It’s just ointment! What the hell are you letting your mind wander to, Ye Jingqiu?!

She scrubbed furiously at the thoughts crowding her head. But in that exact instant, Shi Zui’s scrolling faltered, just a fraction.

The touch on her shoulder burned too hot. That fingertip’s heat wasn’t Zhou Xianhui’s—Zhouzhou’s temperature ran perpetually cool thanks to her Instinct.

And while Zhouzhou could be quiet, she wasn’t mute.

Before Shi Zui could dwell on it, “Zhou Xianhui” finally got to work. Shi Zui exhaled in relief—

“Sorry, Captain, I got back a little… Oh, you’ve already done the ointment?”

Zhou Xianhui bustled through the door in a hurry, her eyes meeting Shi Zui’s bewildered stare.

Shi Zui: “?”

Hold on!

If Zhou Xianhui had just arrived, then the person behind her was…

Shi Zui turned her head—slowly, ever so slowly. The instant she registered her little teammate’s face, silence crashed over her like a wave.

Ye Jingqiu, finally cluing in, let out an awkward “uh” and took a tiny step back, her voice barely a whisper. “Um, Captain… I thought you meant me.”

Shi Zui felt every drop of blood in her veins turn to ice. Those fleeting seconds replayed in her mind like a stuttering film reel. Realizing exactly what she’d done, Captain Shi turned her head back—slowly, so slowly.

Ye Jingqiu: “Eh, Captain?”

Ye Jingqiu: “Should I… keep going with the ointment?”

Shi Zui ducked her head deep into her shoulders, her eyes superglued to the screen. Her voice emerged mumbling and sluggish, barely a tenth of its prior volume:

“N-No… that’s fine.”

The room was eerily quiet. Ye Jingqiu was just about to ask the captain if she needed help straightening her clothes when the captain suddenly straightened her back and shot her hand out at breakneck speed. With a swift snap, she slipped on her left sleeve, then yanked her arm back like lightning.

The motion was so fast that even Xie Pingzhi, with her Instinct and Shame Grace running at full throttle, would have to bow in admiration.

This was a rare, almost childish side of the captain that she seldom revealed.

Zhou Xianhui, who had watched the whole exchange from the sidelines, picked up on the subtle vibe. She arched an eyebrow and, with characteristic helpfulness, flipped the page for them. “Alright, now that Xiao Qiu’s awake, shall we discuss the Submerged Abyss Plan?”

Ye Jingqiu shot her a grateful look, seizing the lifeline like a pro. “So, what exactly is this ‘Submerged Abyss’ referring to?”

“The elemental disturbance in the Gulf of Thailand that’s on par with the Candle Dragon? A-Xie should have filled you in already.”

Ye Jingqiu nodded. This disturbance had peaked at unprecedented heights and dragged on far longer than usual. Base members had been on high alert, training Source Weapons on the bay, yet they hadn’t caught a single trace of any potential S-rank Exotic Beast—not even a hint of a Beast Tide.

“We suspect it’s a Messiah ploy to lure us away—using the Yangon Incident to draw our attention while they sneaked Pandora’s Key into the Gulf of Thailand to awaken an Exotic Beast.” Shi Zui cleared her throat gravely and turned the screen around.

The screen displayed a layered map of the entire Gulf of Thailand. The average depth here was about 45 meters, with the deepest point topping out at 60.

Were they diving to fight sea monsters? Challenging, sure, but “Submerged Abyss” seemed a bit dramatic for that.

Puzzled, Ye Jingqiu asked, “So we just suit up in deep-sea gear and dive in?”

Zhou Xianhui shook her head and tapped the screen. “Sort of, but not quite. Look here.”

A spot zoomed in—a pure black blotch that clashed with every layer’s colors, pulsing ominously.

“Is that the target point? Why isn’t the depth marked?”

“Because we can’t measure it,” Zhou Xianhui replied, her eyes darkening. She shook her head. “Its depth keeps increasing. It started at eighty meters, but now it’s climbed to nine hundred. And the kicker? There’s no sign of machinery or life around it. Underwater drones lose contact the instant they get close.”

Ye Jingqiu blinked in disbelief. Was someone—or some beast—drilling straight down? Nearly nine hundred meters? Wouldn’t the pressure crush it flat?

Wait, no—the real question was, how had those extra eight hundred twenty meters been dug out?

The Gulf of Thailand was a rift basin formed during the third geological era, its floor layered with up to 7,500 meters of impenetrable sedimentary rock from millions of years of silt and biological remains. The deep sea held terrors beyond measure; humanity could only timidly scrape the surface for minerals.

If even drill bits couldn’t pierce it, who—or what—could excavate that deep with bare hands?

An Exotic Beast. It had to be one wielding elemental power.

“We’ve requested the S-rank Exotic Beast Archives from the Base Leader, but whatever’s down there, we have to check it out ourselves.” Zhou Xianhui clapped Ye Jingqiu on the shoulder with a grin. “Come on, think of it as a pre-Gaokao diving game to unwind?”

“But at that depth, do we take a submersible?” Ye Jingqiu tsked. This job really was anything but ordinary. Last time they’d been brawling with a dragon under Beijing; now it was off to the ocean depths for beast-hunting. When would she get to tour a volcano or Snow Mountain?

“No, no—the Black Point’s magnetic field is too weird. A sub would probably just go dark on us and hand us a Game Over.”

This came from Xie Pingzhi, who strode in from outside with a spring in her step and a beaming smile that screamed good mood.

Ye Jingqiu’s sharp eyes spotted the Whistling Blade crafted by Zhong Qing in her hand.

Well, well—looks like A-Xie’s riding high on romance.

She huffed. “Diving in wetsuits would still be suicide, though.”

“Not necessarily.” Xie Pingzhi shrugged playfully.

Shi Zui obligingly pulled up the effect diagram for the Submerged Abyss Plan. Around the Black Point stretched an uncanny stillness, like the eye of a storm brewing unprecedented peril.

“With my Instinct paired with Zhouzhou’s power, we can briefly generate a vacuum field around the Black Point. Using A-Xie’s full Shame Grace state, you two can reach the bottom in a few minutes.”

Ye Jingqiu paused. “Us two?”

“Right. Creating the vacuum field takes a huge toll—Zhouzhou and I can’t handle the dive.”

“So the leads on this mission are…?”

“You and Xie Pingzhi.”

Ye Jingqiu paused again, turning to A-Xie, who grinned cheekily. She let out a long sigh.

Xie Pingzhi raised an eyebrow. “What, not thrilled? This is the most solid plan from the Instinct Department.”

Sensing another round of their bizarre sparring about to kick off, Zhou Xianhui and Shi Zui tactfully turned away, leaving the battlefield to Team One’s noisiest duo.

“It’s not that,” Ye Jingqiu said. “It’s just… something as romantic as a deep-sea dive to take in the views, and I get to…”

Xie Pingzhi leaned in threateningly. “You get to…?”

“I get to do it with our A-Xie!” Ye Jingqiu hammed it up, thumbs up.

Xie Pingzhi smirked and flicked her hand dismissively. “Good answer. Any more questions? Want another look at the plan? If not, we’ll run a feasibility check later.”

Something clicked for Ye Jingqiu. She glanced instinctively at the captain, who was huddled in discussion nearby, and rubbed her thumb.

That notebook had gone up in flames during the showdown with the cartel boss, so if she wanted to probe A-Xie about her family, now was the time.

After a moment’s hesitation, she took a small step to the side. “Actually, there is one thing—about the Project Y.”

“Oh, that? Shoot.”

“Here’s the thing: the Project Y started under the banner of life-extension medical research, and word is it dates back to the twentieth century?”

“Right, back then Messiah was still keeping its tail between its legs, scraping together sponsorships through every scam and swindle in the book—and my family got taken for a ride too.” Xie Pingzhi spread her hands, utterly unconcerned.

This was information not found in the Base’s database. The closer they drew to the clues, the faster Ye Jingqiu’s heart pounded. She asked sweetly, “So, A-Xie, about when did your family start investing?”

Xie Pingzhi let out a hey. “You’ve asked the right person. Dealing with the sponsorship funds and cleaning up the reporting mess? That was my mother’s job!”

“So, the timeframe?”

Xie Pingzhi thought for a moment. “I don’t remember the exact month, but the starting year…”

“Yes?”

“1909!”

~~~

Gulf of Thailand, moonlit night.

The bay was eerily still, a deep yellow full moon hanging in the night sky, sea mist rising to lend an otherworldly bleakness to the faint, scattered stars.

A woman wearing half a silver mask stood barefoot on the rocks, her right hand clutching a bronze Key to Pandora’s Box, her snow-white single garment billowing in the wind.

Strands of salty, fishy stench assaulted the air, reminiscent of a market overflowing with dead fish. Even Messiah’s most loyal subordinate couldn’t help a slight frown, but she tilted her head back, seemingly lost in rapture.

Behind the woman stood a group of black-clad figures like devoted deathsworn, silent sentinels. Without the distant airships on the sea and the rotating lighthouse, any witness to the scene might have imagined themselves transported to ancient times, beholding faithful guards watching over their sole liege.

“Your… ladyship, shall we not depart?” one asked respectfully, voice barely above a whisper.

“Just a moment longer to gaze upon the sea,” Number Thirty-Seven replied without turning, letting the night wind tangle her snow-silver tresses. “It’s rare to steal a few minutes of leisure. After all, in just a few days, water this pristine will be gone from here forever, won’t it?”

The man bowed his head even lower. “We dare not presume to guess at the god’s will, but slaying it this time will prove far more difficult than the Candle Dragon. Without the Mirror Domain to block the natural elements, it will lead the Beast Tide to overrun the entire gulf.”

“The Candle Dragon never foresaw its own ignoble end either,” she said. “The divine dragon of legend, master of flame and time, perished beneath the Soul Array before it could even summon a celestial phenomenon. Utterly ridiculous.”

“That’s why I fear for the god’s decree. That day, every creature in the gulf will likely mutate, while those on land slaughter one another in the illusions of the Divine String Melody. Can they truly kill it?”

“Of course,” Number Thirty-Seven replied without hesitation, her grip tightening on the key with profound meaning. “After all, the only thing that can conquer one beast is another, even more savage.”