Chen Wuya stood at the bow, his right palm faintly warm. The sea breeze brushed across his face. Just as he was about to close his eyes and regulate his breathing, a muffled thud suddenly came from the cabin behind him.
He turned and strode over, lifting the curtain. Bai Zhi was bracing herself against the corner of the table, her face pale and a fine sheen of sweat beading on her forehead. She raised a hand over her mouth and dry-heaved again.
Mo Feng rushed out of the next cabin, covering the distance to the table in a few quick strides. He seized Bai Zhi's wrist, pressing his fingertips to her pulse point, his brow drawing tighter and tighter. A moment later, he released her hand and broke into a grin.
"Congratulations," he said. "Three months."
Chen Wuya did not move.
Mo Feng slapped the table. "You're going to be a father! What are you standing there for?"
Chen Wuya's gaze passed over him and settled on the chart of the South Sea spread across the table. The blood-red whirlpool marking stood out starkly—the region they would have to pass through next. Legend had it that those who entered those waters would fall gravely ill at best, and lose their unborn child at worst.
He spoke. "We can't take this route."
His voice was quiet, yet it cleaved through the air like a blade.
Bai Zhi jerked her head up. "What did you say?"
"I'll say it again." Chen Wuya stared at the map. "We can't go to the South Sea now. It's too dangerous."
Sensing that something was wrong, Mo Feng quietly retreated half a step.
Bai Zhi pushed herself upright against the table. Her steps were a little unsteady, but she stood perfectly straight. She looked at