The ship had been away from Penglai Island for half a day. The wind had not changed, and the sails remained full. Chen Wuya stood before the helm, his left hand pressed against his left arm. The dark-red marking was no longer burning. Instead, it pulsed with a rhythm, as though answering some distant call. He lowered his gaze to his chest—the first island master's handwritten notes had been tucked inside his clothes, pressed against his skin. He could feel the edges of the pages faintly digging into his chest.
Bai Zhi leaned against the rail, one hand resting on her abdomen. She said nothing, her eyes fixed on the distant sea. Mo Feng emerged from the stern with a newly made mechanism compass in hand, its needle still swaying.
"Fixed it?" Chen Wuya asked.
"Mm." Mo Feng tapped the compass. "It can detect fluctuations in spiritual energy beneath the water. The farther south we go, the stronger the signal will become."
Chen Wuya nodded, slowly releasing his grip on his left arm. He looked up at the sky. The clouds hung low, and sunlight spilled through their gaps, carving patches of light across the deck.
"Where do we go next?" he asked.
He was not asking anyone in particular. It sounded more like he was speaking to himself. Yet everyone aboard heard it.
Mo Feng halted and looked up at him. "You mean... do we head to the South Sea for Dragon's Ambergris first, or return to the Central Plains first?"
Chen Wuya did not answer at once. He turned toward Bai Zhi. She was looking at him too, her expression calm, though her brows were faintly furrowed.
"The child can't wait," she said.
Her voice was quiet, but the ship fell silent at once. Mo Feng said nothing