Demonic Whale Sea

On the seventh day after the Zi Zhenzhu left the island, the sea began to darken.

Old Luo, the navigator, stood at the bow, repeatedly checking his compass against the chart. He was in his sixties and had spent most of his life sailing these waters. The creases in his face held the dark red of years of sun and wind.

"The wind's wrong," Old Luo said. "It should've been blowing from the southeast last night, but it's been blowing north instead. Another two hours on this course, and we'll reach the edge of the Demonic Whale Sea."

Bai Chenxiang dropped down from above. "There's a bank of dark clouds to the north. I can't see the sea beneath it. The east is clear for now."

Tang San went to the rail and found that he could not see a single small fish nearby.

For the past seven days, they had encountered flocks of seabirds every day. In the mornings, small sea soul beasts had even followed the stern, fighting over fish bones tossed out by the cook. Now the sea was empty. The oars cut through the water without disturbing a living thing.

Old Luo took out a sounding line weighted with lead and lowered it into the sea. It had sunk barely a dozen yards before it slanted north. The underwater current was moving faster than the wind-driven waves above.

"Too late to go around." He hauled the line back in, its coarse fibers rubbing his palm red. "The current's been carrying us off course since last night, and the compass is being affected too. We're no more than thirty miles from the black waters."

"Will the Deep Sea Demonic Whale King chase a ship?" Ning Rongrong asked.

"Not usually. It treats those waters as its territory, but