One day later.

Yue Yang led Fengxian, the Southern Wilderness Demon King, and Liuye back through the eastern dock gate, boarding their ship to depart.

His leaving caught Old Iron Anchor completely off guard. He’d had strong misgivings about this group, yet here they were, sailing away. Could they really be merchants? But what merchants in the world walked around with that kind of power at their backs?

“What business are they actually doing?” Old Iron Anchor called over the sharp-eyed informant he’d assigned to tail Yue Yang’s group — the quick-witted Fuyu — and decided to get some answers.

“Gemstones. They’ve got an enormous stock of them, and they’ve been making the rounds of a dozen or so major trading houses here in White River City, selling all manner of fine colored gems at prices thirty percent above market rate. Alongside peddling what they call regional specialties — seven-colored gems from their home territory — they’ve also been buying up elemental ores: Spark-Flower ore, Ember-Drop ore, rare materials like that. From what I could see, the two sisters are the real principals. The silver-masked young man with them is just a guard captain — nothing too impressive in terms of cultivation — but his eye is razor sharp. Knows gems and ores cold. A couple of traveling merchants tried to pass off artificially refined stones that are almost impossible to distinguish from the genuine article, and he saw through them both at a glance.”

Fuyu had only shadowed the group for a single day, but working as the city’s merchants’ appointed guide, he’d gathered plenty.

“Did they mention where they’re headed next?”

Old Iron Anchor rubbed the stubble on his chin and thought for a moment before pressing on.

“Their itinerary has no clear destination — the two sisters are following their whims entirely, and I couldn’t get a read on their next stop. But I did overhear their attendant mention to one of the trading-house stewards that they come from the Eight Wilds Domain.”

Fuyu — the one with two long whip-like antennae growing from the top of his head — delivered his report in precise detail.

“Eight Wilds Domain. There are a dozen or so remote mountain ranges out that way. Multi-colored gems do come from there.” The gorilla-built brute seemed to have some passing familiarity with the region.

“But there’s no particularly famous female powerhouse from that area, is there?” The lobster-eyed man looked uncertain.

“Could be a reclusive clan. Those two sisters — one look and you know they’re from serious old money. Their bearing is nothing like ordinary people.” A bald man with long octopus-like arms offered his assessment.

“Is there any chance they could be… that Divine Punishment Empress who issued the domain-wide summons?” someone said quietly. The suggestion was so absurd that even as the words left his mouth, the speaker seemed to embarrass himself, his voice trailing off to almost nothing.

The Divine Punishment Empress was currently in Greenvalley City in Windstill Swamp, waiting for the national rulers of the Tianhua Domain to come pay their respects. There was no reason for her to travel ten thousand li to White River City.

What purpose would she have here?

The Divine Punishment Empress had never been heard of in the Tianhua Domain before — she was clearly an outsider. How much could she possibly know of domain affairs? The general assumption was that she was a powerhouse secretly cultivated by the Central Divine Hall, installed to take control after the Radiance Domain Emperor and Rage Domain Emperor’s deaths in battle and the Revenge Domain Emperor’s forced withdrawal. Without an overwhelmingly powerful faction backing her, what woman — no matter how strong — could take over a domain as vast as the Tianhua? Without the Central Divine Hall propping her up, could she hold the domain emperor’s seat? And if she weren’t their person, would she have dared issue a summons to every national ruler in the Tianhua Domain before anyone had acknowledged her authority?

There was also the matter of time. The Divine Punishment Empress had none to spare for White River City. However many national rulers might or might not comply, the momentum was real — with the Central Divine Hall pushing from behind, she would need to remain in Greenvalley City to manage the situation. White River City was nowhere near the center of power, and was, in a sense, one of the most carefully maintained neutral grounds around. Why would she come here? More to the point, White River City was precisely the last place the Central Divine Hall’s people would want to draw attention to. The city’s secrets lay permanently shrouded beneath its mysterious haze and hidden fog. If the Divine Punishment Empress truly was the Central Divine Hall’s instrument for the Tianhua Domain, she would never set foot here — she would never even speak of this place, leaving it to remain forever a location that had simply been forgotten.

“Guesses aren’t always right,” Old Iron Anchor said, “but bold guesses are worth encouraging. The truth of things often turns out stranger than anyone expects. Telling yourself something is impossible is the surest way to get caught wrong-footed.” The weathered lines of his face creased into a grandfatherly smile. He reached out and clapped the speaker on the shoulder. “Wrong this time, but keep thinking that way — use a nimble head to feel out the answers…”

“Hey—”

In the midst of their discussion, the lobster-eyed man with the sharp gaze suddenly called out.

He shot a thin arm toward the southeast. “They’re coming back! That crescent-prowed fast ship that just left — it’s coming back!”

Old Iron Anchor’s expression darkened.

Through the thin water mist, far out on the sea, a crescent-moon-shaped merchant vessel was carving two white lines of foam across the surface at speed, driving hard toward White River City as though something terrible were snapping at its heels from behind.

Before long, following close behind the gem-trading sisters’ ship came a dozen or more broad-bellied square-sailed merchantmen — every last one of them pushing as fast as their hulls could manage, all racing toward the city. At the sight of it, the deep furrow between Old Iron Anchor’s brows eased slightly. He moved quickly to intercept, lifting into the air as he called out:

“You’re safe now — no need to panic! Welcome to White River City. Whatever’s behind you, you’re safe here! What happened out there? Pirates? Sea beast?”

A fat, toad-like man stood at the bow of the first vessel. His face was terrible.

He did not answer.

The crescent ship swept into the dock. Old Iron Anchor watched as everyone disembarked — including the pair of mysterious sisters whose veiled faces still somehow radiated an extraordinary otherworldly quality even with their features concealed, clearly women of exceptional breeding. Every guard and attendant among them carried the tight, unsettled air of people who had come face to face with something they could not fight.

The answer came from the large-scale slavemaster who came fleeing in next, a man who went by the name Xidong.

Xidong was an unusual specimen. His limbs were absurdly short, even by ordinary standards, while his midsection ballooned outward in a belly that put a late-term pregnancy to shame. His face, by contrast, was commanding — almost regal — and his twin mustaches were particularly striking, each curving upward at the tips into a dramatic flourish. Looking only at his face, one might take him for a figure of considerable importance. But the rest of him rather undercut that impression, and the combination struck most observers as somewhere between remarkable and faintly comical.

“Hidden Fog,” he announced, loudly and furiously. “Damn it all. Hidden Fog has never appeared in the outer approaches of White River City — never — and now even the last safe channel is gone.”

Xidong had arranged with several of White River City’s major trading houses to deliver ten thousand slaves at the fastest possible speed. Now, with that devouring, annihilating Hidden Fog appearing without warning, he was stuck here for another day or two. Experience and hard-learned lessons said that after Hidden Fog appeared, the minimum wait before the area could be declared safe was one to two days…

Something flickered in the depths of Old Iron Anchor’s eyes.

Then it was gone.

The lobster-eyed man, the octopus-armed bald man, the gorilla brute, and the others — when they heard the words Hidden Fog, a peculiar expression moved across all their faces. Not quite believing it, and yet making no move to correct the assertion either, they simply stood and let Xidong vent his considerable frustration unchecked. Eventually, Old Iron Anchor dropped into the well-practiced manner of a placating dockhand:

“Xidong, sir — are you certain it was Hidden Fog? White River City’s surrounds have never seen Hidden Fog. This place is the safest haven there is.”

“You think I’m lying? What would that get me? I’d give anything for Hidden Fog to never appear again — do you have any idea how much money every extra day costs me? I’m supposed to be moving ten thousand slaves at maximum speed. Every day of delay costs me five percent. Do you know what that number looks like? That’s more money than you’d see in a lifetime. It’s because of this damned Hidden Fog that I’m stuck in this damned place, and you dock rats think I’m trying to frighten you? Heh — if you don’t believe me, go ahead and try sailing out. Twenty thousand meters from here, I watched two ships sail into what looked like a black void and get swallowed in an instant. The crews, the cargo, the passengers — nothing left. Not even bones — no, not bones — they ceased to exist. Everything gone to nothing. And you still want to stand there and tell me it isn’t Hidden Fog?” Xidong’s fury only built as he went, until he was shouting directly into Old Iron Anchor’s face.

“Xidong, sir, we’ll dispatch people immediately to investigate and confirm when the channel is safe to reopen. Please don’t worry.”

Old Iron Anchor kept smiling, kept his posture low, and kept right on accommodating him.

“Even if you tell me it’s calm again, I won’t go. Everyone knows Hidden Fog is the most unpredictable thing in the world. This man loves money above all things — but a word from a bunch of dock rats is not going to get me to stake my life on it. That is not happening.” Xidong cursed his way through a few more rounds and then departed.

Old Iron Anchor fell silent.

He stood for a long time without speaking.

The lobster-eyed man eventually leaned in and murmured: “It couldn’t be Hidden Fog. It must be that the other thing… has activated.”

The octopus-armed bald man, the gorilla brute, and the rest of the dockworkers all nodded — slowly, knowingly. An expression was spreading across their faces that they could barely contain: the look of people who had just heard very good news indeed, as though whatever that thing was, its activation meant something they had been waiting a long time for.

Old Iron Anchor’s eyes snapped to the man who’d spoken.

“Shut your mouth. You will never mention it in front of others. This is a matter of the highest secrecy. But — if it has truly activated — then beyond protecting this secret, we need to report it upward immediately, before the impact spreads further than expected or something leaks unnecessarily. The rest of you stay here. Warn every vessel intending to sail out. And remember: whatever you’re thinking right now — bury it in your throat and leave it there.”

The quick-witted Fuyu leaned in with a quiet concern: “What about me? Those two sisters have come back. They probably noticed me standing among you just now. They might get suspicious.”

“This time, you’re done — send your younger sister Fuping instead. She’s a woman; they’ll let their guard down more easily around her. If they’re not here because of that, it doesn’t really matter anyway — just don’t give them a reason to look our way. For the next day or two, arrange a few different merchant groups to approach them with business. They’re interested in Spark-Flower ore — sell them some of what we’ve got on hand. That’ll keep their attention occupied.” Old Iron Anchor paused before adding his final instruction: “Keep me informed of everything they do. Every move, at once — especially the elder sister. She is not someone to be underestimated under any circumstances.”

“What about the young man with the silver mask?”

Fuyu, never missing a detail, pressed for one more answer.

“If he has a taste for women, arrange one for him. Whether it’s beauty or money — if he’ll accept a bribe, we’ll use whatever works. Cater to his preferences, whatever they are.”

With his instructions given, the sharp and calculating Old Iron Anchor seemed to dissolve. In his place appeared the shuffling wreck of a man lost in drink and drift, and he became a drunken dockhand once more — tipping a flask into his mouth, lurching and stumbling off toward the eastern city gate.

That lurching, unsteady walk of his.

He had been at it for several hundred years.

(End of Chapter)