Human thought is the most troublesome thing. You don’t know what you’ll want the next moment. You think you’re as strong as a rock, but there are always one or two thoughts or one or two matters in this world that will strike your soft spot. Even the hardest rock will crumble into scattered sand. Whether a person is strong or not depends on how many soft spots they have. If you have no soft spots at all, then you’ve truly become a rock. Such a life also seems meaningless—joy and sorrow don’t touch you, grief and anger don’t hurt your spirit, fear cannot tempt you,威武 cannot bend you. Not knowing what reverence is, not understanding the taste of obsessive love—standing like a rock between heaven and earth, is that really interesting?

Experiencing great sorrow and pain before understanding principles, constantly positioning yourself from this or that setback—such a life also seems a bit miserable. Yun Ye vowed that what he was now pursuing was cognition of his own essence. As a result, he discovered he couldn’t find his essence, or perhaps he simply had no essence at all.

Li Tai could find things belonging to himself in one life experience after another. Only he himself was treading water in place. Besides six children, nothing else truly belonged to him.

The revived Li Tai appeared even more spirited, more like an immortal than Han Zhe. Seeing Yun Ye and Liu Jinbao fish up a shark from the sea, seeing the shark struggle pitifully, its two round eyes full of pursuit for life, he demanded Yun Ye release the shark and change to a shark seeking death with all its heart to kill, cut off the shark fins to eat—that way everyone would be satisfied.

“Damn it, how did you see these things from the shark’s eyes? I only see this guy thinking about how to bite you to death.” Yun Ye had had enough of the god-like Li Tai.

“This sea voyage has benefited me greatly. The surging ocean taught me much. I saw resistance, saw combat, saw plundering, saw decisive battles, also saw betrayal and ugliness. Such a life is too wonderful. I just temporarily lost direction—not a big problem. Only after bathing in fire does the phoenix achieve rebirth. I’m now a phoenix that’s bathed in fire. How about it? After rebirth, am I completely renewed?” Li Tai chattered endlessly in busy Yun Ye’s ear.

Yun Ye saw sailors each holding a wooden basin walk out from the cabins and said to Li Tai: “It’s about to rain. If you take off your clothes now and prepare to go bathe in the rain, that’s the important matter. Do you know your whole person has gone sour?” Hearing this, Li Tai lowered his head to smell his own clothes. His expression immediately changed. He ordered guards to quickly bring out the largest wooden basin—he planned to collect more water for a good bath. He’d truly already become smelly. These past days he’d been continuously ill, sweating one bout of foul sweat after another. Now that he was better, how could he tolerate becoming a stinking person?

There wasn’t much fresh water on the ship. Not only could sailors not bathe, even Li Tai and Yun Ye couldn’t bathe at will. Only after finding the next water source could water restrictions be lifted.

Liu Jinbao cut off the shark’s fins in a few moves, then kicked the shark into the ocean with one foot. In a moment, that shark was devoured by other sharks.

Rain at sea was always very brief, coming swiftly and violently. When Yun Ye stood on deck wearing shorts, Li Tai was already lying naked in the wooden basin preparing to welcome the heavy rain. The heavy rain arrived instantaneously from the distance. When the rain curtain swept past the giant ship, this place immediately became an ocean of joy.

Rainwater on the tropical ocean had not the slightest coolness—warm and moist. Once the body was soaked by rainwater, soap must be applied immediately. Just delay that one instant and the rainwater might stop.

Li Tai shouted strangely, extending both hands toward the sky. The pattering raindrops striking his body made him feel very comfortable. Sometimes happiness was just this simple.

Perhaps Heaven knew the fleet lacked water and specially sent such a heavy rain. The ship’s cook hurriedly poured out the food water already full of fish worms, continuously pouring fresh water into water tanks. Yun Ye was very clear about conditions at sea. If a red fish worm appeared in the tea he was drinking, he would very calmly pick out the worm and slowly drink that cup of water. The most difficult thing at sea wasn’t lack of food but lack of clean water. Yun Ye didn’t plan to let Li Tai know about such matters. Otherwise, he’d rather starve to death, die of thirst, than touch any food on the ship again.

People washed clean, fresh water storage saturated, but this rain still continued falling. The vast rain curtain obscured the blue sky, obscured the distant sea. Only the shadows of three giant ships could be vaguely seen. Merchant ships maintained contact with each other through continuous horn signals. Sailors continuously cleared rainwater accumulated on deck. Fortunately, there was no strong wind—heavy rain plus fierce wind was the most terrifying maritime disaster.

After nightfall came, it was truly pitch black where you couldn’t see your hand before your face. Liu Renyuan stared unblinkingly at the compass. The enormous carbide wind lamp was already hung on the mast. Inside, the giant tallow candle, under the effect of reflective mirror pieces, continuously reported its position to other vessels. On the vast ocean, Yun Ye’s fleet sailed with difficulty.

Takayama Yoko sat numbly in the cabin. Fujiwara’s corpse had already become foul-smelling. When he was alive, Takayama Yoko felt this person wasn’t indispensable. But after this person died, she discovered that Fujiwara was actually very important.

Maggots drilled out from the hemp cloth, inching toward Takayama Yoko’s red skirt. Takayama Yoko picked up that maggot and placed it beside a bowl. The bowl was already filled with half a bowl of maggots, entangled with each other, wriggling, wanting to crawl out from the bowl. Fujiwara had changed from a person into these slimy insects. But they, like Fujiwara, obsessively loved her.

Outside, the night was black as ink, torrential rain poured down. Wa people continuously shouted loudly, transmitting new information. Such a night wasn’t suitable for sailing. The boat captain finally helplessly ordered to drop anchor. After daybreak, they’d consider ways to hurry along. Now they were too close to the Tang people’s fleet. The more sea route they could travel, the farther from them they’d be. Tang people were demons.

Two Wa people wearing high caps carried Fujiwara’s corpse out from the cabin. Takayama Yoko, holding that half bowl of maggots, refused the maidservant’s gesture to hold an umbrella for her. She just wore a single red garment and walked into the rain curtain.

The high-capped Wa people threw Fujiwara into the pitch-black ocean. Takayama Yoko also poured the half bowl of maggots into the ocean. The Wa people disposing of the corpse knelt with heads bowed on deck. Takayama Yoko withdrew both arms from her sleeves. Her fair, full bosom allowed the torrential rain to take liberties.

A long sword hung at her waist. She drew the sword, gripped it tightly with both hands, spun two steps in the rain curtain. The flung sleeves were like two rosy clouds. Blade light flashed—the head of one kneeling Wa person separated from his neck, dropped onto the wooden plank built on the ship’s rail, bounced twice, and fell into the ocean. The remaining body seemed to gain release, also plunging into the ocean.

The other Wa person trembled. Who knew what conviction supported him to keep him kneeling on the wooden plank unwilling to leave, head deeply bowed, exposing his nape for Takayama Yoko to strike.

Having severed one person’s head, Takayama Yoko held the long sword horizontally at her chest, letting the torrential rain wash the blood traces from the blade. Her form spun again. The long sword accurately struck the other Wa person’s neck. Exactly like the first Wa person, head and body followed into the ocean. A retainer who’d lost his master was a masterless lonely soul. Since he wasn’t killed by enemies, being beheaded by a superior was also a kind of归宿.

When Takayama Yoko returned to the cabin, the entire cabin no longer had corpse stench. The floor had been washed with fresh water by maidservants. In a corner of the cabin, a crane-shaped incense burner had just been lit. From the crane’s beak eternally emerged a thread of pale white smoke—sandalwood, which could focus the spirit, calm the qi, and also aid sleep.

Takayama Yoko stood in the cabin. Maidservants removed her wet clothes, wrapped her body in dry cloth to wipe off rainwater. Takayama Yoko suddenly smiled, squatted down, placed her finger on her clothing. A maggot climbed along her scallion-white finger onto her palm.

She lay naked on the soft couch, watching with wide eyes as that maggot climbed from her palm all the way to her arm, then from her arm climbed onto her shoulder, finally stopping motionless on her breast.

Takayama Yoko smiled even more happily. Her chest rose and fell sharply, as if wanting to squeeze out even the last trace of air from her chest. The maggot began to fear and prepared to crawl away. Takayama Yoko seized that maggot, came to the incense burner, playfully threw the maggot in, tilted her ear to listen to the popping sound of the maggot being roasted by the burning incense. Fujiwara never let her down. Not until two popping sounds emerged from inside did she satisfactorily return to the soft couch, pick up a volume of *Elementary Mathematics* from the desk, and carefully study it…

Also saddened by the torrential rain was Hu Tonghai. He steered a small boat drifting with the waves in the pitch-black night. Ever since leaving the battlefield, he’d fled desperately. He firmly believed Takayama Yoko couldn’t possibly be a match for these three giant ships. Moreover, regardless of who won, there’d be no good outcome for him. The present plan—only running as far as possible was best.

To evade the warships’ pursuit, by the time he felt himself already safe, he discovered he was caught in an ocean current unable to free himself, only able to drift everywhere with the current. In such a pitch-black night, the feeling of leaving fate to heaven was truly terrifying. When the small boat smashed to pieces on a reef, he swam desperately in one direction. Not knowing if it was illusion or reality, he seemed to see a trace of firelight. Firelight meant human habitation. Regardless of whether real or unreal, having hope was good.

After he swam onto the beach, he couldn’t help but worship deities and buddhas in all four directions. The firelight he saw wasn’t illusion but truly existed. Dragging his exhausted body, he climbed up rocks. Indeed, orange-red firelight transmitted from a cave ahead. Habitually feeling his waist—both long sword and hand fork had fallen into the sea.

Hu Tonghai rested for a while. He felt he must take shelter from rain. Thunderstorm rain was warm, but such continuous heavy rain had no warmth to speak of. It would take away his last body temperature.

Lying at the cave entrance looking in, he was almost stunned, because he saw a naked woman lying sleeping on a bed made of bamboo. Her figure was exquisite and beautiful…