"It seems we're short on hands to transfer this cargo from the ship to the Inazuma docks," said a middle-aged man in an authoritative baritone.
Captain Tong stood atop the highest stack of crates, gazing down at the dockworkers gathered on the deck. His face was weathered by sea wind and salt, his graying hair neatly combed back. His posture was ramrod straight like a ship's mast, radiating unquestionable command.
His eyes swept from one end of the crowd to the other, assessing every muscle, every ounce of courage.
"Any volunteers?" he asked again, voice louder, cutting through the wind.
The workers looked at their employer, then at one another. Whispers began to spread, like the buzzing of night insects.
"Inazuma? He's insane. The storms there show no mercy."
"I heard the Shogun's closing the borders. We could be shot dead before we even land."
"But the pay… it must be huge."
They muttered among themselves in the smallest possible voices, trying not to let Captain Tong hear, yet their fear hung thick in the air, mingling with the smell of sweat and salted fish.
At that moment, Captain Tong sighed, white vapor escaping his mouth.
He knew exactly what they were thinking.
"No need to worry. I'll give you a bonus—double the usual wage, paid upfront," he said, tossing out an offer too tempting to refuse. He paused, letting it sink in. "I only need one more man to complete the crew."
In the back row, Henri elbowed Mochen's arm. Thump.
"You joining?" Henri asked, a mischievous grin on his lips.
Mochen narrowed his eyes at him. This guy… he muttered inwardly. Always looking for trouble.
Then he let out a rough sigh and turned away. He had no intention of answering. All he wanted was to go home, drink cheap rice wine until he passed out, and forget the Adeptus's face that haunted him.
"If it were me… I'd pass," Henri said casually, stretching his arms behind his head. He paused, looked at Mochen in silence, then his grin slowly widened into something suspiciously wicked.
Mochen glared at him. "I didn't ask. Don't care either."
Henri feigned shock—or pretended to—then made his smile even broader. His eyes glinted with mischief. And before Mochen could react, Henri raised his hand high.
In a loud voice that shattered the crowd's murmur, he shouted, "Looks like Mochen's volunteering, Captain! He said he needs the money for… uh… medical expenses!"
Mochen, who had been glaring at Henri, blinked several times. His brain needed a second to process the betrayal. Then his eyes narrowed to slits. His face flushed with anger. He clenched his fists, veins bulging on his forearms.
I'm going to hit him. I'm going to hit him right now.
But before he could swing at Henri's infuriating face, a firm voice interrupted from above.
"Very well," Captain Tong said, nodding approvingly at Mochen. "You've got strong shoulders, lad. Come aboard."
Mochen froze. He was trapped. He looked at Captain Tong, then at Henri, then at the other workers now staring at him with a mix of relief (that it wasn't them) and pity.
If he refused now, he'd look like a coward in front of everyone. And in the harbor, reputation was everything. Besides, he needed a reason to get far away from Liyue—far from that Adeptus.
He was terrified the Adeptus would freeze him again.
Mochen swallowed hard, suppressing his rage. He gave Captain Tong a stiff nod.
Then he turned back to Henri. "I'm going to kill you," he hissed, low enough for only Henri to hear.
Henri just chuckled softly.
After that, Mochen left the group, walking heavily up the wooden gangway to the cargo ship. The planks creaked under his weight.
Behind him, on the receding dock, Henri waved enthusiastically with one hand. The other cupped his mouth like a trumpet.
"Safe travels, then! Don't forget souvenirs!" he shouted, his voice fading into the wind.
Hearing that, Mochen felt a surge of irritation. He wanted to turn back and hurl his shoe at Henri. But as his foot touched the ship's deck, he let out a long sigh.
A strange sense of relief crept in beneath his anger.
He was leaving.
That meant he'd be safe—as long as he stayed far from Liyue.
As he boarded, the night wind blew harder and colder.
In an instant, the great sails were lowered, catching the wind with loud flaps. Ropes were hauled, the anchor raised with the clanking of chains. The ship set off, cutting through the black waves, leaving the warm harbor lights behind.
Inside the ship, in the cargo hold converted into crew quarters, Mochen wasn't surprised by the familiar sight.
The room was dimly lit by swaying oil lamps that followed the rhythm of the waves. The air was stuffy, thick with the smell of men's sweat, cheap tobacco, and spilled rice wine.
Several burly men were there—scarred, tattooed faces he often saw in taverns but whose names he didn't know.
They sat in a circle on wooden crates, drinking beer from tin cups, laughing loudly at crude jokes.
These people… Mochen sighed again, feeling weary.
He sat in a corner, accepted a cup offered to him, and downed the beer in one big gulp. The bitter liquid burned his throat but brought a little warmth to his stomach.
Time passed.
But for Mochen, time dragged like thick honey. The crew's laughter began to sound distant and echoing.
His head spun. His vision blurred. The ship's floor seemed to tilt left, then right, then spin.
He felt terribly dizzy.
Suddenly his stomach churned, as if a storm raged inside.
Am I drunk? he wondered. Just one cup?
No—this wasn't alcohol. This was seasickness.
He'd never been this far out to sea. The waves here were far fiercer than near the harbor.
Soon the nausea became unbearable.
The contents of his stomach threatened to force their way out.
He stood abruptly, banging his knee against a crate, ignoring his crewmates' curses. He half-ran from the room, climbing the narrow stairs to the upper deck, desperate for fresh air.
He shoved the cabin door open roughly. Cold sea wind slapped his face, carrying sprays of salty water.
At that moment, blocking his path to the railing stood a large figure.
A muscular man with a broad back. A dragon tattoo clearly visible on his arm.
Face drunk and trying not to vomit, Mochen slowly looked up. His watery eyes struggled to focus.
Their gazes met.
It was his boss.
Mochen froze, mouth slightly open. His boss did the same.
The boss looked at him with an expression hard to read. None of the usual anger or arrogance. Just a blank, weary, and… melancholic stare.
Silence between them was filled only by the sound of waves and wind.
Soon the boss broke it. He didn't speak. He simply nudged Mochen's shoulder gently, moving him aside, then entered the cabin without looking back.
Mochen wasn't angry. He was used to rougher treatment. He just staggered slightly, gripping the doorframe.
Afterward he glanced back, watching his boss's silhouette disappear into the darkness of the stairs.
So the one who volunteered was the boss… he thought, his dizzy mind trying to process the fact.
This was highly unusual. The boss hated the sea. He always said the land was where kings ruled.
He paused, wiping cold sweat from his forehead.
This started after that incident… after he was frozen.
Is the boss actually shaken too? Is he running away as well?
The thought that even someone as strong as his boss could be afraid made Mochen feel smaller and more fragile.
But more than that, he truly understood the meaning of real fear.
At that moment, Mochen suddenly felt his stomach contents rising again. A second wave of nausea hit harder.
Urgh…
He hurried to the ship's railing, leaning out over the pitch-black open sea.
He vomited into the waves. Acidic fluid and remnants of beer spilled out, leaving a stinging bitterness on his tongue and in his nose.
He spent a long time there, coughing, spitting, trying to purge the poison from his body.
Afterward, face a mess, eyes red and watery, breath ragged, he straightened up. He wiped his mouth with the back of his rough hand.
"Damn it!" he cursed at the sea, the ship, his fate.
Mochen didn't leave the spot. He didn't want to return to the stuffy, beer-scented cabin.
He needed air.
Freedom.
Instead of going back inside, he stayed outside. He leaned against the railing, letting the sea wind dry the sweat on his face.
At that moment, he stared at the pitch-black ocean. There was nothing there—just endless black merging with the night sky.
The wind blew hard, whipping his face, tousling his hair. The sound of waves crashing against the hull was like a monster chewing bones.
He closed his eyes briefly, feeling the cold sensation. Savoring a simple worldly pleasure: momentarily free from fear. Free from that Adeptus's presence.
Maybe in Inazuma I can start over, he thought naively.
When he opened his eyes again, intending only to look at the stars,
his gaze suddenly widened. His pupils dilated to their limit. His eyes weren't fixed on the sky but locked on a phenomenon below the sea.
His mouth hung open, jaw dropped, yet no words came out. His voice caught in his still-sore throat.
He couldn't speak. His tongue felt numb.
At that moment, his body trembled violently—not from cold, not from fear of his boss, but from a primal terror rising from his very DNA.
A wave of alien emotion crashed into his mind: insatiable hunger. Burning hatred. A desire to devour everything.
His emotions surged instantly.
Reflected in his trembling eyes, far beneath the inky black surface, far in depths that should contain only eternal darkness, his eyes caught a light.
It was a purple light.
…
You collapse onto your hard bed. You stare silently at the bedroom ceiling, counting the irregular wood grain patterns, searching for answers there. Then you let out a long sigh.
You close your eyes, forcing yourself to sleep. You try counting sheep, counting Mora, counting anything in your mind.
But your eyelids feel too heavy to close the curtain on today's show. Instead your mind is still too active, replaying today's events like a broken projector.
You sigh again.
Instead of the ceiling, you turn sideways, staring at the cold empty wall. While thinking silently, you let your thoughts drift into the current of memories.
You recall the pleasant moments from before. Ganyu's smile under the ginkgo tree. Her cold hand you held while helping her stand. The crisp sound of her laughter. The way she explained Liyue's history with shining eyes. Simple street-side dinners.
All of it so vivid, so warm.
Unknowingly, you find yourself smiling happily in the darkness. The corners of your mouth curve into a small, genuine arc. Warmth spreads through your chest, chasing away the night's chill.
But then the smile slowly fades, dissolving like ink in water. The incident with the bespectacled woman resurfaces, ruining everything.
The bespectacled woman's suspicious face. Her sharp accusations. And then… Ganyu's defense.
"Because I was the one who invited him."
Those words echo in your head.
Why did she lie?
Why did she protect me—a troublesome stranger like me?
You ask yourself, the wall, the emptiness.
Out of pity?
Out of guilt for not helping me sooner when the thugs beat me?
Or… is there something more?
You don't dare hope. To you, hope is sweet poison.
Eventually, as you chase answers that never come, physical exhaustion takes over.
Your eyes close, and you fall asleep without realizing, carrying that question into dreams you won't remember upon waking.
The next day, the sun rises as usual, bathing the harbor in deceptive golden light. You go through your routine—working at Uncle Zhang's stall, serving customers, forcing smiles, counting coins.
In the late afternoon, as the sun tilts westward and shadows lengthen, you bid farewell to Uncle Zhang.
"Take care, lad. Don't come home too late," the old man advises.
You nod, then leave. Your steps are steady toward Yuehai Pavilion.
At first you hesitate to come. Your foot pauses on the first step. Especially after last night's incident.
How can I face Ganyu after she lied for me?
What if she regrets it?
You shudder imagining Ganyu's disappointed look upon seeing you.
"You only bring me trouble…"
But then another memory surfaces. Imagining her smiling face. Her peaceful face while sleeping. Her resolute face while defending you.
Those memories make you feel both comforted and longing. A strange yearning, even though it's only been a day.
I really want to see her face.
That's all. Simple and selfish.
That's what you believe now—your true feeling. You want to see her, make sure she's okay, and perhaps… properly thank her.
So now you stand there.
In the vast, majestic courtyard of Yuehai Pavilion. You scan the area, section by section.
Unfortunately, you find no sign of Ganyu.
Disappointment stabs your chest again.
Instead of the person you seek, your eyes catch the officials coming and going. Some of them glance at you.
They stare. They narrow their eyes, suspicious.
But this time, the stares feel different somehow. A shifted nuance.
You're certain of it. Before, their gazes were predatory—seeing prey—or guards eyeing a thief. Sharp, judgmental, threatening.
But now?
You sense their looks are more "uncomfortable" than "suspicious." They look at you, then quickly avert their eyes. They whisper, but don't point.
There's hesitation in their eyes.
Confusion.
At least that's how it feels to you.
You tilt your head, puzzled by the changed atmosphere.
"What happened?" you ask yourself.
At that moment, you suddenly widen your eyes. A thought flashes through your mind, connecting the scattered dots.
Yesterday's incident. The bespectacled woman. That official…
She came to tell Ganyu that Lady Ningguang had summoned her. Just hearing the name Ningguang makes you think she's someone important in Liyue.
Fortunately you've read a few books, so you know a little about Liyue's famous figures. One of them is Ningguang—the most powerful and wealthiest woman in this harbor.
At least that's what the books say.
"Was it because of her?" you murmur softly.
Has Ganyu's public defense of me spread?
Has my status been "upgraded" from stalker to "Ganyu's mysterious guest"?
You swallow. If true, it's a double-edged sword. You're no longer suspected as a criminal, but now you're the center of attention in a different way.
At that moment, an idea occurs to you—to find out. To test it.
You need confirmation.
So you swallow again, wetting your dry throat. You spot a male official who has just finished speaking with a silk merchant.
The merchant leaves after bowing respectfully.
You watch the merchant walk away, then shift your gaze back to the official.
Your face tenses again. You step toward one of the officials. Your steps are cautious but not sneaking. You try to walk confidently, as if you belong.
The official—a neatly dressed young man—notices you. He turns.
He scans you from shoes to face. Quick assessment. Weighing whether you're worth serving or expelling.
Then, soon after, he smiles.
To you, it's not a genuine smile, but a polite one. Professional.
"Ah, sir." He pauses, giving a small nod. "May I help you with something?"
You're surprised, but quickly compose your face.
At the same time, you notice the corner of the official's mouth twitch slightly.
The smile is forced.
And you sense tension in his jaw.
He's being polite because he has to—not because he wants to.
You wait a moment, processing the change. Then you nod slightly, trying to appear calm again.
"I'd like to know if Miss Ganyu is busy?" you ask directly.
When you ask this, his eyes shift slightly left, avoiding direct eye contact. The corner of his mouth twitches again.
The official is clearly uncomfortable.
"She's always busy," he answers. "She's not here at the moment."
He didn't chase me away…
Feeling the situation clear enough—and not wanting to push your luck—you end the conversation.
This is like walking on thin ice; one wrong step and you'll sink.
"Thank you," you say briefly, then turn and leave.
You walk away, wearing a thoughtful expression.
Soon you nod to yourself.
After asking the question and observing his reaction, you immediately grasp the context of what happened today.
The bespectacled woman initially judged you as suspicious—a dangerous stalker or worse, labels you may not even know. But after last night, when Ganyu publicly claimed she "invited you," the premise changed. That woman must have told her colleagues.
"Don't interfere. Miss Ganyu knows him. Miss Ganyu invited him."
That explains the shift in attitude.
They didn't erase the "criminal" label, but replaced it with "strange outsider who for some reason is close to Miss Ganyu."
You don't know if this is one hundred percent accurate—after all, it's just your observation-based assumption. But clearly, your presence here is no longer that of a suspicious person to be arrested, but rather someone invited by Ganyu—or at least tolerated by her.
As proof, when you asked about Ganyu's whereabouts—a question that would normally trigger alarms for a stalker—the official answered normally, albeit somewhat forced.
Yet the hostility from prior judgment lingers.
Prejudice doesn't vanish overnight… you mutter inwardly.
So he still showed an uncomfortable look, one that said, "I don't know what Miss Ganyu sees in you, but I'm still watching."
Understanding this, you nod in satisfaction.
You walk toward the Yuehai Pavilion gate, intending to go home and plan your next move. Maybe try again tomorrow.
Just as you're about to leave the courtyard, your foot suddenly stops.
Your step hangs in the air before touching the ground.
Your eyes widen. Your pupils dilate.
From the opposite direction, from the path leading toward the Jade Chamber, your eyes catch a silhouette.
Someone walking with weary yet still graceful steps. Someone carrying a tall stack of papers—clearly important documents needing urgent completion. The stack is so high it nearly hides her face.
But you recognize those horns. You recognize that blue hair. You recognize the bells adorning her neck, silent now because they're pressed beneath the heavy pile of papers.
You stare and shake your head several times, rubbing your eyes as if in disbelief.
And you're certain this isn't a dream.
It is Ganyu.
…
A/N: Sorry… I don't know what else to say besides apologizing for procrastinating. But please enjoy it anyway. From here on, the story will approach the main conflict. I'd love to hear your thoughts—is the pacing too fast, too slow, or just right? Well, my plan is to finish this story around chapter 30, more or less.
Anyway, if you guys are too tired of waiting for the next chapter… please check my Patreon, where I update much faster than on this platform! (Now there are already 13 chapters I've updated!)
You can see the next chapter sooner on my patreon whose link is below:
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