Fire and Sea

The fires in Tacheng burned for seven days. Fortunes were consumed by roaring flames, and treasures were buried beneath scorched earth. Plumes of pitch-black smoke rose continuously toward the heavens like colossal pillars—stamped out here, only to surge up over there. Looking out from the Federation base, this spectacle of scurrying in vain and collapsing at every turn was truly magnificent to behold! Gem Plaza, Federation Avenue, Empire Street, Ronghua Commercial Center—beacons of fire and smoke spread everywhere without pause. Even the provisional government had been reduced to ashes. By the second day, the provisional government was overrun by rioting mobs. By the afternoon of the third day, the interim president, fleeing in panic, was hijacked aboard his own private plane. Even as their announcement was broadcast over the radio, they plunged straight into the Empire's garrison base... And then, an anti-aircraft missile blew both the plane and the president sky-high once more. From that moment on, the curtain on utter chaos was drawn back entirely. Some claimed to protect the nation and bring peace; others demanded blood for blood; some cited visions from the White King; others simply rebelled against tyranny... In just a few short days, thirty-six rebel kings and seventy-two plumes of revolt erupted and spread across the White Nation, even extending into other regions of the Mid-Continent. No one would believe there was no one fanning the flames behind the scenes. Yet even without instigators, would the current chaos have been any different? Driven to the end of their rope, the people of the White Nation had long had nowhere left to turn. Now, with deadly weapons in their grasp, the thirst for slaughter naturally arose. The first to erupt were the submissive, humble slaves and servants who had always answered every call. Across every corner of Tacheng, the attendants, domestic staff, and slaves had been as unremarkable as weeds. Far too many people had grown accustomed to their fawning humility, oblivious to the flames smoldering behind those hollow eyes. "Yes, Master. Of course, Master. At your service, Master." "So, Master, which would you prefer: a rope, a knife, or a bullet?" The napalm bombs dropped to wipe out the threat of the White King once and for all, the gun barrels raised countless times to eliminate latent risks... To pretend now that none of that had ever happened—wasn't that a little too optimistic? Even if the disparity remained vast, even if they were so lowly, once people possessed the ability to bring everything down in mutual destruction, how could they endure the chains and shackles upon them any longer? And so, hollow eyes turned bloodshot, fawning smiles morphed into ferocious sneers, and from submissive postures sprouted hysterical bitterness and madness. Fuck you! Die with us! Boom! Outside Tacheng, from the direction of the harbor, another thunderous roar echoed. Following the precedent Shehri had set before, the oil pipeline exploded once more. In the billows of rising smoke, hollow sirens echoed again and again. The airships wheeled around and set out once more under the cover of fighter squadrons. Countless times already over the past few days. The Federation garrison base, once bustling and clamorous, was still crowded with people, yet it carried an air of bleak desolation. Not a smile could be seen on the passing faces. Aside from the cadence calls during drills, everyone spoke in hushed voices. They could feel the dark clouds pressing down overhead. "How utterly desolate." On the terrace of a seaside restaurant, under the same parasol, Fan Yun stared indifferently at the ruined scene. He let out a derisive sneer, mocking everything he had done. Scheming to the bitter end... The old man sitting opposite him had his head down, devouring a steak like a whirlwind, clicking his tongue in appreciation. "I heard a transfer order just arrived from Midtown—promoted to the Naval Staff Office? When you leave in a bit, can you leave this chef for me? It's really not easy getting a decent meal in the Mid-Continent." "Do as you like." Fan Yun glanced at Lin Shouyi, who was shoveling food into his mouth, and sneered. "You're clever. Do less, err less. Not like me... promoted in title, demoted in reality, just waiting to take the blame." In less than half a month, Passarella's fate was playing out on him, and with an even bleaker outcome. After the upcoming purge in Midtown, who knew if he would ever have a chance to stage a comeback? "Come on. When you run in this line of work, your head's tied to your waistband. Winners take all, losers take the fall—isn't that how it goes?" Lin Shouyi glanced at him, completely unbothered. "If you'd hit the big time, you'd probably be singing a different tune. Why sit here whining like a resentful woman? Of my five directors, you screwed over three—one dead, two grievously injured. Did I say anything? Did I curse you out once? Oh, I just did. You didn't think about the consequences when you acted, and now that retribution is here, you lament how cold the world is? Old Fan, after all these years, can't you idiot Tianyuan folks learn to own up when you botch things?" "And they say people of the Desolate Ruins are rigid-minded?" Fan Yun sneered, no longer hiding his gloom. "Seems to me you're sharper than anyone, Lin Shouyi." "What fucking good does being sharp do?" Lin Shouyi shot him a glance. "No matter how sharp I am, don't I still have to stay behind to wipe your ass and clean up this mess? A perfectly good White Nation, and you turned it into pure garbage. Tacheng is gone, an advantageous situation ruined in a single day. Who are you going to blame? Lu Changsheng? The Wilderness Market? Blame yourself!" Fan Yun didn't reply. He merely raised his glass and drained it in one gulp. "Done venting? If you're done, get lost." "After all these years of wearing fake smiles and bumping heads, we've at least seen things through to the end. For the sake of our past acquaintance, I'll give you one final word of advice." Lin Shouyi wiped his mouth and told him, "Things are worse than you think. Forget about sacrificing pawns to save the king or getting off easy. It won't work. Start thinking about how to atone with meritorious service instead." Fan Yun froze. "The Fourth Void Abyss has opened. Exactly seven days ago, at the very moment the White Stag slew the Wolf. It's still top secret; I only just heard from Minister Pang before coming over." Lin Shouyi glanced at him and cut straight to the chase. "The remnants of the Sand Nation renounced this world. They offered the Ash King's legacy to the Great Sin, Vortex, and threw themselves behind the Sower..." "Impossible!" Fan Yun frowned. "The entire Mid-Continent is..." "Because it isn't in the Mid-Continent!" Lin Shouyi cut him off. "Those Heavenly Overseer Sages of yours in Midtown were led by the nose by the Guide from start to finish. The intelligence sold to you was half-true and half-false. For the Sower, while the Mid-Continent was the foundation to place pieces, he never needed to fixate on the Mid-Continent to exert his power. That whole show Shehri put on was purely a smoke screen to draw everyone's attention. If it succeeded, icing on the cake; if it failed, nothing more than losing a bit of junk. Both the Federation and the Empire were played by the Sower!" "..." Fan Yun fell silent. After a long pause, his voice grew hoarse. "Where is it?" "At sea." Lin Shouyi grabbed the tablecloth to wipe his hands, gave him one last look, and turned to leave. Yet at the restaurant entrance, he saw an unexpected visitor. Ji Jue. Lin Shouyi paused for a brief instant, seemingly surprised, but in the end said nothing. He patted Ji Jue's shoulder. And walked away. *** Seven days ago, outside the Mid-Continent, to the north of the Endless Sea. Amid the bitter chill, chunks of drift ice meandered from afar, drifting with the waves toward the distance. Specks of pale white drifted atop the black ocean with the currents, grinding against the hulls with shrill screeches. Wave after wave. Faint, frail wails arose. In the damp, freezing sea wind, every face was etched with numbness and bewilderment. Tattered vessels, pieced together from scrap, were already packed to bursting with displaced remnants who had nowhere left to go. Having abandoned their last cattle and sheep, abandoned their ancestral soil, abandoned the songs passed down through generations and a homeland they could never return to, the destitute people of the Sand Nation threw themselves into the ocean, spending the final vestiges of their dwindling strength to crawl into the thirsty, starving deep. Violent storms, surging tsunamis, calamity beasts, and pestilence—along with the mutations that grew more rampant by the day after leaving the Mid-Continent—had already claimed a fifth of their lives in just three days. Those who remained were barely clinging to life. Inside the dark, sealed hold, a foul stench hung in the air. Dim light flickered, illuminating faces riddled with cracks, like parched soil. Flesh and blood turned into ashen sand, gradually peeling away and crumbling. Some could no longer move. The flesh on all ten fingers had sloughed away entirely; beneath remnants of sand, convulsing blood vessels twisted around bare bone. Silent agony. Yet the mutation continued to spread. The curse etched into their bones refused to let go, wreaking brutal devastation from the moment they betrayed the covenant of their ancestors. Amid the dead silence, a desperate roar suddenly rang out. On the deck, a mutated man threw his head back and cried out with all his remaining strength, whether cursing or praying, until the shrill sound cut off abruptly. The last spark of life faded from those hollow eyes, and his collapsing body disintegrated entirely into dust and ash. What followed was wave after wave of weeping and wailing. The dying remnants could no longer hold back their tears and anguish—pleading, accusing, even verging on mutiny. "Go home! Let's go home!" A hunched woman clutched the ashes of her child, tears falling from her sand-encrusted face as she kowtowed in supplication. "Let's go home, Elder Salah ad-Din! At least let us die in our homeland!" "Home?" Salah ad-Din fell silent. Every wrinkle across his cracked face twitched in agonizing spasms. The corners of his mouth quivered with effort: "We haven't had a home for a long time. Our home was stolen from us long ago... There isn't an inch of land in the Mid-Continent left for specks of ash like us! Don't you understand that yet?!" There was no way back. Yet going forward was also a dead end. He said no more, quietly watching the weeping, stooped woman. He looked around him: from ship after battered ship came ghostly wails and sobs. Beneath the dim, gloomy heavens, the ocean stretched black as iron. Between the narrow sea and sky lay a dead silence, like a cage. No matter where they went, it was a dead end. No matter where they fled, there was nowhere to hide. "Come out!!!" He roared in furious rage, screaming, "Come out, Sower!!! Didn't you want the legacy of us remnants?! Then come out and face me!" "I am here." In that instant, he heard a voice from his side. A hazy silhouette gazed quietly at him. "I have always been here, Salah ad-Din." Salah ad-Din froze, bewildered. "From the day you set out, I have been with you. We embarked upon the same road of ruin, never parting from beginning to end. It is just... you were never willing to see me. That is all." The Sower bent down, gathered the ash from the deck handful by handful, and placed it into a casket, meticulous and not leaving a single grain behind. When he placed the small box into Salah ad-Din's hands, he told him: "From beginning to end, you never wished to see me." He said, "You simply had no choice."