Chapter Ten: A Startling Secret Revealed, The Grand Harvest of Southern Pearls

When Wang Cheng followed Zhang Wen back to the Zhang Fushun, the first thing he did was head to the kitchen for a salted plum, which he promptly ate to dispel the aftereffects of the Parrot-beaked Bluecoat. Only then did he let out a sigh of relief.

“Today we were lucky and caught a fine fish. I sampled a bit myself and it tastes excellent. There’s enough left for everyone to have a share.

Brother Zhang Wu, why don’t you use it to cook a pot of fish congee?”

Without hesitation, he handed over the fish bones and head—with half the flesh still attached—to Zhang Wu, who had come to greet him.

“You’re generous, Scholar! A fish you caught with your own hands—we must savor it properly and perhaps pick up a bit of your scholarly spirit.”

These young boat-dwellers had never once caught a three-thousand-foot treasure or a hundred-thousand-sea delicacy; moreover, with the parrot’s beak already removed, none of them recognized how rare this fish was.

Zhang Wu, the kind who couldn’t sit still for even a moment without working, didn’t stand on ceremony. He took the Parrot-beaked Bluecoat straight to the stove and began cooking.

Only then did Wang Cheng have a chance to ask Zhang Wen, “That young lady just now, is her name Axiao? I didn’t see her around the last few days?”

He inquired not out of any improper intent, but simply out of curiosity—why had his Treasure Unique failed to glean anything from her?

Zhang Wen, now familiar with Wang Cheng, revealed his lively nature, giving a teasing, mischievous grin. “Sister Axiao is quite beautiful, isn’t she? Unfortunately, the court forbids boat-dwellers from marrying those on land. As a military household from Moon Harbor, you don’t stand a chance.”

Only when Wang Cheng glared at him and clenched his fist did Zhang Wen sober up and answer honestly: “Sister Axiao is the only official among our people who holds the sacred title of Pearl Diver—a position rarely seen even among the thirty-six official roles of the water clans. She’s been in the boat-temple these last few days, making the divine tablets and statues for the Prince of Jing, preparing for the coming festival. That’s why you haven’t seen her around.”

“I see,” Wang Cheng nodded. He knew the boat-dwelling people lived mostly scattered, with small groups gathering here and there, and that every group needed at least one official to anchor them. Otherwise, their ability to withstand the dangers of the sea was too weak.

Clearly, the water talismans needed for this group’s voyages were all crafted by Axiao, the Pearl Diver. Her position in the clan was crucial.

As Zhang Wen recounted, Wang Cheng was surprised to learn that this Pearl Diver was not originally from their group, but an outsider.

“Scholar, the elders say Sister Axiao was once a pearl-diving slave kept by a powerful family in Qiong Prefecture to the south—she’s an escaped slave…”

Wang Cheng knew pearls were classified as east, west, north, and south, with western pearls inferior to the eastern, eastern to the southern, and those from the South Sea being the finest of all.

Zhang Wen continued with the story he’d heard from the elders: “There are three great pearl pools in the South Sea—Plum, Azure, and Infant—monopolized by the nobles and royals of Dazhao. They captured many boat-dwellers, naturally skilled in the water, and raised them as pearl-diving slaves. They would tie stones to the slaves’ feet and force them seven hundred feet below, among sharks and other sea monsters, to gather pearls. If they bled even a little, they’d never see the surface alive again. Pearl-diving slaves have lives a hundred times more wretched than ours!

“That was six or seven years ago, during the great pearl harvest organized jointly by Leizhou, Qiongzhou, and Lianzhou. They gathered 800 official ships and conscripted over ten thousand boat-dwellers, eventually harvesting twenty-eight thousand taels of pearls.

Outsiders don’t know that, on the very first day of the harvest, eighty-seven ships were wrecked by storms, six hundred naval soldiers drowned, and over thirty ships were left adrift, their crews missing. Among the officials, those who practiced the golden-point method—Spirit Platform Lords, geomancers, and Goldmouths—began dying one after another. Over the next few days, more than half the boat-dwellers perished mysteriously, as if some evil force was at work.

On the tenth night, countless corpses climbed aboard the official ships and plucked out the eyes of many living sailors. For every pearl taken, an eye was lost; if the numbers didn’t match, heads were taken as well. That night, many saw the shadow of a black dragon swimming beneath the sea…”

Wang Cheng felt a chill run down his neck and back.

“To drown while pearl-diving, or to be taken by sea creatures, that’s within expectation. But to encounter evil spirits of the deep is almost certain death. Even without crossing the ‘Mountain and Sea Prohibition’ into the open sea, all manner of bizarre and deadly dangers abound.

Sister Axiao and some other pearl-diving slaves escaped in that chaos. Of those who sought refuge with our clan, she alone survived, barely clinging to life. If not for the manifestation of Lady Banquet—the goddess our clan venerates—she would have died. After recovering, Sister Axiao stayed at Lady Banquet’s boat-temple and replaced my grandmother as temple attendant, rarely leaving since.”

As he spoke, Zhang Wen’s earlier teasing vanished, replaced by a grim, clenched-jaw seriousness. Wang Cheng’s own face was equally somber.

To the powerful, commoners were just numbers—cut down and replaced without a thought. But to these boat-dwellers, they weren’t even considered people. They enjoyed none of the empire’s benefits, only its scorn, blood, and tears.

Their suffering was truly unbearable!

Only now did Wang Cheng understand why his father’s Five Peaks Maritime Consortium had grown so powerful and why he was so desperate for imperial amnesty.

Without comparison, you couldn't feel the pain. The ruling class of Dazhao behaved less than human; as long as there was a chance for the boat-dwellers and their descendants to live with dignity, they would risk everything to fight for it.

To bear the hopes and frustrations of an entire people—who could remain indifferent under that weight? Recruiting boat-dwellers had been a wise move.

“Still, there’s something odd about Axiao,” he mused. Zhang Wen said she was a fugitive from the South Sea, so her acquaintances should be from even further south. Yet, during her song, she had gazed at the eastern sea’s forbidden wall, mourning a place she’d never been.

As this thought crossed his mind, Treasure Unique’s prompt appeared again:

[Treasure: The 33rd Year of Shaozhi—The Great South Pearl Harvest (Incomplete Information)
Intangible news can sometimes be more valuable than the finest treasures—worthless to some, priceless to others. The true story of the great pearl harvest six or seven years ago, and the secret behind the lone escaping Pearl Diver, seem to hide some untold mystery.
Value: Five Thousand Incense-Spirit Coins (Treasure Unique—find the right buyer)]

Wang Cheng was stunned.

His own identity as the Prince of Jinghai’s heir was only valued at fifty thousand incense-spirit coins. Yet this tale, picked up merely by listening to Zhang Wen, was worth a tenth of himself!

Still, Wang Cheng had no intention of delving further into the story. He had enough troubles of his own and no time to meddle in another’s fate.

“If more details come my way, I can always sell the information later. Now that I’m connected with these boat-dwellers, I’ll have plenty of chances to interact with the Pearl Diver.”

He set the matter aside for now.

Though he now knew there was an official present on board, Wang Cheng had no intention of asking her to guide him or help submit his name for spiritual recognition. She might possess the traditions and sacred objects of the Pearl Divers, but he had zero interest in becoming a Pearl Diver himself.

Absolutely none!

Soon, Zhang Wu brought out the fish congee, and the other boatmen, drawn by the aroma, gathered round. All the men aboard the Zhang Fushun were bachelors who called the ship home, making gatherings like this convenient.

“Eh?”

As they lifted their bowls and took a sip, each man was astonished to feel a wave of warmth rise in his belly, as though he were soaking in hot water. Their chronic ailments—rheumatism, joint pain, the usual perils of a life at sea—were eased in an instant.

Unable to resist, they eagerly finished every drop of rice congee laced with fish.

Zhang Wen, licking his bowl clean, cheeks flushed despite his wind-burned face, blurted out to Zhang Wu, “Big brother, did you accidentally put medicine in the congee? We’re not like those Black River boatmen who treat their guests to knife-cut noodles and dumplings! Brother, you mustn’t do such things!”

This was underworld slang. When a boatman offered a guest knife-cut noodles, it meant the guest would be cut down with a blade; to serve dumplings meant the guest would save the boatman trouble by jumping into the river and drowning himself.

There were other such phrases—crane’s fall, water beating pole, row-gun, plate of noodles—each alluding to a different kind of death.

Zhang Wu, equally baffled, glanced at the visiting scholar and was about to raise his ladle to discipline his loose-tongued brother, but all around him, the men had already begun to chant:

“…serving guests knife-cut noodles and dumplings… big brother, don’t do it, don’t do it…”