Chapter Eleven: The First Companions, The Seventh Day After Prince Jing’s Death

A single sentence was repeated over a dozen times by the boatman. If an unsuspecting “guest” had witnessed the scene, they might well have thought they’d stumbled into a den of masterful thieves, each one seeming more seasoned and practiced than the last.

In the end, even Zhang Wu himself couldn’t help but begin to doubt his own intentions.

It must be said that the imperial court’s prejudice against the rootless boat-dwelling folk was not entirely without cause. Their mobility far surpassed that of farmers, making it nearly impossible for the authorities to track them down if they committed a crime—enough to put every level of officialdom on high alert.

But their own feelings on the matter were of no consequence.

After a flurry of confusion, Wang Cheng produced the salted plums he’d prepared ahead of time, handing one to each person and thus breaking the spell of their parrot-like mimicry.

Though none of them had ever tasted the legendary “Ten Thousand Treasures from the Sea,” by now it was impossible not to guess the identity of the fish. When Wang Cheng revealed the fish’s name and its remarkable properties, a stammering chorus broke out:

“This… this… it really is the Ten Thousand Treasures from the Sea!”

“Scholar Wang not only caught a fish worth its weight in gold, but actually shared it with people as humble as us?”

“That’s right. We boat-dwellers live from hand to mouth, never knowing when the ocean’s waves might claim us. Giving us such a rare delicacy is far too generous.”

“It’s such a waste!”

Though many spoke of waste, their eyes brimmed with tears.

He was a respected scholar, while they were despised boat people, so looked down upon that they could not even set foot on land without going barefoot. Without Scholar Wang’s intervention, they’d have long since perished at the hands of the murderous bandits. Now, not only did he share the prized fish with them, but it wasn’t just a thin, bony soup—it was a thick porridge, brimming with tender flesh.

Who, aside from their own parents, had ever shown them such kindness?

The Zhang brothers, who had trained in the “Eight Blades of the Breaking Waves” since childhood, felt it most keenly. Their martial arts, long stagnated for lack of resources, now showed signs of progress, rekindling a faint hope that one day they might ignite their inner light.

To them, the scholar was a beacon in the darkness, reaching out a hand to pull them from the generational mire that threatened to drown them.

This single act of generosity was nothing short of life-renewing grace.

Unconsciously, they all rose to their feet, gazing at Wang Cheng, their chests swelling with a burning emotion—this debt could never be repaid.

Wang Cheng rose in turn, cupping his hands in salute:

“Brothers, I returned from the provincial city determined to make something of myself, and it is fate that has brought me together with you all. We fought side by side against the ghostly bandits—an alliance forged in blood. I won’t stand on ceremony. As it happens, I have a lucrative venture that needs manpower. I’d be honored if you would join me. Would you be willing?”

Zhang Wu, the boat’s captain, didn’t hesitate for a moment. He thumped his chest and declared, “Our lives aren’t worth much—what’s there to be unwilling about? If Scholar Wang is willing to have us, that’s more than enough. Just give the word.”

Zhang Wen also clasped his hands, face solemn. “From top to bottom, the entire dynasty looks down on us boat-dwellers. But Scholar Wang is not only capable, but treats people with warmth. To serve you would be our greatest wish.”

The others, illiterate and ineloquent, could only bow deeply in unison and shout, “It would be an honor!”

“Haha! With your help, I am like a fish returned to water.”

Wang Cheng hurried forward to help them up, assigning seats with proper order before taking the place of honor himself.

“The gift for joining me is not just this rare fish. The danger has passed and I have kindled my inner light; soon I’ll seek out a master for formal training. At dawn we will return to Moon Harbor—and on the way, we’ll seize an opportunity for a big score. As for the split…”

Sensing the heart of the matter, everyone held their breath. Though they bowed and pledged loyalty, everyone still needed to eat—no one could ignore their own interests. Most thought that if they could simply have enough to eat year-round, it would be more than they’d ever dreamed.

But Wang Cheng said lightly, “Long ago, when divine energy descended from the heavens, the ancients formed alliances at Crane Cry Mountain and Deer Hall Mountain, establishing the Three Officials League and passing down the ranks of our tradition. Today, we’ll also form an ‘Alliance of the Blue-Green Robe.’ The division of spoils will follow that of this prized fish—I’ll take half, and the other half will be divided equally among you all.”

A collective gasp went up.

“We… we get half the profits?”

Their hearts pounded, faces flushed, the nourishing effect of the fish seeming even stronger.

“Scholar Wang is truly righteous!”

“Valuing honor over profit—a true hero!”

Looking at him, they caught a glimpse of the legendary Sea-Calming Prince of old. Some even wished Wang Cheng himself had been born among the boat people.

Wang Cheng was clearly pleased with their reaction.

“When I eat meat, you eat broth? No, no! When I eat meat, you all eat meat with me! Honor and profit—I will not keep them for myself!”

At this, Zhang Wu sidled up, rubbing his hands and grinning, “Scholar Wang, what kind of business could be so profitable? You’re not really taking us to the Nine Dragons River to sell… noodles, are you? Actually, now that I think about it, that sort of risk-free business doesn’t sound bad.”

The others nodded enthusiastically, “Not bad at all!”

This time it wasn’t empty mimicry, but heartfelt conviction. Even if it was a deadly venture, they would do it for Wang Cheng.

Not a word spoken of “loyalty,” but every word exuded loyalty.

Thus was formed the original core of the Blue-Green Robe Fishers.

...

That night, none of them slept. Not out of excitement or a desire to exchange stories like the ancients, but because tonight was the seventh night after the passing of the Sea-Calming Prince.

Three days after death, the funerary boat is sent off, then three more days of hiding. Tonight, from midnight to the hour of the boar, is the “night of returning souls”—the time the departed revisit their homes.

All the boat people gathered in darkness at the boat temple and on nearby fishing boats, mourning the prince, many with strips of white cloth tied around their heads.

Every boat-dwelling clan has a temple at the center of its fleet, each enshrining different deities. Here, two lacquered wooden statues stand: in front, the Lady of Heaven; to the side, Mistress Yan, the patroness of this particular clan.

Legend has it that long ago, the Lady of Heaven subdued a nest of sea dragons and made them her divine protectors. Yan Gong, as their leader, and all who bore the surname Yan served under her; Mistress Yan was one of them.

Now a new spirit tablet had been placed in the temple, bearing the title of the Sea-Calming Prince. There hadn’t been time to carve a statue, so the tablet would have to suffice for offerings.

Wang Cheng, who should have led the rites as chief mourner, instead stood outside with the other boat people; it was neither the time nor place for ceremony.

At the front, presiding over the ritual, was Axiao, the Pearl Diver. She had set aside her sharkskin water gear for a plain white robe and silver-embroidered shoes. Tall and graceful, her wildness now tempered by an air of icy serenity.

“…Bless our homes, bring fortune to the boat people. If the spirit is aware, may he accept these offerings.”

When she and her clan finished their devotions with utmost care, a gentle breeze carried the curling incense smoke—and with it, the wishes of several hundred souls—up to the heavens.

From high above, the entire southeastern coast of the Great Zhao, the eastern archipelagos, Yingzhou, and even parts of the southern seas were shrouded in incense at that very moment.

Every wisp was a testament to the Sea-Calming Prince’s enduring influence over the ocean.

Though it was not the hour of dusk or dawn, when yin and yang trade places, the shadow of the Five Peaks Temple in the forbidden mountain-sea still appeared, lingering long in the blue smoke.

The prince, newly deified in death, might not yet manifest—yet with such devotion, even if the path to official divinity was blocked, he would surely become one of the mightiest spirits of the world. Like the Lady of Heaven, he might one day intervene in mortal affairs; then, father and son would meet again—if only he could escape the curse of the forbidden mountains and seas.

When the ritual ended, Wang Cheng did not linger. He led his newly formed Blue-Green Robe Fishers aboard the Zhang Fushun, and set sail from their temporary haven.

“Set course for Moon Harbor! Raise anchor and unfurl the sails!”

He did not see, in the boat temple at the heart of the fleet, as the last worshippers departed, Axiao remained alone. Kneeling on the mat before the altar, she gazed at the spirit tablet of the prince and sighed deeply.

“How did it come to this? Where do we go from here?”

She raised her slender hand and placed three more sticks of incense in the burner.

Before long, they burned down, two shorter than the third, with all the ash curling to the right—a rare and ominous sign known as the “Death-Hastening Incense” among the three thousand omens.

“When the Death-Hastening Incense is smelled, wailing follows; the black-and-white envoys come swiftly. The king of the underworld summons life’s end; the soul cannot linger even half a month. Not from natural causes or old age, but from disaster and grief!”

Staring at this ill omen, Axiao’s eyes grew vacant, her lips parted in shock.

“It’s not over with the Sea-Calming Prince! During that great pearl harvest launched by the three provincial governments, aside from the deaths and the tons of southern pearls, what else happened? Why, after years of peace, did so many pirates, merchants, and captains blessed with dragon’s fate meet untimely ends—one after another sent off on the death boat? The Boat King of Shuangyu, the Tiger Jiao, the Sea Demon Li, General Xu the Sea Tamer… and now even the greatest diver, the Sea-Calming Prince himself, has fallen. All slain by the imperial court, despite the risk of destabilizing the southeast.

I have watched the forbidden mountain-sea for years, witnessing the fate of every one of them. One might be a coincidence, but a dozen in a row?

Of the two main sea-god traditions, the Prince’s line is devastated. The Lady of Heaven’s line will not escape unscathed; all those with dragon’s fate are doomed. If this omen is true, the next to die… may well be me.”

As the blue smoke curled upward, Axiao’s mismatched blue eye suddenly narrowed into a fierce, vertical pupil.