Yun Shu didn’t dare say much to Shen Jue. She was afraid he would have another fit and inexplicably raise her favorability score again.
She had never been afraid of anything in either her past life or this one.
Shen Jue’s favorability score was one exception.
Sometimes, she genuinely wanted to beg him to stop increasing it. She really didn’t have the time to play along with his nonsense. She was utterly exhausted.
When she returned to the top floor of the Xuanyuan Tower Ship, she collapsed onto the cushioned couch, too tired to move.
She didn’t know how much time had passed.
A snow-white figure suddenly darted in through the window.
The Little Fox kicked off with all four short legs and nimbly leaped onto the table, its fluffy tail sweeping across the teacups.
It swiped its two front paws through the air.
The next moment, the table was piled high with seafood it had “acquired.”
The plump crabs were still blowing foamy bubbles, sea cucumbers wriggled faintly with their soft, tender bodies, and oysters as large as a palm lay scattered among them…
“Host, we can finally have a proper meal!” Its fox eyes sparkled, and even the tip of its tail was perked up.
Yun Shu sprang upright. When she saw the tableful of seafood the Little Fox had brought back, she couldn’t help praising it again. “Lil’ Sys, you’re amazing.”
She was human, after all, and naturally had her share of worldly appetites. But in public, she played the part of a Goddess untouched by earthly pleasures. She certainly couldn’t take those seafood treasures for herself and undermine her own image.
The system was different. It was invisible at all times, so no one would notice even if it took some seafood.
Yun Shu went to the kitchen next door. This tower ship was even more fully equipped than modern ocean liners. Every floor had sleeping quarters, as well as a kitchen, washrooms, and other facilities.
It was just that Feng Chunya and the others respected her too deeply and followed the rules too strictly. Even after she told them they were free to move around, they still chose to remain on deck instead of entering the tower.
If not for that, she wouldn’t have been so direct in telling Feng Chunya and the others not to stand guard on deck.
Standing before the stove, she opened the system panel again and changed into the cook’s outfit in her wardrobe—the one that granted ten additional points of culinary skill.
“Let’s steam the crabs and make some garlic-baked oysters…” she muttered as she began preparing the mountain of seafood.
The Little Fox crouched nearby, its tail swaying gently as it watched Yun Shu bustle about. Its eyes were filled with amusement.
After a long while, one person and one fox sat facing each other before a table laden with seafood delicacies.
Yun Shu cracked open a crab claw.
Steam rose from the tender crabmeat. She dipped it in ginger vinegar and popped it into her mouth. The fresh sweetness shot straight to the crown of her head.
The Little Fox, meanwhile, buried its head in a garlic-baked oyster. Sauce stained the fur around its mouth. “Host, it’s delicious! So delicious! Tomorrow I’ll have that silly fish get us even more!”
Once they had eaten their fill, Yun Shu opened the system panel and looked at the refreshed limited-time draw pool.
The limited-time outfit would only be available for seven days. After today, it would be gone, and she would have to wait for its next rerun.
She had been busy before and hadn’t had time to draw for it. Since she was free now, she decided to obtain the outfit while she had the chance.
“The set skill is fire control?” she said.
She still hadn’t thought of a use for the skill, but she tapped the draw button anyway. Perhaps it would come in handy someday.
The incomplete Pomegranate Progeny set had taught her a lesson long ago: she might not need a limited-time outfit, but she absolutely couldn’t be without it. Who knew when it would return?
Congratulations, Host! You have obtained the Heaven-Burning Karmic Flame set—Weapon Component (1/4): Meteor-Burning Arrow.
Component description: The bowstring is tempered with dragon sinew. Arrows fired from it can summon heavenly fire from above. Cooldown: 120 hours.
…
Congratulations, Host! You have obtained the Heaven-Burning Karmic Flame set—Robe Component (2/4): Ashen-Night Feathered Robe.
Component description: Woven from the feathers of the Golden Crow. Any attack received is returned a hundredfold. Cooldown: 120 hours.
…
Congratulations, Host! You have obtained the Heaven-Burning Karmic Flame set—Formation Component (3/4): Eight-Wilds Smelting Formation.
Component description: Once deployed, this formation can smelt every weapon within it into refined essence. Cooldown: 120 hours.
…
Congratulations, Host! You have obtained the Heaven-Burning Karmic Flame set—Crown Component (4/4): Sunflare Crown.
Component description: Wearing this crown causes enemies to ignite before they can even approach, reducing them to ashes. Cooldown: 120 hours.
…
Current astonishment points: 75,100,000.
After leveling up her newly drawn outfit to the maximum, Yun Shu returned to charting the sea routes. She also began considering how to take Wuling Province as quickly as possible—and harvest a huge batch of astonishment points in the process.
Sigh. Astonishment points really were too easy to spend.
She still had to earn more.
With the blue whale escorting them, the tower ship sailed unhindered across the sea and reached Wuling Province half a day ahead of schedule.
*
Wuling Province, a seaside fishing village.
The wind carried the salty reek of the tide, but it couldn’t disperse the stench of decay hanging over the village.
All that met the eye were drab earthen walls and thatched roofs. Many houses had already been abandoned, their doors dismantled for firewood.
At the stony beach at the edge of the village, two emaciated figures—a boy and a girl—were kneeling in the sand.
The older brother was about fifteen or sixteen. His shoulder blades jutted sharply beneath his tattered shirt, the bones clearly visible.
His younger sister seemed two or three years younger. Her cheeks were sunken and her cheekbones prominent, but her eyes were astonishingly large.
Tears brimmed in their eyes, yet neither made a sound. They kept clawing at the sand beneath their knees with both hands.
Beside them lay two bodies wrapped in torn straw mats.
Their parents.
From the beginning of winter until the arrival of spring, the village had harvested nothing.
Even the fish in the sea seemed to have been driven away overnight. Every net they cast came back filled only with mud and sand.
Otherwise, disaster struck at sea, and those who went out never returned.
Their father had given the last half-bowl of watery porridge to the siblings. He himself had leaned against an earthen wall for one night, then never opened his eyes again.
Their mother followed him two days later.
No one in the village had come to help.
The living could barely care for themselves. Where would they find the strength to bury the dead?
The siblings had been digging for more than half an hour.
Sand mixed with bits of stone. Their fingernails had split, thin threads of blood seeping from beneath them, but neither of them stopped.
At last, the pit was finished.
It wasn’t very deep, but it was deep enough.
Together, they carried their parents’ bodies into the freshly dug grave, forcing back their tears as they lowered them in one by one.
Their father was light—so light he felt like a bundle of firewood. Their mother was even lighter. Each sibling lifted one end, and they barely needed to exert any strength.
The moment Zhu Guyu lowered her mother’s body, her hands began to tremble violently. Her fingers clenched around the edge of the straw mat and refused to let go.
“Dad… Mom…” she cried.
Zhu Jingzhe said nothing. He simply pried open his sister’s fingers one by one, then silently scooped up handfuls of sand.
The fine grains slipped through his fingers and pattered onto the straw mat with a soft rustle, as though rain were falling.
The grave was filled.
Her brother found several relatively flat stones and stacked them into a small marker.
There was no headstone, no name, and not even a proper burial offering—only a small mound of earth.
A gust of wind swept sand across the shore.
Zhu Guyu knelt before the grave, her shoulders shaking violently as a heart-rending wail burst from her throat.
“Mom! Dad!”
The sound was enough to break anyone’s heart.
Kneeling beside his sister, Zhu Jingzhe gripped the fabric over his knees with his bony hands. His lips were pressed into a pale, bloodless line.
He turned his head slightly and looked at his little sister’s face, contorted with sobs. His eyes burned and felt swollen, and hot tears threatened to spill over, but he forced them back.
He couldn’t cry. He mustn’t cry. Before their parents left, they had clasped his hand and said, “You’re older than your sister. You have to hold on.”
But he was only fifteen.
He didn’t know how much longer he could keep going.
