The helicopter's rotors roared overhead, the vibrations shaking Jiang Nuan so hard she felt her own chest cavity resonating.
Outside the window, the coastline of Canglan City was rapidly receding. The grayish sky and the equally gray sea almost merged into one, their boundaries indistinguishable.
The farther they flew toward Sector F, the thicker the fog became over the ocean.
"Entering the fog zone."
Shen Wu's voice came from the cockpit. He was seated in the copilot seat, coordinating communications, while the main pilot was a full-time base flight crew member.
"Everyone fasten your seatbelts and monitor the instrument data."
"The fog density is abnormal. It doesn't seem like natural water vapor condensation."
The grayish-white fog solidified over the sea, thick almost as if it were a solid. No water surface was visible, no waves could be seen. The entire expanse of ocean looked as if it had been covered with a shroud.
Nervously, she checked her equipment again.
Gun, magazines, communication earpiece, explosive rounds.
"Are you scared?"
Jiang Ce sat beside her, his broad shoulders nearly pressing her against the cabin wall.
The warmth of half his body seeped through the fabric of their clothes, heating her entire right arm in the bumpy cabin.
He turned his head to look at her, his voice somewhat blurred by the rotor noise, but the concern still reached her clearly.
Jiang Nuan shook her head, then nodded.
Jiang Ce let out a chuckle and patted her on the head.
"It's okay. We've got you."
He said it casually.
But inside the cabin, the atmosphere was far from as relaxed as Jiang Ce appeared.
Lu Shiyan sat facing the cabin door. The blue light from his electronic tablet reflected in his pupils as his fingertips repeatedly swept over the internal structure diagrams of the White Whale, zooming in, zooming out, and zooming in again, layer by layer.
The others mostly wore grim expressions.
"Target sighted." Shen Wu's voice came through.
Jiang Nuan looked out the window.
Beneath the grayish-white fog, a massive black silhouette slowly emerged.
The White Whale.
It sat silently on the sea, no lights, no sound of engines running.
The silver-white hull had grown dull under the damp fog, utterly lifeless.
The helicopter hovered about thirty meters above the White Whale.
The downdraft from the rotors temporarily swept a circle of fog away from the deck, revealing the wet metal surface below.
The deck was empty, spotless—not even a single seabird perched there.
"All hands prepare." Lu Shiyan's voice rang out. "Rappel down."
He walked to the side door and pulled it open.
Wind, carrying the salty, fishy sea fog, rushed in, and Jiang Nuan squinted involuntarily.
The rappelling rope was tossed from the hatch, swinging twice in the mist.
Ye Que moved first.
He put on his gloves, grasped the rappelling rope with his right hand, and flipped out of the hatch, disappearing cleanly into the fog.
A few seconds later, his voice came through the channel in the earpiece.
"Deck secure. No visible threats."
Then, one by one, the others descended.
When it was Jiang Nuan's turn, she stood at the hatch and looked down. About ten meters down, the fog churned, and the deck below looked like the entrance to another world.
Her legs went weak. She took a deep breath and gripped the rappelling rope. The anti-slip rubber granules on her gloves bit into the rope, and the rough texture scraped against her palms through the gloves.
Gritting her teeth, she let her feet off—the weightlessness of the drop sent her stomach into a turmoil.
The rappelling rope slid at high speed through her gloves. The friction-generated heat burned her palms through the fabric.
She tightened her fingers desperately to control her descent speed. Wind and fog poured down her collar and cuffs, making her shiver.
"Thump."
Her boot soles hit the deck, jarring her knees and making her stumble.
An arm reached out from the side; five fingers firmly grasped her upper arm, the heat from his palm seeping through the thin combat suit.
It was Ye Que.
"Thanks." Jiang Nuan steadied herself with his support.
Ye Que grunted an acknowledgment and withdrew his hand only after she was stable.
A few seconds later, Lu Shiyan landed behind her.
As soon as he steadied himself, his gaze began sweeping the surroundings.
Standing on the deck, an inexplicable chill crawled up Jiang Nuan's spine.
Subconsciously, she summoned the small stream flowing within her body, extending it outward to probe the area.
It seemed—perhaps just an illusion—that this stream had widened a bit since the very beginning. But the stream felt as though it was plunging into an impenetrable, soft armor—unable to sink to the bottom or spread outward.
Strange.
After this mission, she would ask Shen Wu how it was actually supposed to be used.
"Shen Wu," Lu Shiyan said.
"I'm detecting a heat source approaching," Shen Wu replied. A translucent floating glass screen appeared before him.
"Ship's bow deck, directly ahead. About forty meters."
"How many?"
"Eight. Normal movement speed, normal body temperature."
All hands went to their weapons.
Jiang Ce stepped half a pace in front of Jiang Nuan, his broad back blocking most of her view.
Blurry silhouettes emerged from the fog.
First one, then two, then more.
Eight figures walked out of the mist.
Five of them wore the standard uniform of the White Whale's crew—gray-blue work shirts with the White's Biotech logo printed on them—while the other three were in researchers' white lab coats.
Jiang Nuan swept her gaze over every face rapidly.
No.
No memory of the white-shirted young man.
She couldn't tell if she felt relieved or even more tense.
Or perhaps it was a more subtle sense of disappointment.
At the front was a middle-aged man in his fifties, stocky and sturdy, his face weathered from years of working at sea. His nameplate read:
First Officer: Xu Guoping.
Seeing Lu Shiyan and his team, a relieved smile spread across his face.
"Finally, someone's here!"
He strode over, even extending his hand as if to shake Lu Shiyan's.
"I'm Xu Guoping, first officer of the White Whale. You're the search-and-rescue team sent by the Federation, right? We've been hoping you'd come."
The crew members behind him nodded along, their faces showing a relieved, almost post-crisis gratitude.
Some even smiled.
Just then, Shen Wu's voice suddenly came through the earpiece.
He stood at the edge of the deck, a little farther away, appearing to casually survey the area.
"All units be on alert. I can't read the thoughts of any of the crew. Their brains seem covered by some kind of barrier."
Jiang Nuan's shoulders stiffened. She stared at those smiling faces.
They seemed perfectly normal reactions.
Of course, they'd smile—someone had come to rescue them.
But combined with what Shen Wu had said, the chill in her heart deepened.
Lu Shiyan did not extend his hand.
His gaze calmly swept across the faces of the eight people in front of him.
One by one.
"You've been out of contact for twenty-four hours. Explain yourselves."
Xu Guoping's smile froze for a split second, then shifted to an apologetic look.
"Captain Lu, right? Sorry for troubling the Federation," he said, rubbing his hands together. "When we were navigating through this stretch of sea late last night, the main propeller in the engine room suddenly malfunctioned, and the ship stopped. We were just about to contact the port dispatch—"
"The cause of the malfunction," Lu Shiyan interrupted him.
His tone wasn't particularly harsh, but the words cut through Xu Guoping's narrative flow like a knife.
Xu Guoping paused, startled. "Uh... the technicians are still investigating. Our preliminary conclusion is that it's a problem with the fuel pump for the main propeller—"
"Keep talking about the signal issue."
Another cutting interruption.
Xu Guoping swallowed hard, a thin sheen of sweat visible on his forehead.
“...And then this fog rose up,” he said, gesturing around them. “The signal was completely cut off. All frequencies were dead. Radio, satellite communications—we even fired a few flare guns—”
“How many, and at what times?”
Lu Shiyan’s voice was measured, unhurried.
But everyone present could tell this wasn’t a conversation.
This was an interrogation.
Xu Guoping’s fist clenched involuntarily before relaxing.
“Th-three. Started around three in the morning, about half an hour apart.”
“And after the last one?”
“Swallowed by the fog.” Xu Guoping gave a bitter shrug. “Like tossing something into water—didn’t even make a sound.”
He glanced back at the crew behind him, as if seeking support.
“We did everything we could.”
It sounded reasonable.
Every detail lined up.
But Jiang Nuan noticed that Lu Shiyan’s brow never relaxed.
He was thinking, and he wasn’t satisfied.
“What’s the status of the forty-seven crew members now?”
“All safe!” the first mate swore, thumping his chest. “Not a single one missing.”
“And the remaining two from the Bai family?”
Among the three researchers, a man with black-rimmed glasses stepped forward. His badge read Liu Cheng. “President Bai and Xiao Yin have had high fevers since last night. They’re resting in the bunk room.”
Qi Sui and Lu Shiyan exchanged a glance.
Qi Sui adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses and stepped forward with a smile.
“I’m the medic for Zero Squad. If a fever isn’t handled properly in an enclosed environment like this, it could trigger a chain infection.”
He tilted his head, his smile deepening.
“Would you mind if I took a look?”
Liu Cheng hesitated, glancing at Xu Guoping.
“Of course,” Xu Guoping said, his warm smile back in place. “Liu Cheng, take Doctor Qi over.”
Lu Shiyan’s gaze lingered on Qi Sui for a second, then shifted to Qinian.
Qinian nodded, the corner of his mouth curling up. “I’ll go with my brother.”
“Everyone split into teams.”
Lu Shiyan’s voice was steady and decisive.
“Ye Que, Jiang Ce—check the cargo hold for supplies and hull integrity. Shen Wu, come with me to the captain’s cabin to review the voyage log and communication records.”
His gaze finally landed on Jiang Nuan.
It paused there for a beat.
Jiang Nuan’s heart tightened.
He’d said she wasn’t to leave his sight.
But she needed to go to the bunk room.
She needed to confirm whether one of those two people was the young man from her memory.
Her intuition told her that young man might hold the key to the puzzle of her memories.
Before Lu Shiyan could speak, Jiang Nuan covered her mouth.
“Captain Lu...” Her voice came out muffled through her fingers. “I’m a little seasick.”
It wasn’t entirely a lie.
The helicopter’s turbulence, the weightlessness of the fast descent, and the deck’s faint sway in the fog—her stomach really wasn’t feeling great.
But it wasn’t nearly as bad as she was letting on.
“Could I go with Qi Sui to the bunk room... just to splash some cold water on my face?”
She maintained a pained expression while mentally looping:
[So dizzy. Feel awful. Uncomfortable. Gonna throw up.]
A precaution in case Shen Wu suddenly read her mind.
Those dark eyes held no emotional ripple, but Jiang Nuan felt their gaze like a scalpel, dissecting her expression inch by inch.
Steeling herself, she met his eyes.
“Fine.”
Lu Shiyan finally spoke.
He leaned in half a step, the fabric of his combat uniform brushing her shoulder, his breath almost pressing against her ear.
“Don’t try anything.”
His voice was low enough for only her to hear.
Jiang Nuan tensed her back, then forced herself to relax.
He stepped back, his eyes lingering on her face for just a moment longer.
“Qi Sui, she’s in your hands.”
Qi Sui smiled and responded gently.
“Don’t worry.”
Jiang Nuan let out a heavy breath in her mind.
The team split up.
Ye Que and Jiang Ce headed toward the cargo hold.
Lu Shiyan led Shen Wu toward the captain’s cabin.
The bunk room was one deck below.
The researcher named Liu Cheng led the way, guiding them through a narrow door and down a metal staircase into the ship’s interior.
Fluorescent light tubes embedded in the metal ceiling, spaced every few meters, lining the corridor with harsh white light.
Two of them were broken, flickering on and off.
Their footsteps echoed on the metal floor, hollow, as if they were walking inside a giant can.
The corridor stretched on, lined with closed metal doors, each marked with a number.
She noticed one detail: all the doors were shut, and not a sliver of light leaked through the gaps.
The deeper they went, the colder the air became, carrying the stale, musty smell of a sealed space.
“Hey...”
Qinian’s voice rang out suddenly, lazy and casual, breaking the suffocating silence of the corridor.
“You guys heard that joke?”
Jiang Nuan was startled by his sudden remark.
“You know why fish can’t talk?”
He answered immediately.
“Because the moment they open their mouths, they swallow water.”
Qinian laughed first.
The sound echoed through the empty metal corridor, somehow cutting through the eerie atmosphere.
Jiang Nuan turned to look at him. “...Qinian, how old are you?”
“What?” He raised an eyebrow.
“That joke’s so childish, I stopped telling it ten years ago.”
Qinian’s expression cracked for a second.
Qi Sui, walking ahead without turning around, clearly had his shoulders shaking.
“Childish? That’s called humor.” Qinian pursed his lips. “It’s a matter of taste. You wouldn’t get it.”
“Oh, I get it. My taste says that joke scores a zero.”
“You—”
“Alright, alright.” Qi Sui finally laughed out loud, turning to look at them both.
“Nuan Nuan, guess how old Qinian is?”
Jiang Nuan eyed Qinian suspiciously.
His face was strikingly handsome, but his bone structure still held a touch of youthful roughness—a sharp, untamed edge caught between boy and young adult.
She’d originally assumed they were twins, but now realized there was at least a three- or four-year age gap between them.
“...Twenty-one?” Jiang Nuan ventured.
“Exactly! Twenty-one!” Qinian jumped in, speaking so fast it seemed he was afraid she’d change her answer.
Jiang Nuan looked at Qi Sui.
Qi Sui pushed up his glasses, smiling without saying a word.
That smile was gentle enough, but it carried a distinct “believe him and you’re a fool” vibe.
Jiang Nuan turned her suspicious gaze back to Qinian.
“You—” She narrowed her eyes. “You’re not even twenty, are you?”
Qinian’s expression froze for a fraction of a second.
“...Nonsense.” He looked away, his voice carrying a hint of guilt.
Jiang Nuan’s mouth curved slightly.
It had only been a few meaningless exchanges, but the suffocating pressure in her chest, squeezed by the fog and the metal corridor, had eased a little.
She didn’t know if Qinian had done it on purpose.
But this person, in certain unguarded moments, really did have a strange ability to make people relax.
“We’re here.” Liu Cheng, who was leading the way ahead, suddenly stopped.
Before them stood a standard cabin door, a gray-white metal panel with a sign reading “B-01 Rest Cabin.”
The three of them fell silent at once.
The only sound left in the corridor was the faint buzz of a faulty overhead light.
Hum. Hum.
Qi Sui raised her hand, her slender fingers tapping lightly twice on the door panel.
Tap. Tap.
The metallic echo traveled far down the empty passageway.
Very far.
There was no response.
Behind that door, it was as quiet as a coffin.
And inside that coffin, no one could tell if it held the living or the dead.
