***
Bonus chapter! Thank you to JustSomeOne for the donation! ^^
***
Mr. Xu? For a moment, Lin Zhiyan couldn’t quite place who "Mr. Xu" referred to.
The only person he knew on the cruise ship with the surname Xu was Xu Jinyan—but if Xu Jinyan had fallen overboard, the staff wouldn’t be reporting it in such a manner.
…No.
There was one other person on this ship who would be called "Mr. Xu."
—Xia Qing.
Last night, to evade the investigation by Qi Lintian’s men, he had altered all of Xia Qing’s records to "Xu Qing" and ordered the staff to address him as "Mr. Xu."
A bad feeling settled in Lin Zhiyan’s chest. The smile vanished from his face, replaced by an uncontrollable flicker of panic.
His hand trembled almost imperceptibly. His expression cold, he stared at the staff member and asked, "Which Mr. Xu?"
As he spoke, the pressure around him was unrestrained—even without a change in expression, his presence was terrifying.
Under Lin Zhiyan’s icy gaze, the staff member shivered, bowing his head even lower. Trembling, he stammered, "It’s—it’s the Mr. Xu staying on the second floor."
Aside from the staff, the only person staying on the second floor was Xia Qing.
The one who had fallen overboard… was Xia Qing.
Lin Zhiyan’s mind went blank.
How could it be Xia Qing? How could Xia Qing have fallen into the sea?
How was that possible?
For once, Lin Zhiyan lost his composure. He no longer cared about Qi Lintian—he shot to his feet and strode urgently toward the restaurant exit.
But after only a few steps, he stopped abruptly and turned back, his voice frigid as he ordered the staff member, "Stop the ship."
During the day, the cruise ship moved at full speed, only slowing at night. No one but Lin Zhiyan had the authority to halt it—not even Qi Lintian, though the man himself didn’t know that.
Even for Lin Zhiyan, stopping the ship now risked causing discontent—both among the guests and the crew.
Yet not a single staff member present dared protest. They immediately carried out the order.
As for the guests, faced with Lin Zhiyan’s dark, terrifying expression, no one dared utter a word. Some even instinctively backed away.
They didn’t know who this man was, but their instincts screamed one thing:
He was dangerous.
Qi Lintian raised an eyebrow as he watched Lin Zhiyan’s uncharacteristic loss of composure, striding toward the elevator. He didn’t question the man for overstepping his authority to order the cruise ship to halt—instead, he stood and followed at a deliberate pace.
The second floor deck was already crowded with crew members, their faces tense as they peered over the railing at the churning sea below. Some seemed poised to jump, though it was futile.
At full speed, few who fell overboard could survive. To leap now would only mean joining the depths.
The moment Lin Zhiyan stepped onto the deck, the ship finally lurched to a stop.
The braking was abrupt—like a speeding car slamming its brakes—tilting the massive vessel forward violently. Inside, passengers staggered, crashing into walls as objects flew from tables. The ship rocked wildly, as if it had struck a reef.
But given its staggering 300,000-ton weight, the vessel soon stabilized.
Before Lin Zhiyan could even issue orders, the crew on deck plunged recklessly into the sea, desperate to find the slender figure lost to the waves.
Yet the water showed no trace of him.
Given the time since the fall and the ship’s speed, there was little chance he’d still be nearby. The crew searched the hull instead—no bloodstains, no impact marks, no evidence of a collision.
As if no one had ever been dragged under.
But fresh blood would’ve washed away swiftly in the sea. The absence of traces proved nothing. Against the ship’s gargantuan force, a human body was insignificant—easily pulverized by the propellers’ crushing pressure.
After inspecting the hull, the crew swam frantically in the direction the ship had come from.
Passengers weren’t permitted on the lower decks, but a few bold ones had slipped down via the elevators. They gaped at the scene.
“Are they seriously swimming like that? Isn’t it suicidal?” one whispered.
Another stared, voice trembling. “Y-yeah… Even the strongest swimmers wouldn’t stand a chance. They’ve got no gear—not even a life ring!”
The passengers exchanged uneasy glances. Even Qi Lintian frowned. Something was off.
He frowned at the staff swimming farther away, then finally turned his gaze to the bodyguard behind him.
The bodyguard seemed to understand Qi Lintian’s unspoken question and gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head under his employer’s scrutiny.
They couldn’t do it.
Swimming at such speed in the open sea was exhausting—an ordinary person wouldn’t last long. But the staff were responsible for the Malegobi’s operations; it was plausible they’d undergone specialized training.
In the end, the search yielded nothing.
This was the boundless ocean, devoid of any nearby ships or vessels. Ordinary boats wouldn’t even venture this far out. No findings could only mean the worst possible news.
Xia Qing was dead.
Dead on the second day Lin Zhiyan had noticed him. Dead on the second day his heart had stirred.
Not even a whole corpse remained—no trace, as if he’d vanished without a shadow.
Lin Zhiyan couldn’t accept this. Wouldn’t accept it.
He’d already begun weaving dreams of a future—one with Xia Qing in it. And now, that future had been severed mid-breath.
His eyes darkened completely, a terrifying aura radiating from him. The very air seemed to grow colder.
The others on deck tensed instinctively, a primal fear gripping them—as if something dreadful were about to unfold.
But just as quickly, the tension dissipated like a mirage. Lin Zhiyan turned away, his voice icy. "Increase speed."
The lead staff member stared at his retreating back before suddenly comprehending. He lowered his head at once.
"Understood, Mr. Lin."
***
In a shadowed corner, Ruan Qing watched the figures gradually leave the deck. Only then did he exhale shakily, his legs giving way as he slumped silently to the ground.
His face was ghostly pale, his delicate fingers trembling faintly. He looked wrecked.
The rope around his waist during the fall had done this.
The hull was smooth, with no footholds. To avoid plunging into the sea, he’d tied himself to a rope and used a pulley mechanism to halt his descent.
But the impact had been too much for an ordinary body to bear. The unyielding cord had bitten into his waist, leaving him bruised and battered.
Ruan Qing unfastened the rope around his waist. His pale pink lips pressed into a thin line as his trembling fingers lifted the edge of his clothing.
He rarely saw sunlight—whether before entering the game or after—so his skin bore a sickly pallor.
And now, a lurid bruise marred his slender waist, standing out starkly against the porcelain-white skin, grotesque and terrifying.
"Mnh…" Just the slightest brush of his fingertips sent a shudder of pain through him, his lashes fluttering as his eyes glazed with unshed tears.
But Ruan Qing only let out a muffled whimper, refusing to cry.
The live-stream audience, who had been watching the entire time, was heartbroken.
[Wuwuwu, that looks so painful! Blow on it, wifey, blow on it! No more pain, no more!]
[Stupid rope, hurting my wife! I hereby declare ropes my most hated thing in the world! I’m burning every last one in my house later.]
[Am I the only one who finds wifey like this kinda… hot? That pale skin with the dark bruise, plus his suppressed expression—who wouldn’t lose it?]
[Right?! Wifey’s just lethally seductive like this—wait, hold up, did the mole on his waist just… move?]
[You’re so horny you’re seeing things. It didn’t move at all. But damn, that black mole against his snow-white skin is doing things to me. Wifey’s just *chef’s kiss*—slurp.]
The audience’s focus quickly devolved into thirst, except for the one viewer who’d mentioned the mole. They were still puzzled.
They swore they’d seen it move.
When the streamer’s fingers touched his waist, the mole had seemed to come alive, unfurling like a blooming flower, tendrils of black rapidly spreading outward—stretching toward the bruise, toward the boy’s fingertips.
But when they looked closer, the mole was unchanged. Even rewinding the recorded stream in slow motion revealed no abnormality.
In the end, the viewer chalked it up to their imagination.
Unbeknownst to anyone, those two comments had been shadow-banned by the livestream’s system. Ruan Qing never saw them.
Hands still trembling, he smoothed his clothes back into place. After erasing every trace, he changed into the high school uniform he’d worn earlier, tugged his cap low over his eyes, and left the deck.
***
The cruise ship once again headed toward uncharted waters, this time moving much faster than before—so fast that the vessel swayed noticeably.
Many passengers began feeling seasick and swarmed the staff with complaints.
The crew members smiled apologetically. "We’re sorry, but a storm is approaching. We must reach safer waters before it hits. Your understanding is appreciated."
"For those feeling unwell, motion sickness medication is available in the lobby. Please help yourselves."
Storms were a notorious hazard at sea—countless ships had been lost to them. Even the most seasoned sailors stood little chance against nature’s fury.
With that, the passengers had no grounds to argue. Grumbling, they collected their medicine and retreated to their cabins to endure the nausea.
Ruan Qing hadn’t expected to get seasick.
Having lived inland his entire life, he’d never been to sea before—this was his first time even seeing the ocean. The violent dizziness took him by surprise.
And it was unbearable.
Gritting his teeth against the vertigo and rising nausea, he joined the line for medication.
With so many affected, supplies were limited: just two pills per passenger.
When his turn came, Ruan Qing silently extended his hand.
The crew member froze mid-motion, staring at the slender, delicate fingers before him—they were breathtaking.
Pale, finely shaped, with knuckles like sculpted jade. Even the phrase "fingers like peeled spring onions" didn’t do them justice.
Instinctively, the worker looked up, but the stranger’s face remained hidden beneath a low-drawn hat.
After a hesitant pause, the staff pressed an entire bottle of pills into Ruan Qing’s palm.
The other passengers, too miserable to notice the special treatment, shuffled away. Ruan Qing himself, dazed and weak, missed it too.
Staggering to a corner, he tried to twist the cap open—but his hands trembled too violently.
Just as he attempted again, a familiar voice spoke beside him, freezing him mid-motion:
"Need help?"
