Chapter Seventy-Five: Hearts in Tur

The pungent stench of fish, mingled with the acrid odor of sweating brutes, filled the lower and middle decks of the pirate ship. Having found no place to settle on Lingdao of Donglai, the hundreds of warriors from the mainland of Nine Provinces were forced to continue living, crowded together, on this suffocating vessel.

“Damn it, fish every single day! If this keeps up, we’ll turn into fish-people ourselves! Here we are at the Immortal Village, yet there’s not even a spot to stay—we’re still cooped up on this wreck of a ship. When will this miserable life end?”

A fierce-looking man in gray, bare-chested and broad-shouldered, sat in a cramped cabin, clutching a large wooden bowl filled with two palm-sized, boiled sea fish. The fish, boiled with nothing but a dash of salt, was simple to make but almost tasteless. The man squinted at the fish in his bowl, stomach growling with hunger yet utterly devoid of appetite, muttering curses under his breath.

“If you don’t want sea fish, what do you want? Spirit Rice Porridge at the Xianhong Pavilion? Steamed Serpent Broth or Braised Spirit Crab at the Drunken Immortal Hall? Take a look at yourself! You’re just a novice body-forging martial artist—what makes you think you deserve such delicacies?”

A burly, scar-faced man nearby sneered at him.

“I can’t even complain now? Aren’t you also a novice in body-forging? Who do you think you are, daring to talk back to me?”

The gray-clad man’s temper flared; he threw down his bowl and leapt up, glaring furiously at the scar-faced man.

“So what if I laugh? What are you going to do about it?” The man with the long scar at the corner of his eye looked back coldly, his expression vicious.

“Courting death!”

Without another word, the gray-clad man threw a punch at his rival’s face. The scar-faced man was not to be outdone and met him head on.

Thud! Thud!

The two were soon locked in a brawl.

None of the seven or eight other warriors in the cabin tried to break it up; instead, they egged the fighters on, shouting and cheering. Soon, the ruckus drew over a few more warriors from neighboring cabins, eager for a spectacle.

Fists flew, flesh struck flesh, the two venting their pent-up frustrations with bare knuckles and brute strength, rather than martial techniques. After exchanging dozens of blows, the gray-clad man landed a kick, and they broke apart, both breathing heavily.

The gray-clad man’s face was swollen and bruised. The scar-faced one had fared no better—a punch had left his eye blackened, and his upper body was covered in welts, burning with pain.

They glared at each other, tempers still ablaze.

“Haha, keep going! Don’t stop now! Watching a good fight while eating sea fish—that’s the only flavor we get around here!” A sly, short, stocky man lounged against the wall, legs crossed, tearing off a chunk of fatty fish and chewing with relish, utterly unfazed by the brawl.

“So you think we’re performing for your amusement?”

The two brawlers, still fuming, turned their wrath upon the short man and lunged at him from both sides.

“Hey, fight each other, not me!” The short man rolled aside in panic, dodging their attack. One he could handle, but two at once—he’d be overwhelmed.

“Damn you, I’ll beat you to death for your smart mouth!” The gray-clad man swung again, missing, then charged once more.

“That’ll teach you to run your mouth! Haven’t you heard that trouble follows a loose tongue?” The scar-faced man grinned wickedly, blocking the short man into a corner and kicking hard.

The rest wisely kept clear, not wanting to get caught up in the fray.

“Just my luck—please, brothers, go easy on me! My bones are brittle, you don’t need to go all out!” The short man yelped as he took a kick, then, resigning himself to the inevitable, curled up in the corner, arms wrapped around his head and chest, protecting his vital spots.

The two men, desperate for an outlet for their anger, did not hold back—their fists and feet rained down on the short man. Yet he endured the beating in silence, huddled in the corner.

“Not making a sound—is he dead?” After a while, the gray-clad man paused, suspicious, worried they might have gone too far.

Fighting on the ship was common enough, but killing someone would draw the harsh punishment of Deputy Captain Chang—being thrown off the ship was no small matter when there wasn’t even a hut to sleep in on Lingdao.

“This guy’s tough as nails—he won’t die so easily! That’s enough, now my fists feel better. Let’s eat!” The scar-faced man landed a final punch and stopped.

Grimacing, the short man finally struggled to his feet and checked his injuries. The onlookers, seeing the excitement was over, dispersed—some returned to their meals, others to their idle chatter. Life on the ship was dull, and the only topics of conversation were the memories of the mainland.

Suddenly, shouts of alarm came from outside.

“Someone’s dead! There’s a dead man!”

Those still eating dropped their bowls and rushed out.

The corridor on the second deck was already packed with warriors, all craning for a look.

“What’s going on?” The gray-clad man tried to push through but could only stand on tiptoe, looking anxiously inside—there was little that could stir up such interest on this ship.

“Another death—that’s the third!” The warriors muttered amongst themselves. After their recent setbacks on Donglai’s Immortal Village, hope for the path of ascension was fading, and tempers were running ever higher.

“Make way—Deputy Captain Chang is here!”

The crowd quickly parted.

Chang Fei, his face dark as thunder, arrived at the scene with a dozen burly guards. Ye Mo was the true captain, but he cared little for the ship’s petty disputes and brawls; it was always Chang, the deputy, who handled such matters.

Chang stepped into the cabin, frowning deeply.

Inside, a hook-nosed warrior lay dead against the wall, eyes wide with indignation. A short dagger protruded from his chest, a pool of blood beneath him.

Chang’s expression grew even grimmer. He gestured to two warriors behind him. “Drag the body out and toss it to the fish!”

His curt order made faces pale among the onlookers. They’d been eating nothing but the bland flesh of local sea fish, and now, hearing the body would be thrown overboard, several men turned green and hurried away to retch.

“Who did this? Own up! There were only a few of you here—you can’t escape!” Chang’s sharp gaze swept the room.

Many eyes turned to a haggard-looking warrior within.

“Deputy Captain Chang, it was him—he bullied me time and again. I endured it as long as I could, but finally had to fight back!” The warrior’s face was bleak, his thin body covered in bruises. On this ship, the weak and well-behaved suffered frequent abuse.

Chang believed him—this was clearly a case of the bullied finally snapping. But he cared little for such details; he waved his hand. “Take him off the ship! He must be punished for killing a man, or there’ll be no order. Let him fend for himself on Lingdao!”

Two burly guards stepped forward, fixing the man with cold, warning stares.

As the unlucky warrior was led away, the crowd shuddered. Lingdao belonged to the immortals; there was likely not even food to be had, nor a place to sleep. More likely than not, he would end up a mining slave—a fate worse than death.

“Hmph. Our situation on Lingdao is dire—you all know how hard it is just to get by! Behave yourselves and don’t make trouble for Immortal Ye. If you don’t want to stay aboard, go find work on the island! Lord Zou is always in need of miners—he’ll welcome you!” Chang’s cold gaze swept the room, and the warriors averted their eyes in fear.

Chang’s martial skill was average, only mid-tier, but he had been appointed deputy captain first by Captain Feng, and then confirmed by Ye Mo himself. With so much authority, few dared defy him.

With a final snort, he strode out, his guards following.

Once he was gone, the warriors began to mutter quietly. The scene had planted seeds of restlessness in many—perhaps it was time to leave the ship and seek their own paths.

…

Chang had barely finished dealing with the dispute when he climbed to the deck and spotted a black-robed warrior, surrounded by more than a dozen followers, preparing to leave the ship.

“Master Lin, heading out on business?” Chang called out with a forced smile.

He had never suffered hardship on a desert island himself, but had heard plenty of tales about the poison master Lin Zhi from others.

Of the hundreds aboard, only about twenty had survived the island ordeal with Ye Mo and boarded this pirate ship together.

Poison master Lin Zhi was one of the few on this ship who could speak to Ye Mo directly, his status akin to that of Gao Jian and Mo Ling—perhaps even higher than Chang’s own, at least in practice.

“Oh, Deputy Chang. I was just on my way to bid Brother Ye farewell, but it seems he left early this morning. Please pass on my thanks—if it weren’t for his care, I would never have reached Lingdao safely. I owe him a great debt, which I can only repay in the future.”

Lin Zhi glanced at Chang, his tone calm.

“Ah! Has Master Lin found an opportunity in the village? Might I ask what it is?” Chang’s curiosity was piqued; he knew Lin Zhi was ambitious and would not content himself with menial labor like the others.

“There’s an immortal in the village interested in one of my poison recipes. He wishes to buy it, and has invited me to become his apprentice in poison refinement,” Lin Zhi answered, making no attempt at secrecy.

“Congratulations, then! May you soon cultivate your soul and become an immortal yourself! I’ll be sure to pass your words to Immortal Ye.” Chang cupped his fists with a smile.

After a few more polite words, Lin Zhi led his followers off the ship towards the Immortal Village.

On the dock, the exiled, thin warrior stood in confusion, unsure where to go. Frustration and helplessness filled him—cast off so abruptly, what could he possibly do? Lingdao was vast, yet he had no foothold here.

Lin Zhi, passing with his group, noticed the man. He had already heard about the incident on the ship.

“What’s your name? Now that you’re off the ship, what will you do?” Lin Zhi asked, seeing an opportunity—he was short on hands for errands, and if he became an apprentice at the Thousand Poisons Pavilion, he’d be able to support a few followers in the village.

“Ah! You’re the poison—Master Lin! I’m Chen Wu—greetings, Master Lin!” The warrior was startled, then quickly composed himself. “I have no idea where to go now.”

“Would you be willing to follow me? I can’t promise much, but you’ll at least have enough to eat. If I become an immortal cultivator one day, my loyal followers will also have the chance to cultivate their souls. But I only want true loyalty—if you’re of two minds, you’ll regret setting foot in this world,” Lin Zhi said slowly.

“I swear to heaven, Master Lin! From this moment on, I will follow you with all my heart. Should I harbor treachery, may ten thousand poisons devour me alive!” Chen Wu was overjoyed—he had fallen into despair, with neither path nor retreat, and now, in a twist of fate, had found hope and the chance to chase immortality.

He had no doubt about Lin Zhi’s words.

Among the hundreds on this ship, only Immortal Ye Mo, Gao Jian, and Lin Zhi had their own loyal followers and trusted confidants. The rest were small-time operators, forming factions that never amounted to much. Even Deputy Chang, who seemed powerful, was entirely subject to Ye Mo’s authority and had no real faction of his own.

Lin Zhi was highly respected among the warriors, one of the few true leaders, and a figure of considerable strength.

“Good! So long as you are loyal, you will not be mistreated. Come with me!” Lin Zhi smiled, a rare sight, and nodded.

This exchange did not escape Chang’s notice as he stood on the deck. He frowned in thought.

This poison master was remarkably talented. If they could keep him to assist Immortal Ye, he would be a great asset in the future. Yet, with the current hardships, Ye Mo had yet to secure a foothold in the Immortal Village, and was struggling just to earn spirit stones. Even if he wished to keep Lin Zhi, he had nothing with which to entice such a man of ambition.

Lin Zhi seeking his own path was no surprise.

Chang sighed.

Ye Mo had already instructed that all warriors aboard were free to come and go as they pleased—no one was to be forced to stay. With so many mouths to feed, only the strongest had been made ship’s guards. If the rest could find their own ways, it would only lighten the ship’s burden.