The sun hid behind a thick curtain of churning grey clouds, casting the sky in a bruised, foreboding hue. The sea, stirred into chaos by the gathering storm, heaving violently. Waves slamming into each other with deafening force, sending Xue Laohu's ship lurching like a drunkard staggering through a battlefield. The deck creaked and groaned underfoot, the timbers protesting with every crash as though the ship itself feared the wrath of the typhoon.
Li Zhameng clung to the railing, his knuckles white, his face the color of old parchment with a sickly green tint creeping up his neck. He retched again, barely able to draw breath before another wave of nausea twisted his insides. "Oh…" he gasped, eyes watering as he bent double and vomited over the side, the wind catching the sound and flinging it into the roar of the storm.
Above, the typhoon howled like a furious spirit set loose, its winds clawing at the sea's surface until the waves rose like obsidian mountains. Sheets of rain lashed across the deck "there!" a voice suddenly cried out—sharp and urgent. Xue Tuzi was at the bow, his soaked robes plastered to his frame, one hand shielding his eyes as he pointed frantically toward the chaos of the sea.
Xue Laohu rushed to his side, grabbing the spyglass with trembling fingers. He steadied himself against the swaying mast, bringing the scope to his eye. There, barely visible through the fog and rain, bobbed a splinter of wood no larger than a coffin—a pathetic shard of a boat, barely afloat. And within it, a hunched figure, curled and motionless, arms wrapped around themselves like they were clinging to life itself.
"Shudu," Xue Laohu muttered, voice grim. "That's them, alright." He lowered the spyglass, his jaw tightening. "We've got to get them out of there. Whatever's around them—" He didn't finish the thought. Something about the shadows swirling near that boat chilled him more than the icy wind ever could. Behind him, the sounds of Li Zhameng's continued vomiting punctuated the tense silence, a grotesque rhythm to the storm's fury.
The storm wasn't letting up. But they had found Shudu. And now, all that remained was to reach them, before whatever circled that ruined little boat did.
The thing that encircled Shudu's boat did not swim. They writhed.
Each one was a grotesque demonic fish swollen to whale-like enormity, their bodies armored in jagged scales the color of clotting blood. It had a bulbous head, their jaws—ungodly wide, unhinged like serpents—gnashed rows of teeth sharper than broken glass, each fang longer than a man's forearm. Eyes like boiled moons bulged milky-white, pupil-less and seething with a hunger that transcended instinct. This was spite, given flesh and fin.
One breached.
The creature's belly glistened corpse-pale as it arced over Shudu's boat, its maw yawning wide enough to swallow the vessel whole. For a heartbeat, the storm's roar died, replaced by the shrieking grind of teeth snapping shut—a sound like bones being fed through a sawmill. The boat rocked violently, and Xue Tuzi screamed as he saw it: the mast sheared clean, edges glinting with saliva that hissed as it ate into the wood.
They moved in a maelstrom-pattern, their thrashing tails churning the water into a froth of crimson and bile. Some scraped against the hull, scales screeching like knives on stone, while others rammed it from below, their barnacle-crusted skulls cratering the planks. Shudu crouched at the center, his clothes plastered to his skin, clutching on to Tuanzhu. The little Gu worm's light pulsed a frantic pink, as if the creature knew death swam inches away…
"They're herding him!" Xue Laohu bellowed, voice barely piercing the shriek of the wind as he clung to the slick rigging.
Down below, the sea boiled with monstrous intent. The creatures—grotesque, demonic fish with slick black scales and gleaming teeth like old broken porcelain—weren't attacking to kill. Not yet. They circled Shudu's fragile vessel like wolves, prodding, ramming, steering it with terrifying precision toward a yawning vortex ahead. The ocean spiraled into itself there, forming a churning throat that reached into the heart of the abyss, darker than night.
Above them, lightning slashed across the heavens, freezing the nightmare in blinding white for a heartbeat: the crumbling boat, the slavering maws of the beasts, the lone figure crouched protectively over the glowing bundle in his arms.
Xue Laohu bared his teeth, unsheathing his blade in a single fluid motion. "Hold on!" he shouted—and then he leapt.
The sword caught the wind, pulsing with power, and carried him into the storm like a streak of silver fire. Rain lashed his face, salt stung his eyes, but he didn't falter. He landed on the splintered deck beside Shudu, snatched him and the limp figure in his arms—Tuanzhu—and with a defiant roar, launched himself back through the air.
They crashed onto the deck of the main ship, drenched, panting, reeking of brine and blood. The wind tore at their clothes, and the sea bellowed below like a beast enraged. Xue Laohu collapsed to his knees, coughing saltwater, his arms still protectively around the pair. Tuanzhu lay in Shudu's arms, soaked to the bone and trembling. Her tiny coughs were nearly lost in the tempest, but Xue Tuzi heard them. And what he heard ignited something wild and furious. He stalked across the deck, eyes black and bottomless like polished onyx, his rage a quiet tremor building toward catastrophe. Shudu was on his knees, hacking up seawater, one arm still curled around Tuanzhu's small form.
"Idiot!" Xue Tuzi hissed, voice cracked and raw with emotion. He didn't wait. His hand lashed out, and the slap cracked louder than the thunder overhead.
Shudu's head whipped to the side, his grip on Tuanzhu slipping. Blood welled on his split lip, bright against his skin.
Xue Laohu staggered to his feet, water still dripping from his hair. "Enough—"
"Give her back!" Xue Tuzi roared, jabbing a finger at Shudu. His face was twisted, contorted with something deeper than anger—grief, maybe fear.
Shudu's voice was hoarse but steady. "Why? So you can finish what you started?"
With a roar, Xue Tuzi lunged. His first punch was wild, burning with desperation, but the demon twisted, ducked, and drove his elbow into Xue Tuzi's ribs. They slammed into the mast, grappling, slipping on the rain-slicked deck, made worse by the lingering puddles of Li Zhameng's vomit. Xue Tuzi snarled, fingers clawing at Shudu's arms, trying to tear Tuanzhu from his grasp, trying to pull the Gu worm from the flesh where it had nested.
"Stop this! At once!" Xue Laohu thundered, but the storm stole his voice, shredded it to nothing.
In the chaos, Shudu's grip faltered.
Tuanzhu slipped from his arms, and for a breathless instant, she floated—suspended in the eye of the storm. Her small form glowed with a gentle, ethereal pink light, pulsing once like a heartbeat made of silk and magic.
Then the sea screamed.
A massive shadow surged from the depths. The water exploded upward as the demonic fish revealed itself—its maw opening wide with hunger. Its teeth gleamed, yellow and jagged like temple spires turned monstrous. Xue Tuzi and Shudu froze mid-motion, fists still clenched, eyes locked on Tuanzhu as she hovered, helplessly.
Then—they moved.
Together, without hesitation, they leapt toward her. Time fractured. A flash of pink light. A scream lost to the wind.
And then the beast's jaws closed.
Silence.
The deck trembled. Rain pattered softly, then more loudly, as though the storm itself was stunned. The sea was still again, save for the blood-colored foam curling at the ship's edge. Of Shudu, Xue Tuzi, and Tuanzhu—there was no sign. Only the scent of salt, and rot, and something ancient now awake beneath the waves. Xue Laohu stood frozen, his sword still in hand, watching in stunned silence as the monstrous demonic fish slipped back beneath the raging ocean. Its titanic form vanished into the blackness as if it had never been seen, the waves swallowing all traces of its existence. Only the churned water remained, and the silence that followed was deafening.
His mouth hung open. "A-Tuzi… Shudu…!" he cried, voice cracking like splintered wood. He staggered to the edge of the deck, peering into the dark waters, hoping—praying—for a sign. But the sea gave nothing back. No bodies. No light. No answer. A choked sound escaped him—half scream, half sob. He clutched his face with both hands, his knees buckling beneath the weight of sudden helplessness. The wind whipped around him, cold and biting, but the storm now seemed distant, muffled behind the pounding of his own heartbeat.
"What am I supposed to do now?" he whispered, the words spilling out in a frantic breath. His eyes darted around the empty deck, searching for something—anything—but all he heard was—
Hurk—blarghh!
The unmistakable sound of retching.
Xue Laohu turned, dazed, just in time to see Li Zhameng curled over the side, his entire body convulsing as he vomited yet again. His face was pale green, his expression one of pure misery.
"Shizun," Li Zhameng whimpered, clutching the railing. "Shizun, I can't…!"
Xue Laohu let out a soft, exasperated sigh and forced himself to his feet. He stumbled across the slick deck and knelt beside his disciple, pulling him into a comforting embrace despite the awful smell.
"Is this… is this how pregnant women feel?" Li Zhameng croaked, burying his clammy face against his Shizun's shoulder. "Because if so…"
"You're not pregnant, Meng Meng," Xue Laohu said gently, brushing the wet hair from his disciples face. "You're just seasick."
Li Zhameng groaned and slumped more heavily into his Shizun's arms. "Of course… Shizun and I haven't even—"
He didn't get to finish the sentence. His cheeks ballooned suddenly, and with a pitiful gurgle, he vomited directly onto Xue Laohu's chest.
"UGH—Meng Meng!" Xue Laohu recoiled, staring in horror at the splatter soaking through his robes. "Disgusting!"
With a flick of his wrist, he summoned the system. The neon interface shimmered into existence above his head like a hovering symbol, casting an eerie glow against the storm-darkened sky. It blinked rapidly, clearly awaiting input. He glared up at it, drenched and foul-smelling, Li Zhameng now passed out against him like a soggy, half-conscious sack of rice.
SYSTEM MESSAGE
MISSION: SCARLET RECKONING MENDING THE FRACTURED BOND
STATUS: IN PROGRESS…
The neon screen blinked once—twice—before fading into translucent semi-opacity, hovering like an uninvited ghost in the rain-choked sky. Xue Laohu stared at the words, heart pounding.
He exhaled slowly, pressing two fingers to his temple. "A-Tuzi… Shudu…" he murmured, reaching through the tether that connected their minds, trying to grasp even the faintest echo of thought, of breath, of life. But there was only static. Silence. And a chill that had nothing to do with the storm.
⸻
Meanwhile…
Inside the beast, time had lost meaning.
The air clung thick like rotted glue—foul, moist, heavy with the reek of old blood and seawater left to rot. It filled Xue Tuzi's lungs like smoke and bile, making each breath a small act of torture. He gagged, doubling over, his knees sinking into the grotesque floor beneath him—spongy, soft, and squelching like meat gone sour. The ground gave under his weight like a belly bloated with gas, then tensed, pulsing beneath his skin as though alive.
He retched again, violently, his body unable to process the sheer stench. "Aghk…" he rasped, covering his mouth with his sleeve as yellow bile dripped from his chin. The cloth did nothing to shield him from the miasma. It was like the fish had swallowed a thousand corpses and left them to ferment in its gut.
The walls of the chamber—if it could be called that—throbbed and glistened, their surface slick with mucous that glowed a weak, sickly green. The light distorted the shadows, casting everything in a hellish undersea hue. Fleshy veins pulsed above his head, excreting slow streams of acid that slithered down in glistening ropes, sizzling where they met the fleshy floor.
His eyes lifted—and froze.
In the center of the chamber lay a pit, a churned whirlpool of noxious bile. It gurgled and hissed, bubbling like a boiling cauldron. Floating half-submerged was the broken wreckage of a fishing boat, its wood warped and shrieking as the acid melted it down to splinters. The sound was unnatural—like something alive being digested.
Xue Tuzi turned away, coughing again, bile burning the back of his throat. He wiped his mouth and staggered to his feet, wincing as he realized one of his boots was gone. His bare foot squelched into something warm and soft—and then sharp. He yelped, jerking his leg up.
Clutched in his toes was a hand—skeletal, desiccated, the fingers crumbling like brittle chalk. He kicked it away, chest heaving, and stumbled backward, only to collide with what looked like the barnacle-encrusted rib of a whale. Or part of one.
It jutted from the muck like a grave marker, pierced straight through a shattered mast. Skulls—human and otherwise—littered the chamber, half-submerged in viscera. Some still wore rusted armor, seaweed dangling from hollow eye sockets like grotesque hair. Others clawed at their own necks in death, jaws locked in permanent screams.
Xue Tuzi forced himself forward, stepping carefully through the remains, using a jagged plank of wood as a crude cane. Every step brought new horrors. Shark fins floating like lost sails. Tentacles curled like discarded ropes. And things he couldn't name—limbs bent at impossible angles, eyeless creatures congealed into sea foam, bits of flesh that blinked when he passed.
The floor pulsed beneath him again. He froze, heart hammering, and realized—
The stomach was breathing.
With each step he took, the walls contracted, squeezing out another rain of digestive fluid that hissed and steamed on contact with anything it touched. One drop landed on his shoulder, he hissed batting it away. The fabric burned, revealing raw skin beneath.
Across the vast, undulating expanse of the beast's belly, a faint pink light shimmered like a dying ember. Xue Tuzi's heart jolted, his breath catching in his throat as he limped toward it, each step a struggle against the cloying rot that saturated the air. The scent was unbearable—like butchered meat left to froth under a cruel sun, thick with decay and despair. His eyes watered as bile surged up his throat, but he swallowed it down, refusing to stop.
The closer he came, the more his chest clenched.
She lay curled into herself in a tight, quivering ball, drenched in a slick sheen of stomach acid that steamed faintly where it touched her flesh. Her delicate form trembled with cold, her jelly-like skin pale and faintly luminescent beneath the greenish glow. A deep gash marred her cheek—an ugly reminder of the injury he'd delivered. The sight of it cleaved through his chest.
"Little One…" His voice cracked as he stumbled forward, tripping over a rib bone embedded in the fleshy ground. He landed on his knees in front of her, scrambling up with outstretched arms. "Little One, it's me…"
Tuanzhu's round, violet eyes widened in alarm. She flinched, shrinking into herself. Her little tail flicked warningly, then she bared her tiny, jagged teeth with a hiss so fierce it echoed through the chamber like the hiss of a fuse. Her eyes were full of betrayal, fear—and memory.
"He's a cold, heartless man," Shudu had warned her, his voice playing like a drumbeat in her mind. "He'll use you, then discard you when you're no longer useful. Stay away from him. Do not trust him."
Her small, wounded heart throbbed with those words. She remembered the way his hand had cracked across her face. The pain. The rejection. Yet he reached for her again.
She scuttled back, eyes glimmering with unshed tears.
But Xue Tuzi crawled forward, his voice trembling. "It's okay… I won't hurt you. I swear." He extended his hand slowly, fingers shaking. "Please, Little One I'm sorry."
As his fingers brushed her head, she lunged and bit down hard.
A sharp gasp tore from his throat—her teeth sank deep into the meat of his hand, blood welling around them in hot, stinging rivers. But he didn't pull away. He winced, breathing heavily through his nose, and wrapped his arms around her tiny frame.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, voice hoarse with guilt. "I really am sorry…"
She thrashed in his arms, gnawing furiously, little nubs raking at his wrist. But he held her close, rocking her gently against his chest despite the pain, despite the hot sting of torn flesh.
"It's okay. I won't hurt you," he murmured again, brushing his lips to the top of her quivering head. "I promise. I promise, my sweet little girl…"
His voice cracked as he smiled, a raw, helpless smile full of guilt and longing and a tenderness he didn't know he still had. He cradled her as if she were made of glass. His blood soaked into her soft body, and still he smiled.
Tuanzhu blinked up at him, her slitted eyes narrowing, unsure. But the fury in them began to fade. His voice was so soft. His arms so warm. His scent so familiar. And though fear still gripped her, her heart beat in time with his.
She hesitated.
And then, slowly, she let go.
"…Mama?" she whimpered, barely audible, her voice a tiny, trembling note.
Xue Tuzi's breath hitched. He didn't speak. He only tightened his arms around her, eyes damp as he pressed a kiss to her wounded cheek. His voice returned in a whisper, soft as silk and heavy with emotion.
"Yes, my sweet little girl."
With gentle fingers, he pulled down the collar of his robe, exposing the pale line of his throat and collarbone. She stared at the offered flesh for a moment before crawling upward, her instincts taking over. Her sharp teeth pierced his skin—not gently, not kindly, still full of lingering resentment—but he made no move to stop her.
He only winced and stroked her back, murmuring soothing words while fat tears clung to her long lashes. Her tiny suspires echoed in the chamber as she fed, the rhythmic beat of his heart pulsing against her small body.
Once sated, she released him with a soft burp and clambered to his shoulder, blinking sleepily. But then—
"Tuanzhu, come."
A voice, low and commanding, echoed across the chamber. Familiar. Strong. Her head perked. She turned toward the sound, her body instinctively twitching with recognition. Without hesitation, she squirmed out of Xue Tuzi's hold and darted toward the voice. Xue Tuzi turned, alarmed, just as the shadows parted.
From the haze emerged a tall figure cloaked in phosphorescent mist, his long black braid whipped around him by the slow, humid exhalations of the fish beast. One muscular arm, inked from wrist to shoulder in nefarious creatures, lifted with quiet strength as Tuanzhu landed neatly in his palm.
He brought her to his chest, where she clung contentedly, tucking herself against the warm skin.
The glow lit his features—and Xue Tuzi froze.
Shudu stood before him, his striking face half-obscured by the pulsing light. One eye gleamed a violent red beneath the tangled strands of wet hair, his gaze fixed on Xue Tuzi with an unreadable intensity.