BOOM—
The cigar torch, still spitting blue flame, plunged into the sea. The instant it struck, the slick of fuel on the water’s surface erupted. Fire spread with explosive speed, racing outward in every direction. In mere seconds, the entire stretch of ocean was consumed, transformed into a searing, boiling inferno.
Trapped at the epicenter, the Yongyue was instantly engulfed by the blaze. Fuel clung to the hull and underside of the ship, catching fire and crawling upward in defiance of the falling rain.
Thick smoke billowed skyward. In just a few heartbeats, flames surged high into the sky. Smoke choked the air. The people who had fallen into the water never had a chance to scream—they never resurfaced.
“Gu Mengran! Liang Zhao!”
The water’s surface was no longer visible, but Xiao Dong clung desperately to the railing, shouting with every last ounce of his strength. His face was obscured by smoke, but the anguish in his voice was raw—utterly shattered.
Aunt Fang stood frozen, grief a heavy weight in her chest. Family, friends… all gone, one after another. Even the kind-hearted neighbor had paid with his life. One blaze had burned away every last shred of hope. Maybe, just maybe, there had been a chance at survival. Now, all of it was gone—devoured by the fire.
There was no time left to mourn.
The flames were spreading too fast. If they didn’t move now, they’d never make it out.
Clenching her jaw, Aunt Fang forced herself to look away from the water. She spun on her heel and shouted, “Don’t just stand there! Everyone, back to the cabins—now! We’re getting out of here!”
“Move, move, move! Drop the emergency ladder! The fire’s coming up!”
“The ship’s moving! Stay away from the railing—get below deck!”
“The smoke’s too thick! Cover the windows, cover your mouth and nose!”
……
WOOOH—WOOOH—
The deep, thunderous blare of the ship’s horn split the chaos. The engine roared to life, loud as a storm. Surrounded on all sides by fire, the great vessel surged into motion. Beneath the waves, the massive propellers spun furiously, forcing the Yongyue into a rapid reverse.
The fire chased them like a beast unleashed—swift and ravenous. The Yongyue moved back an inch, and the flames followed an inch. Shredded by the propellers but rising again and again, the blaze refused to be tamed, devouring everything in its path.
It was a race against time.
The Yongyue throttled up, engines screaming, fighting to escape the flaming jaws at its heels. But even as it finally broke away, flames clinging to the hull began to spread—splitting into thousands of fire-spiders, skittering up the ship’s sides toward the deck.
The temperature inside the engine room soared, and a chorus of alarms blared in unison.
The control room was in chaos. Just as Aunt Fang thought they wouldn’t make it out alive, Zhou Jing and Xiao Dong reappeared—somehow armed with high-pressure water hoses. Braving the thick smoke, they led a team to the open-air deck, blasting away the fuel and grime clinging to the hull.
One chased, the other fled. In a tense, two-minute showdown, the Yongyue retreated at full speed into the deeper waters of Fengjin Lake, finally clearing the danger zone of the fuel spill.
The smothering black smoke began to lift, and the suffocating heat stopped climbing.
It seemed they were safe. But just as the crew dared to breathe again, the ship suddenly lurched violently. Caught off guard, the villagers were thrown off balance, tumbling to the deck. Many assumed the ship had malfunctioned under the strain of the heat—until the high-frequency radio cut in, revealing the truth.
“Keep backing up! It’s not the ship—it’s the water that’s moving!”
“All vessels, adjust course! Full speed! Initiate zig-zag navigation to disperse the waves!”
“Yongyue, watch out for gla—zzzt zzzt—”
BOOM—
The ground trembled.
A deafening explosion echoed across the village shores.
The Heng Rong Sheng, long submerged and loaded with thousands of tons of fuel, had finally detonated. It was like the furious roar of a giant beast. Blazing fire surged upward, carried by a massive cloud of smoke. In seconds, it ballooned into a towering fireball, blasting water and heat in all directions.
The shockwave hit like an earthquake. Entire slopes of mountain were flattened in an instant. Burning clumps of earth were launched hundreds of meters through the air.
The water, already churned by fire, erupted into monstrous waves. Layer upon layer rose and crashed, forming a colossal wall of water. Towering several dozen meters high, the surge came crashing down—slamming even the vessels that had already pulled clear of the blast zone.
Though distant enough to avoid a direct hit, it was like someone had thrown open the floodgates ahead. The current surged forward with terrifying force, overwhelming the engines. The ship was shoved backward, carried by sheer momentum.
Thick smoke and blazing embers continued their relentless pursuit, practically riding the wind. All three ships—lined up one behind the other—wobbled and swayed, carried forward by the raging flow.
Nearly ten kilometers later, they finally shook off the deadly waves behind them. On the radar, the two red dots marking danger began to slow. Aunt Fang, nerves frayed to the edge, finally collapsed into a chair, letting out a long, trembling breath.
Just then, the static-filled comm crackled—and Old Man Meng’s hearty voice boomed through the speaker.
“Hahaha! Not bad at all, Gu Mengran! That was some damn fine sailing. Almost reminded me of my own glory days!”
The relief hadn’t even fully settled before Aunt Fang’s heart leapt back into her throat. Her head buzzed, and she stared at the high-frequency transmitter, its green indicator light blinking steadily. Her hand trembled faintly at her side.
Should she answer? And if she did—what would she even say?
She hesitated. Then the high-frequency crackled again:
“Why aren’t you saying anything? Don’t tell me it’s not Gu Mengran piloting. Yongyue, can you hear me?”
“Y-Yes, we hear you, Grandpa Meng.” Xu Fang picked up the mic, her voice so hoarse it startled even her.
The old man immediately recognized her. He chuckled. “Ah, it’s Xiaofang! So you were the one steering just now? Not bad at all! Where are my two boys? Why didn’t they help you? Why haven’t they said anything?”
Xu Fang froze. The radio slipped from her hand and clattered against the console with a loud clang.
“What was that? What’s going on over there?”
“N-Nothing,” she whispered, hastily picking the mic back up. She took two deep breaths, trying to calm her racing heart.
Zhou Jing had been watching her closely this whole time. Now, he couldn’t stay silent any longer. He stepped forward, gently taking the mic from her trembling hands. His voice was full of remorse.
“I’m sorry, Grandpa. Gu Mengran and Liang Zhao… they fell into the water earlier. I couldn’t grab them. I’m so sorry—it’s all my fault.”
There was a long silence on the other end. So long that Zhou Jing thought there might not be a reply at all. Then, at last, the old man’s voice came back—steady and composed.
“Earlier? Exactly when did it happen? Before the explosion, or after?”
“Before,” Zhou Jing said through clenched teeth. “Liang Zhao—he was trying to save us. He went for the igniter in the captain’s hand and slipped. Gu Mengran… he jumped in right after him.”
“I didn’t manage to hold on to what they risked their lives to get. The torch fell. The surface ignited instantly. They—”
“They’ll be fine,” Grandpa Meng interrupted, as if talking to himself. “Don’t worry. Don’t apologize. They’ll be okay.”
“Grandpa Meng, don’t say it like that…” Xu Fang’s eyes welled up. Her voice trembled. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry…”
The old man’s tone suddenly turned sharp. “Enough! What’s with all the crying? I said they’ll be fine, so they will be! My grandson, Gu Mengran—he’s no ordinary kid. He’ll make it through this!”
“We’ll wait right here. That’s all we need to do. They’ll come find us—safe and sound. I know they will.”
……
Blue skies, white clouds—a world suspended in eerie silence.
Gu Mengran groaned, nearly blacking out from the fall. His brain felt like it had been rattled loose, sloshing around inside his skull. He braced his palms against the ground and, through the searing pain, forced himself to sit up.
His hands and arms burned like they were on fire. The scorched skin was blistered and peeling, resembling bark stripped from a tree, clinging to his flesh in painful, crumpled layers. The heat alone was enough to steal his breath.
The blowtorch had hit the water before he did. By the time he plunged in, the flames were already spreading.
His arms were inevitably burned, and a good portion of his hair had been singed. But luck hadn’t completely abandoned him—he’d jumped in just a second after Liang Zhao. Same spot, give or take. Same timing. Just in time to catch him before the fire erupted across the surface.
There was a big difference between jumping into water and being dragged into it.
Gu Mengran had managed to adjust his posture mid-air, angling his body to break through the surface. It had cost him his arms, but it gave him a way through. Liang Zhao, on the other hand, had been pulled down by Dong Hongbo—no chance to react. He’d slammed into the water with full force, the impact almost like hitting concrete.
He was completely unconscious now, sprawled out and motionless.
Gu Mengran ignored the burning pain in his arms. He gave his head a sharp shake to stay conscious, then reached over to check for breath. He gently patted Liang Zhao’s face and called softly, “Liang Zhao… wake up, come on, wake up.”
His breathing was steady, though his complexion was pale. He hadn’t caught fire on the way down, and there were no visible injuries, at least nothing on the surface. Still… no matter how much Gu Mengran called out, Liang Zhao didn’t stir.
Worried he might’ve broken a bone—or worse, suffered internal injuries—Gu Mengran gritted his teeth and did a full-body check, but found no obvious damage.
It reminded him of the last time Liang Zhao had gotten sick from the virus—the same unresponsiveness. It probably wasn’t serious.
Probably.
But saying that didn’t make him worry any less. And with nothing else he could do, Gu Mengran could only grit his teeth and try to reassure himself.
In the sealed-off space, there were only two of them. If both went down, that would be the end of it.
Gu Mengran took two minutes to calm himself, then slowly pushed himself off the ground. Staggering a little, he made his way upstream to rinse his wounds in the creek.
Blisters were already starting to form. Some areas of skin had peeled right off. Without proper medication to disinfect and prevent infection, this could go south quickly. And his clothes—filthy. In desperation, Gu Mengran grabbed a few bitter melon leaves from the space’s garden and used them as makeshift bandages. He wrapped both arms with them, tying everything in place with loofah vines.
Once he was done patching himself up, he returned to sit beside Liang Zhao, his thoughts already turning again.
Thousands of tons of fuel had gone up. The fire on the water’s surface wouldn’t be dying out anytime soon.
And since the space had a fixed entrance and exit point, leaving now would mean stepping straight into the flames. It’d be suicide.
Staying in the space for a few days wasn’t the worst option. It wasn’t empty like it used to be—there was running water, food like eggs, cucumbers, bitter melon, eggplants… They wouldn’t starve.
But what really ate away at him was not knowing what was happening outside. Had the Yongyue safely escaped? Were his grandfather and Zheng Yijie able to evacuate in time? Gu Mengran’s thoughts were tangled with worry he couldn’t do anything about.
No way out—for now, at least—so worrying was pointless.
Letting out a long sigh, he looked over his shoulder at the lush vegetable patch behind him. In the end, he chose to stay busy. At the very least, he could make the next few days more comfortable for both himself and Liang Zhao.
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