Chapter 271: Above the Angry Waves

Chapter 271: Above the Fury of the Waves

Harder to fathom than a woman’s heart is the weather upon the sea.

One moment, the wind is calm and the night serene; the next, waves surge and rain pours down in torrents.

The sudden storm hammers the undulating ocean, lifting a veil of mist that obscures the moon and stars.

Two parallel iron rails stretch like the spine of a leviathan rising from the depths, vanishing into the unreachable horizon.

A dull yellow light, the size of a bean, flickers to life in the darkness, swelling rapidly into brilliance.

Then the mist begins to churn, as though some colossal entity stirs within.

Buzz!!!

A deafening roar echoes from afar to near.

An imposing “dragon’s head” bursts forth with unstoppable force, cleaving the waves and dragging its golden “dragon body” along the tracks at breakneck speed.

The dragon rides the waves, repelling the outer to secure the inner.

This train, shuttling between the empire’s heartland and the Japanese-controlled districts, is named “Rang’ao,” christened by the Xindonglin Party’s leader himself, drawn from the Confucian classics: “Honor the diligent sovereign, repel the barbarian yokels.”

“Dear passengers, the ‘Rang’ao’ train departing from Lai Zhou Prefecture has now entered the Yellow Sea’s domain.”

“Due to today’s turbulent waves and winds, the train may experience slight jolting. Please refrain from wandering; do not attempt to connect to the Huangliang dreamscape.”

“If you feel unwell or face other emergencies, contact the train’s yishi steward immediately.”

The VIP carriage, adorned with a “Haiyue Sheng” metal plaque, exudes the quintessential Ming Dynasty aesthetic.

Its furnishings are uniformly red sandalwood tables and chairs, with delicate porcelain from official kilns lining all sides. On the desks lie Hui ink and xuan paper, every detail radiating opulent grandeur befitting the thirty-thousand-bao fare.

Mo Ke, having shed his usual uniform of the Tianzhi Hui Mo Attack Corps, sits rigidly in a red sandalwood taishi chair, hands clasped beneath his chin, gazing through the porthole at the raging storm outside.

Rain lashes the windows in a blur, droplets streaming down the glass in endless succession.

In the distant heavens, lightning flickers, occasionally tearing through the thick clouds to reveal a moon far more resplendent than any on land.

Moonlight spills forth, illuminating the furious, churning tides scattered by the train’s passage.

“Sir, we’ve received word that the young master was seized by Lai Zhou’s Jin Yi Wei on his way from Ling Shan Wei.”

Mo Jia Shanjun, his face veiled in an aged visage, speaks from behind Mo Ke.

“Zhai Mancang? This shameless wretch has bided his time all these years, finally seizing a chance to settle old scores.”

“We should have driven out those eagle dogs and lackeys of the Eastern Second Mansion long ago. Now that the young master is in his clutches, the odds are grim.”

“That is his fate and fortune.”

Mo Ke’s face betrays no sorrow. “A tiger cub fights for its life; a child leaves home. Shanjun, do you think my bid to claim the position at Ju Zi Tang for Mo Jin was a misstep?”

Shanjun falls silent for a long while before whispering, “An old ox licks its calf—that is human nature.”

“Human nature, and decades of striving reduced to naught? Hardly worth it.”

Mo Ke shakes his head slightly. “Now I understand why so many sequents seek to purge flesh and blood, replacing them with mechanical forms. Ethics and desires are but burdens for those who walk the mortal realm.”

“You need not despair. The Mo Attack Corps is now a hollow shell, unworthy of remembrance. All assets have been relocated to the Japanese districts—we can rise anew from there.”

“Easier said than done. Though the Japanese districts remain nominally under imperial control, they’ve been carved up by the Four Great Companies and the Xuanfu Si Yamen. To compete as outsiders for survival among them is no simple feat.”

Shanjun offers no reply, merely saying, “When we first joined the Mo Attack Corps as foot soldiers, it wasn’t easy either.”

“Haha.”

Mo Ke suddenly laughs, a hint of nostalgia on his face. “Indeed, back then the Wu Sequence had collapsed, and the Mo Sequence was poised to be the next target. Rangers slept with swords at the ready, craftsmen toiled day and night, factories roared ceaselessly, awaiting the Elder Council’s command to perish alongside their enemies.”

Shanjun continues, “Our foes then were the bloodthirsty Buddhist and Daoist sects, with Confucian scholars waiting to strike the final blow. Compared to those jackals and tigers, today’s trials are but child’s play.”

He pauses. “Even if there’s no hope at all, we could… turn to the Huan Shi Group…”

Mo Ke interrupts, “You mean to join them?”

“No—bide our time.”

Shanjun shakes his head slightly. “A dragon trapped beneath the waves must hide among fish and turtles; a virtuous man out of power can only bow to petty men. But as long as you still harbor ambitions to soar, I believe success is merely a matter of time.”

“When did you become so loquacious? With that mask, you’re like a schoolmaster himself.”

Mo Ke teases with a smile. “Still, we needn’t sink so low as to serve the Huan Shi Group. Let’s wait a while longer—an opportunity will arise soon.”

Shanjun startles, thoughtful. “Your meaning… the imperial court?”

“These Japanese factions grow bolder by the day. The Xindonglin Party has taken note of their schemes. This incident, for better or worse, is intertwined with fate.”

“At least we’ve only offended the Mo Sequence, not the Xindonglin Party.”

Mo Ke slowly straightens, leaning back in his chair, lifting his gaze to the figure beside him.

“Shanjun, if I trade with the Ming Gui and the Huan Shi Group, would you call me heartless? Not a shred of regret?”

“I do not approve, but I obey.”

Shanjun’s tone is unnervingly calm. “As a man, I am but a commoner. As a ghost, I am no different. To stand here today, I owe it all to you. To return to this world, I care only for the silken robes before me, not the deluge behind.”

“The Ming Gui and the master—two faces of one entity.”

Mo Ke sighs slowly. “The ancients spoke truly.”

Boom!

At that moment, a violent explosion erupts outside the porthole.

The already restless sea erupts into towering waves, jolting the train fiercely.

The lights forming the dragon’s scales flicker wildly, while the screeching wheels grind against the tracks. Other passengers’ panicked screams rise and fall in chaos.

Fear and unease spread like wildfire.

“Passengers, do not panic—the yishi guards will ensure your safety.”

Boom!

Another “Fire Dragon Ascending” tears through the air, its fiery tail plummeting to blast a massive hole in the carriage above Mo Ke.

A surge of flames scatters the sea mist, and cold rain pours through the breach.

“Mo Ke, die!”

The Ma Wang Ye’s roar shakes heaven and earth!

For Mo Ke, time stretches infinitely in this instant.

In slow-motion frames, he beholds the moonlight filtering through the mist, the red eyes blazing with fury, the blade slicing through raindrops.

He sees the figure of a demon sovereign descending from the skies, charging straight for him.

“Shanjun.”

Time resumes its flow at Mo Ke’s whisper.

In the next heartbeat, a gleaming Mo Jia armor envelops him, a sturdy shield extending from his arm.

Where Shanjun once stood, only tattered cloth scraps and an aged face remain.