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75. Abandon Ship
🕑 Added 2025-07-22 22:00:05 +0000 UTCThe freezing water surged into the hold with a deafening roar, slamming Jiang against the stacked crates. He pushed himself up quickly, sputtering and gasping as seawater flooded around his chest, icy tendrils stabbing at his skin. For a single, chaotic moment, he nearly bolted for the hatch – but heavy footsteps and frantic shouting from above froze him in place.
“Gods above! She’s taking water fast!” came a panicked voice, muffled but distinct. More pounding footsteps and shouts echoed down through the hatch.
Jiang’s heart hammered painfully against his ribs. Fighting his way through the crew was an option, certainly – but a terrible one. Too many witnesses, too much risk of leaving a trail. And despite the chaos above, these sailors weren’t cultivators. Even without his sword, fighting them would leave too many injuries, too many questions.
He needed another way out.
Taking a deep breath, Jiang slipped beneath the freezing water, opening his eyes and squinting into the murky darkness toward the hole he’d made. The torrent rushing in was ferocious, pushing him back even from several feet away. He tried to approach it anyway, gripping crates to steady himself, but the current threw him violently backward. It was no use; trying to slip out of the hole he’d made meant fighting against the entire harbour’s worth of water coming in the other direction.
He surfaced, gulping for air, shivers already creeping through his limbs. The sailors’ panicked shouting grew louder above, mixed with frantic stomping as they tried to salvage cargo or locate the breach. Jiang pushed away the growing panic and quickly considered his options.
The hold was filling rapidly, already rising up to his shoulders. Ironically, the flooding itself might be his best ally. He was far enough from the stairs leading to the upper holds that the sailors couldn’t see him, and the water was rushing in quickly enough that even at a glance it was clear they wouldn’t be able to patch the hole. The sailors would have no choice but to abandon the ship soon enough – and if he stayed patient, let the water fill, he might slip out unnoticed in the confusion.
Drawing deep breaths to steady himself, Jiang ducked low in the water, silently treading just enough to keep himself submerged up to his chin, minimising any sign of his presence. He carefully maneuvered closer to the steep wooden stairs leading to the deck above, keeping his ears sharp for any indication of someone descending. He needed to stay close enough that he wouldn’t be trapped, but far enough that he wouldn’t be spotted.
“Don’t know what caused the leak, Captain!” a desperate voice shouted from above. “It’s somewhere below – but the lower hold’s already lost! We need to abandon her!”
There was a brief pause, then swearing vicious enough that Jiang felt his ears prickle. “Get off, then!” barked another voice. “All hands, abandon ship!”
That was the command Jiang had been waiting for. He moved cautiously upward, keeping just his head above the rising water, eyes locked on the stairwell. The shouting and pounding footsteps intensified briefly, then rapidly faded as the crew fled to the docks.
He lingered there, carefully listening, holding his position. A part of him – a large part – wanted desperately to sprint for the open hatch, but rational thought stayed his limbs. The sailors would linger on the docks, watching as the ship succumbed. If he emerged now, he’d have nowhere to run. No choice but to wait a little longer.
The icy water continued to climb, filling every crevice and crack of the cargo hold. Soon, it pressed against the ceiling above him, forcing Jiang to take another deep breath and dive underwater. The chill was intense, numbing fingers and toes, sapping his strength faster than he’d anticipated. He kicked off the bottom crates, floating cautiously upward into the middle cargo hold, still completely submerged.
Slowly, he lifted his head, finding a pocket of stale, trapped air near the hatch leading upward. Above, flickering lantern-light revealed shadows of sailors on the dock, pointing and shouting in helpless frustration. He held still, feeling strangely calm despite the danger. This, at least, he could control. Patience was a virtue he’d learned long ago, hunting deer on mist-shrouded mornings. Waiting for the perfect moment to move.
Suddenly, the ship shuddered beneath him, letting out a deep, painful groan of surrender. The wood around him trembled violently, and he felt himself slide sideways, crates toppling and ropes snapping beneath the immense pressure. The ship was listing, its balance lost.
Water surged violently upward through the cargo hold, instantly swallowing Jiang’s pocket of air. He barely managed a quick gasp before plunging into complete darkness once more. He fought against the chaotic surge, pulling himself upward through crates and floating debris, desperately following the rising water line toward the deck.
His lungs burned with every strained heartbeat. He felt the ship begin to sink in earnest, its prow tipping sharply downward. Distantly, muffled by seawater and wooden planks, he could hear the cries of sailors fading as the Dawn’s Fortune began its final descent.
Now, Jiang knew, was his only chance.
He kicked upward, hands clawing desperately for purchase, pushing through submerged crates and snapping ropes. Finally breaking free into the open water outside the sinking ship, he immediately oriented himself away from the docks, planning to let the darkness conceal his escape.
But before he could swim even a few strokes, an unexpected force seized him, fierce and irresistible. The ship’s hull, plunging beneath the water’s surface, dragged him backward with a powerful, violent suction. Jiang twisted helplessly, disoriented by the swirling currents that tried to pull him down, deeper and deeper into the cold blackness below. Swimming in the river near Liǔxī hadn’t prepared him for this, and the sodden weight of his hunting leathers slowed him far more than anticipated.
They weren’t the only things holding him down.
Panic flared, a primal instinct urging him to fight. Teeth clenched in frustration, he fumbled briefly at his belt before finally releasing his sword, watching as it vanished silently into the darkness.
Free from the added burden, he gathered every ounce of strength he possessed, kicking desperately against the powerful drag. Gradually, inch by painful inch, the suction weakened, and Jiang clawed his way toward the surface, lungs aching and vision darkening at the edges.
Finally, he broke through, gasping desperately as freezing air flooded his lungs. Coughing violently, Jiang floated in the water, struggling to get his bearings. Behind him, the sailors’ frantic voices echoed across the harbour as they helplessly watched their ship disappear beneath the waves.
Cold, exhausted, but alive, Jiang started to swim toward safety.
— — —
Jiang hauled himself out of the water onto the damp stones of the dock, shivering violently as cold wind sliced through his soaked clothing. Even with nothing but the weight of his clothes slowing him down, and with the advantages he had as a cultivator, the swim had taken… almost everything he had.
One thing he’d neglected to consider was that he couldn’t come ashore anywhere close to where the ship had sunk. It would have been incredibly suspicious for someone to be taking a dip in the freezing waters of the harbour right at the time a boat went under, so he’d been forced to swim for another fifteen minutes just to find somewhere isolated enough that nobody was around. His teeth chattered so fiercely that he barely noticed Lin’s approach until she was already at his side.
“You look like a half-drowned cat,” Lin observed dryly, folding her arms as she took in his miserable condition. Her expression shifted quickly, amusement fading into genuine concern. “We need to get you out of those clothes. You’ll freeze to death if you don’t.”
Jiang hesitated, but the violent trembling in his limbs left no room for stubborn pride. He’d spent enough winters hunting near Liǔxī to understand the dangers of prolonged exposure to cold. Still, stripping down in front of Lin was a humiliation he wasn’t keen on enduring.
Finally, practicality won over embarrassment, and Jiang let out a resigned grunt, clumsily pulling at his drenched clothes. His fingers had turned stiff and numb, making the simple act of undressing feel impossibly difficult.
Fortunately for the tattered remains of his dignity, Lin turned away as he peeled away the layers. When he stood shivering in nothing but his sodden underwear, she thrust his cloak at him from where it was draped over her shoulder. Jiang quickly snatched it, hastily wrapping it around himself and clutching it tight. Mercifully, it was long enough for him to salvage some small dignity.
Lin clicked her tongue, nodding sharply. “See? Was that so hard?”
“Yes,” Jiang muttered through chattering teeth, “it was.”
Lin ignored him, stepping close and giving him a gentle shove toward the darkened street. “Come on, we’ll get you to Old Nan’s. She’ll have a fire going this late, and it’s not far.”
“I have s-spare clothes at the Leaky Kettle,” Jiang protested weakly, trying – and failing – to resist Lin’s guiding hand.
“Old Nan’s is closer,” Lin insisted firmly, guiding him forward. “You’re shaking so badly you’d never make it to the Leaky Kettle. Besides, Old Nan won’t ask awkward questions.”
Jiang frowned, but was too cold to argue further. Besides, Lin did have a point. The Leaky Kettle was a long walk from the docks, and in his current state, every step felt like a monumental effort. Old Nan’s, by contrast, was a refuge of anonymity. He gave a short, jerky nod, too cold to form a proper sentence. And besides, he still needed to talk to the old woman. Her strange, unsettling words about a lonely raven had been gnawing at the back of his mind, a puzzle he couldn’t solve but also couldn’t ignore.
Lin hadn’t actually bothered to wait for his assent and had moved to gather his sodden leathers and the rest of his clothes from the damp stones. She bundled them into a surprisingly neat package, tucking it under one arm. He watched her for a moment, a flicker of grudging gratitude cutting through the misery of the cold. Good leathers were expensive, and he didn’t want to lose them.
He paused, narrowing his eyes.
As Lin moved past him with the bundle tucked under her arm, he took a step forward and snatched the leather pouch still tied to the belt. Lin didn’t even flinch, just watched him with an unrepentant, almost amused expression. “Just holding it for you,” she said smoothly, not a hint of guilt in her voice. “Wouldn’t want the coins to get waterlogged.”
“Right,” Jiang muttered, clutching the pouch tightly in one hand and his cloak with the other. He didn’t believe her for a second.
“Ready?” she asked, completely unbothered by his suspicion. She turned and slipped back into the labyrinth of alleys, not waiting for his reply.
Jiang followed, the hard edges of the cobblestones digging into his bare feet. The journey was a miserable blur. They had to pause several times to duck into an alleyway and let a patrol of guards walk past, and every time Jiang had to fight down the urge to just display his cultivation to let them move faster. If nothing else, it was good to know that his resistance to temperatures had a limit – though he would have preferred to find those limits in a more controlled setting. Judging by the glances Lin was shooting him, she hadn’t expected him to be dealing quite as well as he was.
He wondered idly if he was the first person she’d known that had taken an involuntary swim in winter waters. Her knowledge of what to do seemed… hard won, somehow.
Finally, Lin stopped before a familiar, paint-peeled door tucked away in a dead-end court. She gave it the same rhythmic knock as before—two quick taps, a pause, then one more—and pushed it open, gesturing him inside with a jerk of her head. The wave of warm, musty air that washed over him felt like a physical embrace, and Jiang stumbled gratefully over the threshold, leaving the biting cold of the Qinghe night behind him.
