Chapter Fifty-Three: Naval Battle on the River

The great waves rolled, shrouded in thick mist; the entire river was a vast, pale expanse. Visibility extended no more than ten feet, all else lost to the white. The Sand Bird Tower Ship remained anchored in the center, with only the gentle murmur of water and the faint, elusive sound of paddles breaking the silence.

“Centipede ships! Those are the warships of the Sea-cleansing King!” cried Zhang Zhi, one of the vice-commanders on deck, alarm clear in his voice.

“The Sea-cleansing King?!” The crowd of martial wanderers exchanged uneasy glances. This infamous pirate lord of the Western Sea, though less powerful than the Sea Dragon King, commanded hundreds of warships, the most notorious being these Centipede Ships. Named for their sinuous shapes, they glided over the water with lightning speed—thunderous and swift as a storm. Each bristled with lances, cannons, and arrows—lethal weapons of the water, their destructive power immense.

“Damn it! Serpentine maneuver!” Wu Zhang, the Sea Dragon’s right hand, snapped a decision.

“Second Commander!” Zhang Zhi protested anxiously, “The fog is thick, we can’t discern direction. If we charge ahead recklessly, we might fall right into their trap!”

“So what? Back when we fought for territory on the Western Sea, you’ve clashed with these centipede pests before—attack, and they’ll retreat; defend, and they’ll advance! Order the gunners to blanket the area! Brothers, break through!”

At his command, these seasoned pirates moved into action like tightly wound springs. Fearsome cannons were rolled out, their barrels roaring with thunder. Water erupted in great plumes across the river’s surface.

Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!

The Sea Dragon’s lieutenant truly earned his reputation—the man’s experience in naval battle was profound. As soon as the great ship pulled away, dozens of iron shot rained upon the water where they’d been, sending up sprays like a thousand white flowers. The Tower Ship’s hundred cannons unleashed a storm, suppressing the firepower of the Centipede Ships.

Just as a faint sigh of relief swept through the crew, a cannonball whistled from the white fog and struck a tattooed pirate. His body was torn apart in an instant, blood and entrails splattering across the deck. The iron ball, its momentum undiminished, ricocheted thrice before hurtling toward Chang’an’s foremost sumo wrestler, Stone Four. He dropped his center of gravity, let out a low growl, and gripped the shot between his palms.

When flesh met iron, a deafening shockwave burst out. The cannonball fell to the deck and rolled away, but Stone Four’s arms hung limp and his face drained of color. With a retch, he spat blood and cursed, “Damn it! Scared me half to death! Thought I was about to kick the bucket!”

The onlookers burst into raucous laughter. To these wanderers, life and death were trifles, and Stone Four’s misfortune was cause for merriment. Yet among them, a few sighed quietly: no matter how one honed their skills, the human body remained mortal, unable to withstand even a single cannon shot. If one were impervious to gun and iron, would not the world become a playground for the martial clans?

But fate is ever capricious—a second iron shot fell from the sky, striking the famed leg-fighting master, Huang Feiyun, square on the head. White and yellow matter splattered across the deck. The cannonball crashed through the planks, leaving a gaping hole, and from the hold below came the faint, anguished screams of the wounded.

“Damn this fog! Damn those sorcerers! They’ve left us nothing but a beating!” Zhang Zhi roared with rage.

“Are you saying that as long as we can locate the enemy ships, we’ll be fine?” Zhou Qian’s eyes flashed with inspiration.

“Of course! The Dragon King’s Sand Bird Tower Ship is the only ten-thousand-ton vessel in the Western Sea—do you think it’s limited to this?” Zhang Zhi scoffed.

“Zhou, do you have a solution?” Wu Zhang’s eyes lit up with hope.

“I might have an idea,” Zhou Qian nodded.

He considered—the fog was conjured by sorcery, but his three years of diligent cultivation in the Grand Dharmic Sutra had forged within him a strand of true energy, a fusion of martial and mystic arts. Since the fog and his own power shared a common root, perhaps one could counter the other.

Sitting cross-legged, Zhou Qian gathered his focus, drawing his mind into his dantian. He guided the inch-long, finger-wide thread of true energy upwards from the sea of qi, through the Gate of Life, past the Spirit Terrace, over the Great Welcome, and into his eyes. Suddenly, the world changed color.

All of existence seemed woven from countless brilliant points of light. Some gathered to form streams of azure rising to the heavens, others formed murky strands sinking below. Some coalesced into mountains, rivers, and seas. The higher he looked, the more serene and blue the sky became, while below the earth was yellow and turbid—a vision confirming the tales of a muddied world.

This strange scene lasted but a moment. Zhou Qian had no time to ponder it further. With a flash of white, his vision cleared, and the fog began to thin. What he saw on the water stunned him.

Surrounding their Sand Tower Ship were no fewer than fifty Centipede Ships, dense as a swarm, each firing in thunderous unison. Zhou Qian now understood how correct Wu Zhang’s earlier command had been—had they remained stationary, they’d have become fish food on the riverbed by now.

He seized Wu Zhang’s arm and said in a low voice, “Fifty yards southwest—three Centipede Ships!”

Wu Zhang started with joy and immediately shouted, “Fire! Fire! Fifty yards southwest!”

Dozens of cannonballs arced through the air, striking two of the Centipede Ships dead on. One, unlucky enough to be hit in the keel, split in two, sending a hundred men into the water like dumplings into a boiling pot. The other was punched full of holes; water flooded in as the crew scrambled to patch the breaches, bail water, and jettison cargo—all to no avail, for the ship was lost to the battle.

Now Zhou Qian finally witnessed the true might of the Sand Bird Tower Ship. Its hundred cannons, each more powerful than those on the Centipede Ships, hurled shot the size of a man’s head—far larger than the fist-sized balls of their opponents, and with a range half again as long. When all guns spoke at once, it was as if the god of thunder himself raged across the water.

The ship's hull was clad in thick sharkskin—yellow-striped, black-backed—so that cannonballs left only a dent, never a breach. This was why, even surrounded by fifty Centipede Ships, the Tower Ship had strength to spare. Even more astonishing, the ship was as fast as it was tough—swift as any of the light, agile Centipede Ships.

This was the flagship of the Sea Dragon King—the very fortress of the waves.

It was, simply put, a castle upon the sea!

“Northeast—three ships, arranged in a triangle!”

“Northwest—five in a line! Careful, their bows are elevating for a volley!” The Tower Ship veered sharply right, and five cannonballs roared into its hull, leaving five round craters.

“To starboard—four ships, they’re preparing to charge!”

“Behind—watch out…”

Thunder roared from the guns, arrows fell like rain, the waves surged, a thousand ships contended for supremacy—this was the true spectacle of the river.

The Sand Bird Tower Ship advanced, swerved, slithered, and zigzagged, darting among the Centipede Ships like a magnificent, lumbering bear among a troop of monkeys. The sight was so bizarre that the enemy commander was driven to fury—a plan thought foolproof, undone by someone who could pierce the dense fog, forcing him to deploy his hidden moves too soon.

Not only the enemy was astonished; their own crew was likewise amazed, but their surprise was mixed with joy. Who wishes to die, especially in such a pointless, stifling fashion? For these paragons of the martial world, anger flared at the thought.

“Everyone, be ready—the way ahead is blocked by nearly twenty Centipede Ships. There’s no retreat! We must break through, no matter the cost. Prepare to draw your bows at my command!” Zhou Qian called out with steely resolve.

“Hahaha! We’ve long been itching for a fight!” Uzzi grinned menacingly, gripping his sword, as a host of martial wanderers gathered in his shadow, ready for the clash to come.