Chapter 64: Sea Humpback

When Zhou Mu’s diary slipped to the ground in front of Zhang Yi, his reaction was exactly what Lin Kuo had expected. Not that Lin Kuo was surprised—Zhang Yi had always left a bad impression. Lin Kuo didn’t know how long it had been since Zhang Yi had last seen Zhou Mu, or if he’d even recognize Zhou Mu’s handwriting. But Zhang Yi’s next move—stepping on the diary—made it clear he hadn’t recognized it at all.

“You’ve gone too far,” Lin Kuo said.

He wasn’t talking about the diary, but about how Zhang Yi treated Zhou Mu.

Zhang Yi clearly didn’t catch Lin Kuo’s meaning. He wasn’t interested in talking further either. He grabbed the person lying on the floor again and tossed them to Wang Qing’s group. Wang Qing’s people seized the one who’d cut his finger open and smeared his blood over the eyes of a lower-ranked ghost in the scroll.

Zhang Yi turned back, glaring at Lin Kuo and Sheng Wen as if committing their faces to memory for revenge. Then he sliced open his own finger and marked the eyes of a top-ten ghost: “Great Tengu.”

The outer wall’s ripple only lasted so long. If someone marked a scroll but didn’t enter quickly, the ghost would drag them in by force. Already, the blood-red tendril that had dragged Sheng Wen into the “Nurarihyon” scroll was snaking out again.

“Lin Kuo!” Sheng Wen called urgently.

That snapped Lin Kuo out of it. He bit his finger and lunged toward the scroll, but he was a second too late. Sheng Wen had already been pulled inside, and the ripples stilled. Even though Lin Kuo smeared his blood over the eyes of “Nurarihyon,” it no longer reacted.

Sheng Wen’s fading voice echoed back: “Go to ‘Umi-Bozu’ first!”

He’d said “first”—an order not to fight Zhang Yi head-on. Lin Kuo seethed at Zhang Yi’s behavior, but Sheng Wen’s words left him no choice but to obey.

He bent down and picked up Zhou Mu’s diary, now marked with a boot print.

Zhang Yi had already vanished into the “Great Tengu” scroll without a backward glance, leaving the diary behind as if it meant nothing. He’d clearly been aiming for “Nurarihyon,” but Sheng Wen had taken it. The faces of Wang Qing’s team turned dark; Wang Qing himself snarled, “Lin Kuo, just you wait.”

Duan Qiu and Guo Huai studied him, then shook their heads with faint amusement before stepping into their scrolls.

Lin Kuo ignored them. He pressed his wounded finger, letting fresh blood bead up, and stood before “Umi-Bozu.” He smeared his blood over its eyes.

The wall rippled. Without hesitation, Lin Kuo stepped through.

It felt like passing from one world into another. The portal behind him shrank to a circle, then disappeared completely.

Sliding Zhou Mu’s diary back into his pocket, Lin Kuo finally took in his surroundings. He stood on blackened soil, with crows cawing harshly above. A chill wind rattled leafless trees, their branches groaning and creaking. The cacophony of wind and crows was unsettling.

A pale moon hung above, but it was veiled in heavy mist; no light reached the ground. Black soil, black crows, black deadwood, black fog—the world was an abyss of darkness, and Lin Kuo felt like he was dissolving into it.

He recalled what Zhang Mengnan had once said: Umi-Bozu was a benevolent spirit, guiding lost fishermen home, but those who were not “good” would be dragged into the depths.

Sheng Wen believed Lin Kuo was a good man—that’s why he’d sent him after Umi-Bozu. But this endless darkness told Lin Kuo otherwise.

A sound of rushing water reached his ears. He followed it, thinking. A phrase surfaced in his mind: There is no good or evil, only sides. From another’s perspective, anyone who threatens your survival is “evil.”

He didn’t know why that thought struck him now. By the time he realized it, he was already sitting in a small boat, gliding along the black current.

He stayed alert, but nothing happened for a long while. Just as his guard lowered, the boat stopped—though the water still flowed.

Studying the odd currents, Lin Kuo dipped a hand into the water and pulled something up.

A baby.

Its face was pale from nearly drowning. The sight stirred memories of Lin Zhi choking on water; Lin Kuo couldn’t bear it. As soon as he hauled the child into the boat, it drifted forward again. When he tossed the baby back into the river, the boat froze.

He understood: to move forward, he had to save them.

He scooped the infant up again, coaxing it to cough out water, then laid it gently in the boat.

The cycle repeated. He retrieved another baby, and another.

For hours, Lin Kuo fished drowned infants from the depths—seven in total. The boat was now crowded and heavy, but it kept drifting forward.

Then, as he reached down again, a hand seized his wrist. Icy cold.

Lin Kuo jerked, instinctively pulling back—and dragged out a woman.

Her wet hair clung to her back, and she was unclothed. Lin Kuo averted his gaze. The boat listed precariously under her weight, but it kept moving.

“Just hold on,” he told her. “We’ll be fine.”

But she screamed suddenly. “Something’s eating my leg!”

Panicked, Lin Kuo reached for her. As his hand broke the water’s surface, a massive face rose from below, grinning—or baring teeth to swallow her whole.

Lin Kuo froze. That face was…his own. He recognized every nuance, every twitch of expression. That subtle smile at the corners of the eyes—he wore it whenever he ate something sweet.

The thing in the water was him.

He staggered back as the woman shrieked. The monstrous face snapped its jaws, and she vanished beneath the waves.

With her gone, the boat shot forward unimpeded. Lin Kuo forced himself to look back, but his reflection had disappeared. The world was silent except for the hiss of the current.

Everything was too strange. Lin Kuo couldn’t stop turning over the meaning of Umi-Bozu in his mind. Before he could reach a conclusion, the boat halted again.

“Ge…”

Lin Zhi’s voice.

Lin Kuo cursed under his breath. He leaned over the side. This time, Lin Zhi surfaced on her own, crying for help. “Brother, pull me up! There’s something down there!”

If the babies hadn’t harmed him, perhaps Lin Zhi wouldn’t either. Lin Kuo hauled her aboard, tossing one of the infants into the water to lighten the load.

She went silent.

The boat moved on.

It stopped again. This time, Sheng Wen floated below. Lin Kuo wordlessly sacrificed another infant and brought him up. Like Lin Zhi, Sheng Wen said nothing.

Next came his mother.

Then his father.

The boat carried them onward, loaded now with Lin’s entire family and Sheng Wen, with two infants left.

He pressed his lips together, thinking. Umi-Bozu was called a “benevolent” spirit because it guided fishermen home. But how did it judge “good” from “evil”? Suddenly, the realization struck.

Saving is good. Throwing them back is evil.

Lin Kuo’s heart sank. He’d already sacrificed five children. The boat stopped again, drifting in a sea of darkness.

He turned. The five he’d “rescued” stared back at him, expressionless.

Together, they spoke in eerie unison:

“So… you’ll throw us back now, won’t you? For your own survival… just like you did to Zhou Mu?”