Chapter 2: Su Wan's Note

The night fog rolled in thick, a gray soaking-wet rag clamped tight over Lin Yuan’s mouth and nose. Zhao Tai slammed the end of his pry bar against the iron crate’s edge. The metallic crack echoed through the dead quiet of the night, sharp enough to make Lin Yuan’s ears ring. The bar glinted with a cold, deadly light, threatening to skewer his throat at any second. Lin Yuan bowed his head, shoulders hunched, but his spine was taut as a drawn bow. Cold sweat traced his temples, mixing with the mud caked on his face before trickling into his mouth. It tasted bitter and briny. He couldn't look at Zhao Tai. Those bloodshot eyes were pits of greed and brutality, every wrinkle in his face a hairline crack ready to shatter.

“Don’t play dead, young master Lin.” Zhao Tai’s voice was a gravel-scarred rasp, dripping with venom. “That ‘Ping'an’ your mother left you? It might just take you with her into the afterlife, safe and sound.”

The corner of Lin Yuan’s mouth twitched. He forced a smile that looked worse than a sob. He knew any retort now would get him killed. Zhao Tai had already made up his mind. If that half-crated pile of gold didn't cover the shortfall, or if Zhao Tai even suspected Lin Yuan of skimming off the top, this dock would be his grave. Slowly, Lin Yuan extended a hand. His fingers trembled as they rested on the crate’s icy side. On contact, he closed his eyes, let his consciousness sink, and activated [Echo of All Things].

Thrum—

A deafening roar exploded in his mind. It wasn't the wind or the water; it was a chaotic symphony of voices, grinding metal, and the long, mournful blast of a distant ship’s horn. Three days ago, the cargo ship Haiming had docked. He heard the stomping of stevedores hauling burlap sacks, the dull thud of crane hooks slapping the hull. The layers of sound peeled away, and Lin Yuan isolated the key: the cargo Zhao Tai had mistaken for smuggled gold hadn't been fully moved. A chunk of it was still trapped inside the Haiming, a wrecked vessel that had run aground and been left to rot in the deepest, forgotten part of the Dock.

Lin Yuan snapped his eyes open. A streak of cold resolve flashed in his gaze. He dropped to his knees before the crate, his voice shaking like a candle flame in a gale, playing the part of a man backed into a corner.

“Master Zhao, I accept my fate.” Lin Yuan lifted his head, his face a mask of despair and terror. “That batch of cargo… it’s not all in this crate. Half of it is still in the hidden bulkhead of the Haiming. That ship has been rotting for three days. If we don’t dredge it now, the water’s going to turn it to mush.”

The killing intent in Zhao Tai’s eyes froze for a beat, then calcified into greed. He lunged forward, his nose nearly touching Lin Yuan’s face, reeking of stale liquor and sweat.

“Shut the fuck up with that horseshit. The Haiming lost contact three days ago. She’s leaking from the keel and sinking. You want me to send my men to their deaths?” Zhao Tai sneered, his fingers clamping onto Lin Yuan’s jaw with a grip that made the bones creak.

“I’m not lying to you!” Tears welled up in Lin Yuan’s eyes, his voice cracking. “I heard the unloaders talk. That cargo was buried deep to dodge taxes. Now the ship is going under. If we retrieve it, you could double—triple—your investment. Don’t you want to try?”

Zhao Tai squinted, his suspicious gaze raking over Lin Yuan’s face. Then he turned to his shadow, Ah Biao, his most trusted enforcer. Ah Biao scratched his head, lowering his voice. “Brother Tai, there’s movement over at the Haiming. Heard the keel split. Give it two more days, and even the hull’s gonna float up.”

Zhao Tai released Lin Yuan, straightening up. He wiped the filth off his hands, his expression hardening into something ruthless and decisive.

“Go. Take twenty men, get a boat. I want that cargo brought back in one piece. If you lie to me by even a breath, or if any of that wrecked-ship crew slips away, I’m tossing all of you into the sea to feed the fish.” Zhao Tai took two steps away, then spun back, glaring at Lin Yuan with murder in his eyes. “You stay right there. Don’t you dare move. When I come back for the count, if a single bar of gold is missing, I’m chopping off one of your hands.”

As Zhao Tai and his crew burst into the fog with shouts and the clash of weapons, Lin Yuan’s frayed nerves finally loosened by a fraction. He didn’t waste a second. Snatching a tiny file from his sleeve, he used the cover of darkness to pry open a loose panel at the bottom of the crate. His movements were precise, silent. He plunged his hand into the dark void and felt the cold, heavy weight of metal. A stack of gold bars slid into his palm.

Lin Yuan held his breath, his heart hammering against his ribs. He stuffed the bars into the hidden inner pocket of his tattered cotton jacket, a move so practiced it felt automatic. The coat looked ragged, but it was modified with special craftsmanship; the lining was deep enough to hold this life-saving fortune. He adjusted his collar, scanning the perimeter for any strays he’d missed.

Using the night as a shield, Lin Yuan played the weak. He slumped to the ground, eyes closed, his chest rising and falling in shallow, faint breaths.

“He’s passed out?” Ah Biao’s voice drifted over, confused.

“Sweating like a pig while playing dead. Probably scared out of his wits,” another thug snickered.

“Fucking with it or not, haul him to that abandoned auto shop over there and keep an eye on him. Brother Tai said not to let him leave our sight, but don’t beat him to death. What if he’s still useful?”

Several men closed in, grabbing Lin Yuan’s arms with rough, unceremonious grips. Lin Yuan didn’t fight back. He let them drag him. In the split second before they shoved him into the gloomy shop, his fingers snapped free. He rolled on the ground and, using the dim light, bolted into a narrow alley.

The alley was a junkyard of rusted sheet metal and shredded tires. Lin Yuan knew this part of the Dock like the back of his hand. He moved like a ghost, his heartbeat still slamming against his ribs, but his steps growing steadier. Ahead was the abandoned auto shop—the temporary safe haven Su Wan had mentioned.

Crouching behind a wall, he held his breath, activated [Echo of All Things] again, and pressed his mind against the weathered red brick wall in front of him. A faint, intermittent coughing echoed back, mingled with the static crackle of an old radio. Someone was inside, and they were running on fumes.

He eased the rusted iron door open, just a crack. A stench of machine oil, mold, and dust hit him. The shop was pitch black, save for a faint, flickering firelight in the corner. Lin Yuan didn’t relax. He dropped low and crept toward the glow.

Beside the fire, a gaunt figure huddled on a beat-up sofa. It was Su Wan.

She wore a blue cotton shirt washed until it was white. Her hair was pinned back sloppily, strands falling across half her face. Hearing his footsteps, she didn’t panic. She just raised her head slowly. Those clear eyes were bright in the darkness, watching Lin Yuan. They stared at each other for a long moment. The only sounds were the radio’s static and Su Wan’s stifled cough.

Lin Yuan didn’t say a word. He simply undid the buttons on his cotton jacket, pulled out the stack of gold bars, and set them gently on the broken table in front of her.

Su Wan’s gaze fixed on the bars. A flash of surprise crossed her eyes, but it vanished into calm. She didn’t ask where they came from or show a glimmer of greed. She just reached out, gathered them up, and carefully slid them into a rusted iron box beside her, sealing the lid with wax.

“Thank you.” Su Wan’s voice was so quiet it was like a lone boat tossing in a storm. She picked up half a loaf of moldy bread from a cracked bowl, holding it out to Lin Yuan. “Eat. It’s all that was left from yesterday. It’s hard as rock, but it’ll keep you from starving.”

Lin Yuan took the bread, stared at the green mold spots, and swallowed hard. He fought down the urge to gag and took a tiny bite. The coarse fibers scraped his throat, filling him with a sour ache he couldn’t name. He looked up into Su Wan’s eyes, which were calm to the point of coldness.

“What are you doing here?” Lin Yuan asked, his voice rough.

Su Wan didn’t answer directly. She pointed out the window. In the distance, the chaotic crunch of footsteps and barking dogs echoed—Zhao Tai’s men were doing a house-to-house sweep.

“It’s safe for now.” Su Wan’s voice dropped to a whisper, her gaze sharpening. “But just until dawn. Zhao Tai’s men are hitting the next block over. They’re combing the waterways. If you stay here, you won’t last the night.”

A chill skittered down Lin Yuan’s spine, his settling nerves spiking again. He looked at her to ask more, but Su Wan cut him off.

“Don’t ask.” Su Wan looked away, fixing on the sealed box. Her tone turned serious. “You’re not alone anymore. Carrying this is carrying the Dock’s entire hate. If you want to stay alive, you have to change how you live.”

Lin Yuan was silent for a beat, then nodded. He stood, brushing the dust off himself, ready to leave. Su Wan stopped him. She pulled a crumpled slip of paper from her pocket and handed it over.

“Take this.” Su Wan said. “Find Old Chen. He’s been acquiring a batch of ownerless relics lately. Some of them might be connected to the ‘Ping'an’ you’re holding. Old Chen is arrogant and solitary, but he’s fair. If you approach him with respect, he’ll help.”

Lin Yuan took the note. His fingertip brushed the unfamiliar handwriting on the page, and his internal alarm bells started ringing. Old Chen? That retired museum expert? Why was he buying a batch of ownerless relics at a time like this? Was there another trap hiding in there?