Chapter 11: The Ghostly Clouds Part, The Desolate Ghost World
Of the six members from Lab 705, aside from Han Qin, who held the shotgun, and the bespectacled middle-aged woman, the other four were somewhat elderly.
They were still at the same spot as before.
Seeing Qi Shanshan, Li Weiyi, and Gao Huan return from the direction of the nine-story tower, Director Yang hurried forward, apologetic: “Thank heavens you’re back! I forgot to mention earlier—there’s unpredictable danger at the stern. Don’t let curiosity lead you there.”
“This might be a burial ship!”
“The ancient garden at the stern might not be the ship owner’s residence but their tomb.”
Forgot to mention?
I and Gao Huan had no goodwill left for Director Yang, responding with perfunctory politeness.
Qi Shanshan, however, put on a different face before Director Yang, smiling warmly: “Thank you for the warning, Director! These two boys might have the heart, but not the guts. Those rows of statues by the nine-story tower are creepy enough just to look at. Oh! Weren’t all the imperishable items on these human skeletons taken? What are you still studying?”
Director Yang said, “We’re studying their cause of death! And I believe the most important treasures aren’t those imperishable items but the armor and weapons. Sadly, they’re too heavy for anyone to lift.”
“They must be the legendary celestial soldiers and generals. This armor and these weapons are divine tools—how could mere mortals wield them?” Qi Shanshan said.
I looked at the ten-foot-long ancient spear on the ground, black as ink, its shaft rusted but its tip still sharp, glinting coldly.
If not for the crowd, I’d have tried lifting it to test the strength I’d gained from my extraordinary feat.
I should be able to lift it.
After Qi Shanshan and Director Yang exchanged pleasantries, we headed back toward the bow’s medical shack.
I couldn’t help but ask, “Dr. Qi, what are those imperishable items you mentioned?”
Qi Shanshan, hands in her pockets, didn’t turn: “Accessories and clothing from the skeletons—dragon-patterned rings, three-headed snake bracelets, cross pendants, scripture belts, silver-threaded gloves, and such. They haven’t decayed in millennia, so they’re no ordinary objects.”
“They were snatched up the moment the skeletons were found. Everyone hides what they got—no one knows how many treasures they hold.”
“I mentioned the ones talked about most, seen by many.”
“It’s said when Xie Tianshu took a dragon-patterned ring, a faint dragon’s roar sounded, very mystical. And they say after Kong Fan got two silver-threaded gloves, his arm strength surged, able to lift three or four hundred pounds.”
I said, “Kong Fan? Head Chef Kong? With his build, he can lift that much?”
Qi Shanshan nodded slightly, her eyes tinged with envy, sighing: “Now you see why everyone’s desperate to find the Buddha’s relic and targeting you? These treasures, as great as they are, pale compared to the relic.”
“Smack!”
Gao Huan slapped his thigh, exclaiming, “What did I miss? So many imperishable treasures, and I didn’t get a single one. Li, we shouldn’t have been injured!”
I remained calm: “An innocent man with treasure invites trouble. Blessing or curse—who can tell?”
…
The Ghost Bear Emperor was still alive, potentially staging a comeback.
On the bronze ship, trust had eroded. People worried about dwindling food and water while coveting each other’s treasures, tensions sharpening.
Many believed I’d swallowed the Buddha’s relic, eyeing me warily.
This was the fifth day since we fell onto the bronze ship!
Each passing day increased the likelihood of conflict and danger.
Driven by survival, greed, jealousy, and desire, many were surely plotting in secret. Just one walk outside, and I felt the dangerous atmosphere.
All it needed was a spark to ignite everything.
While staying vigilant, I channeled the scorching airflow to heal my left arm’s injury with full effort.
Two days later.
The seventh day since we fell onto the bronze ship.
At nine in the morning, shouts erupted outside the medical shack, a clamor of running footsteps.
“The sky’s clearing, the ghostly clouds are thinning!”
“Great! Are we reaching land?”
…
Everyone in the shack stirred awake.
My heart surged with joy. After a quick tidy, I got out of bed and rushed to the deck.
It was already crowded outside.
The thick, dark ghostly clouds had indeed thinned, drifting like gauze, faintly revealing starlight above.
“The sea! I see the sea!”
A young team member leaned over the hull’s railing, pointing below, shouting with joy.
The crowd surged forward and saw, over a hundred meters below, waves layering upon each other. The clouds hadn’t fully cleared, so the view was hazy.
It was enough to excite everyone.
Like the blind regaining sight or dawn breaking eternal night, it filled us with hope and longing.
“What’s that? A steep peak rising from the sea?”
Someone ran to the bow’s edge, pointing ahead.
“Not a peak—it’s a stone pillar… more like a monument, with writing on it.”
“My heavens, how can a square stone monument stand so tall in the sea? The part above water must be over two kilometers high.”
“How’s that different from a stone peak?”
…
I joined the crowd heading to the bow.
The ghostly clouds above were nearly gone.
The ocean was dark and inky.
Ahead, dozens of kilometers away, the monument rose like a divine peak, piercing the sky. Even from afar, its grandeur was palpable.
In the boundless ocean, it stood starkly alone, making it all the more majestic.
Four vigorous, ancient characters were carved deeply into it, as if chiseled by a heavenly blade, strikingly clear.
“Such strange writing—almost like symbols?”
“Is this still Earth? No one’s heard of a sea with a monument like this.”
Many had clung to the hope that when the clouds parted, they’d see a familiar sea, return to their country, families, and schools.
As that hope shattered.
Some team members, desperately missing loved ones, began to sob.
Cai Yutong stood at the crowd’s edge, gazing at the cleared sky: “Don’t you think the stars are too low? And… it doesn’t look like the Milky Way, not the sky we know.”
As her words fell, something eerie happened.
“Splash!”
Billions of light orbs fell from the starry sky, like dense rain, scattering across the endless sea.
Closer orbs were clearer—they seemed… humanoid.
Everyone was stunned by the sudden phenomenon, bewildered and chilled.
The sky was raining people!
“Look at the sea!” Gao Huan waved frantically, calling the crowd.
With the clouds gone, the sea was visible.
In the inky ocean, a terrifying sight: countless people swam densely.
Not just nearby, but far off too.
Numberless.
Their bodies were translucent, faintly glowing, men, women, young, old—mostly elderly. Some floated on the surface, others sank below.
Not living beings with flesh, but souls.
Most souls were listless, dazed. Some were highly active, darting through the water, preying.
“Jie jie!”
“Roar!”
An old soul with disheveled hair and a gaunt face sensed the ship’s gazes, letting out a shrill, ferocious cry. It leaped from the water toward the hundred-meter-high deck.
Who had faced such a thing?
In shock, people retreated.
Some, legs weak, couldn’t move, getting pushed and trampled.
“Rip!”
The fierce soul, nearing the ship about a meter from the deck, was torn apart by an invisible pattern, bursting into light particles.
It was like a crack in glass appearing in space.
It emerged and vanished suddenly.
Other eager souls showed fear, emitting eerie cries, fleeing the bronze ship.
“An unknown force protects the ship—they can’t board,” I urged calm, helping Cai Yutong lift two trampled professors.
After the fierce soul burst into light particles, they fell to the sea, sparking a frenzy among the dazed souls, who fought to devour them, splashing water.
Not everyone could stay calm; panic gripped many, hearts racing.
Strange, eerie, terrifying—what kind of world was this?
The joy of the clouds parting was gone.
Director Yang sighed to the sky: “In the boundless black sea, billions of souls swim. Under countless stars, a ship of ancient mystery sails. Where is the end, where can we land?”
Someone pinched their arm, feeling pain, confirming the scene was real.
“We’re no longer in the Arctic, or on Earth. This is the underworld, or a desolate ghost world,” Xie Tianshu said, his eyes free of loss or sorrow, gleaming with excitement.
His gaze met others in the crowd, feeling the time was ripe to act, no need for restraint.
…
The sea of souls was endless, its destination and origin unknown.
My heart was heavy with complexity: “Is this where Earth’s dead return? But the souls number in the trillions—where do so many come from?”
“The vast universe, endless stars—maybe all planets’ dead converge here,” someone staring at the sky guessed.
In science and religion, most firmly believed Earth wasn’t the only life-bearing planet.
The sky’s stars were dense, dazzling in the soul rain.
But they were close to the sea, not distant like cosmic space.
Less like stars, more like “gates of light,” “soul passages,” or “cosmic wormholes.”
The countless light orbs of soul rain poured from these “stars,” falling to the dark sea, becoming souls, all visible to the naked eye.
This led to the bold guess: “All the universe’s dead return here.”