The ship carrying Xiao Ming cut through the waves with the grace of a leaping carp, reaching the borders of Wu Shui only few days after the encounter with the Frost Demon Wyrm.
Since that battle, the journey had been oddly peaceful.
Whenever trouble appeared on the horizon, the skilled sailor and the accompanying Yang Kings swatted the threats away like bothersome flies.
Xiao Ming hadn't needed to lift a single finger. He spent his time cross-legged in his cabin, focusing every ounce of his energy on healing his internal injuries and restoring his strength.
Despite the silence, a cold weight sat in his heart. He stood on the deck, staring at the distant shoreline where the clouds seemed unnaturally heavy.
"Why do I feel really uneasy?" Xiao Ming muttered to himself, his voice barely a whisper against the wind.
For days, his mind had been a restless sea. He knew his instincts were like an old mirror—they never failed to reflect the truth before it arrived.
