Zheng Sen listened to Li Daoxuan's geography lecture with a focus rare even among the older sailors in the room.
Li Daoxuan had just begun explaining seasonal wind patterns when the dismissal bell rang sharply through the academy compound. Without the slightest hesitation, he stopped mid-sentence.
"Every spring, the warm…"
He glanced at the clock mounted on the wall and smiled.
"Class dismissed."
The room erupted in movement.
Zheng Sen blinked in disbelief. "He actually stopped?"
Li Daoxuan stretched his shoulders lightly. "Dragging a lesson past the bell is a crime. If I dislike being delayed, I should not delay others. Time belongs to everyone."
With that, he walked calmly to the corner of the classroom, lowered himself cross-legged onto a cushion, and closed his eyes.
Within seconds, he was perfectly still.
Too still.
Zheng Sen stared. "What is he doing?"
Shi Lang answered as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world. "Dao Xuan Tianzun has shifted his consciousness elsewhere. This body is just an avatar left behind. It will remain here until he returns."
Zheng Sen's mouth opened slightly.
He had sailed across oceans, seen cannon fire tear through hulls, and witnessed pirate battles soaked in blood. Yet this casual explanation unsettled him far more than any naval duel.
"What do you mean… shifted his consciousness?"
Shi Lang shrugged. "It means exactly what it sounds like."
Zheng Sen decided not to pursue the matter. Some things were better accepted than understood.
It was the short break between classes, and the academy corridors quickly filled with uniformed sailors. Many were active duty officers attending advanced instruction. Laughter echoed through the hallways as boots thudded against polished wooden floors.
The two boys walked past clusters of men deep in conversation.
"I sent my mother a bottle of that seafood soy sauce," one sailor said proudly. "Even added a basket of shrimp. Let her taste something different for once."
Another laughed. "My mother hates seafood. I sent rice instead."
"Rice?" the first man asked in confusion. "Who sends rice home?"
"You clearly haven't tried it. Zheng's merchant fleet brought in a shipment from Nanyang. Thai jasmine rice, they call it. Fragrant as incense. I bought ten catties and asked the militia brothers to deliver it back to Bai Family Fortress for me."
Zheng Sen could not help smiling faintly. "That shipment came from our fleet."
Shi Lang glanced at him with new appreciation. "Your family's reach is impressive. Trading across Nanyang at your age."
Zheng Sen looked down the corridor, thoughtful. "I have a feeling this island will go even farther. One day your trade won't stop at Nanyang. It will stretch straight into the Red-Haired nations."
Shi Lang chuckled. "That is part of Dao Xuan Tianzun's fourth objective. It is still far off. For now, we need to stabilize Nanyang first."
Zheng Sen hesitated, then spoke carefully. "Before pushing southward, there is one place we absolutely must secure."
Shi Lang raised a brow. "Let me guess. Yizhou Island."
Zheng Sen turned to him in surprise. "You think so too?"
Shi Lang nodded. "You saw the globe earlier. Yizhou sits right between Guangdong and Fujian, guarding the strait like a gatekeeper. If Westerners establish themselves there, every ship heading south sails under their shadow."
Zheng Sen's eyes sharpened. "If they control the island, can we truly claim the strait as ours?"
The two boys exchanged a look, excitement rising between them.
"Come," Shi Lang said. "Let's think through how we would take it."
They were still whispering strategies when the scene shifted hundreds of li away.
In the Changping region outside the capital, Wang Er, Bai Mao, and Ma Shouying had just regrouped after separate rescue operations.
Bai Mao had escorted civilians from Changzhou to safety and brought grim news with him. The Ming General-in-Chief, Chao Pichang, had surrendered the city without resistance, handing over Changzhou intact to Qing forces.
Had Gao Family Village not intervened, the entire population might have been driven northeast as slaves.
Bai Mao's anger had not cooled since hearing the story from the survivors. When he finished recounting it, Wang Er and Ma Shouying stood silent for a long moment.
Both men had once been rebels themselves. They understood corruption. They understood incompetence. But surrender without drawing a blade stirred something deeper.
"Government troops," Wang Er muttered at last, his voice edged with contempt, "are experts only at failing upward."
Ma Shouying gave a humorless smile. "They surrender cities, yet still collect stipends."
Before further bitterness could ferment, a scout galloped in and dismounted in a single fluid motion.
"Report. A Manchu unit has been sighted moving northeast."
"Northeast?" Wang Er unrolled a map over a crate and traced the direction with his finger. "There are no villages that way."
"There is an imperial mausoleum," the scout replied.
Ma Shouying's expression changed immediately. "The De Mausoleum."
Wang Er frowned. "Explain."
"It is the tomb of the Carpenter Emperor, Zhu Youxiao."
Understanding dawned slowly. "So the Manchus intend to plunder it."
The scout nodded. "They are not advancing quickly. Our cavalry could intercept them."
Wang Er leaned back slightly, thinking.
"They are not heading toward civilians," he said at last. "They seek treasure."
Ma Shouying looked at the scout calmly. "What did you just report?"
The scout blinked, then instantly corrected himself. "Ah. I remember now. There is a small village northwest of that position. The Manchu unit may threaten the common people there."
Ma Shouying nodded approvingly. "Then we advance to protect the villagers."
Wang Er laughed, the sound carrying a rough edge. "Full speed. Let the Manchus dig dirt if they wish. We defend the living."
That same night in the capital, Emperor Zhu Youjian stirred from sleep.
He rose quietly to relieve himself. His chamber was vast, yet empty. He rarely summoned consorts. Endless memorials consumed his days, leaving little strength for indulgence.
When he returned to bed, exhaustion quickly claimed him again.
And then the dream came.
He found himself standing inside the bedchamber of his elder brother, the Carpenter Emperor Zhu Youxiao.
The air felt heavy, thick with incense and finality. Candlelight flickered against carved beams. On the bed lay Zhu Youxiao, pale and thin, life slipping from him.
Zhu Youjian realized with a jolt that he stood exactly where he had once stood years ago.
A frail hand grasped his sleeve.
"I… cannot continue…" Zhu Youxiao whispered, his lips darkened, breath uneven. "The Ming realm… the ancestral altars… I entrust them to you…"
Zhu Youjian felt the old panic surge again.
"Imperial Brother…"
"My brother… you must become a Yao and Shun…"
The sentence never finished. Zhu Youxiao's head tilted to the side, and his arm fell limp.
Grief overwhelmed Zhu Youjian, just as it had that night long ago.
"Imperial Brother, without you I know nothing. How can I govern such a realm?"
Then, impossibly, the dead emperor opened his eyes.
A faint smile curved his lips.
"Do not burden yourself so heavily. I did not understand governance either. I only knew carpentry."
The tone was light, almost teasing.
"Do your best. That is enough."
His head tilted again. This time he did not move.
Zhu Youjian stared at him, confused. That was not how it had happened. His brother had not spoken so gently at the end.
The chamber began to blur.
He woke abruptly in his own bed, heart pounding.
The night was silent.
For a long time, he lay there without moving, staring into darkness, unsure whether what lingered in his chest was comfort or a heavier weight than before.
Far away, under the same sky, the De Mausoleum waited in stillness, unaware that soldiers marched toward it, and that history, once again, was shifting its pieces across the board.