Chapter 467: Falling Into The Water
Blech…
The instant the pirate’s hot blood splashed across Zhu Ping’an’s face and that sin-stained body collapsed heavily before him, a wave of indescribable nausea surged up from his stomach, flooding his throat and mouth. The metallic tang of blood mingled with the salty dampness of the sea air, and he could no longer hold it back—he doubled over and retched, his body convulsing as though trying to expel not only bile, but the moment itself.
When the pirates had first stormed the ship, Zhu Ping’an had still been composed—calculating, cautious, advancing step by measured step. Even after being kicked viciously by the pirate, he had endured it, deliberately feigning half-death, letting his body go limp so that his enemy would lower his guard. Then, with calculated precision, he had used the promise of hidden treasure to further distract the man, drawing greed into the pirate’s eyes.
And when the moment ripened—when vigilance turned into avarice—Zhu Ping’an had flung the packet of quicklime powder he had long prepared straight into the pirate’s eyes. Blinded, the man had screamed, and in that single, fleeting heartbeat, Zhu Ping’an had erupted with sudden force, seizing the blade and reversing their fates.
It had all been strategy. Cold, necessary, efficient.
But now—his mind was utterly blank.
The hand that gripped the knife trembled uncontrollably.
This was the first time in his life he had killed someone.
Even if the man had been a pirate steeped in evil.
Even if he had known with painful clarity that it had been a matter of kill or be killed.
Still—when a crimson flower of blood blossomed before his very eyes, when a living, breathing soul drained away at his own hand—his thoughts churned violently, as though seas were colliding within his skull, waves crashing against one another without rest…
“Heh… my resolve is still lacking…”
Zhu Ping’an tugged faintly at the corner of his lips in self-mockery and shook his head. It seemed he needed not only to temper his body—but to temper his heart as well.
“Zhu… Zhu Ping’an, are you alright?”
Li Shu, though not so terrified as the bun-faced little maid who had fainted outright, still looked pale and shaken. Her eyes, wide with lingering fear, fixed anxiously upon him.
“I’m fine.”
Zhu Ping’an turned back and forced a smile. His face, however, was drained of color—bloodless and weak.
“Young Master… you…”
The little maid stared at the blood smeared across Zhu Ping’an’s clothes, then at the pirate lying lifeless on the floor. The realization struck her in full: the young master had killed someone. Her large eyes rolled upward, and without ceremony, she fainted once more.
“Heh, this girl’s courage really is small.”
Zhu Ping’an tugged at his lips again, attempting a joke to ease the suffocating tension that hung in the cabin like smoke.
“And you’re teasing her? Your hand was shaking too,” Li Shu scolded softly, though her tone carried more worry than reproach. This scoundrel—how could he still make light of things at a time like this?
“Oh? That? My hand just went numb,” Zhu Ping’an said with a slight shrug.
“Nonsense.” Li Shu pouted. “How would your hand go numb?”
“Have you never heard the phrase ‘killing like cutting hemp’?” He wiped the blood from his face and gave her a weak smile.
“You’re twisting words,” she huffed, but hearing him joke—however forced—eased the violent pounding of her heart just a little.
Clap. Clap. Clap…
“Chinese culture truly is profound and expansive. I never imagined ‘killing like cutting hemp’ could be interpreted this way. What an eye-opener… Ah—my apologies, my apologies. I couldn’t resist. I hope I’m not interrupting the lovers’ flirtation.”
A round of applause echoed from the cabin entrance, followed by clumsy, heavily accented Chinese. Soon, the pirate Sanji—dressed in a black haori—stepped into view, still clapping leisurely. From the long katana at his waist, fresh blood dripped slowly onto the floorboards.
Behind him stood seven or eight fierce-looking pirates. Their blades were slick with thick, dark blood; their clothing stained and heavy with it.
“So delicate… so beautiful. A girl like this—just spreading her legs—hah, I’d die of pleasure.”
“Am I blind? Even if I had to pay nothing, I’d still have to take a turn with such a beauty!”
“No one steals her from me. Let me have her once—even death would be worth it!”
Their eyes fixed upon Li Shu inside the cabin. Saliva gathered at the corners of their mouths; they swallowed greedily, marveling without restraint. Never in their lives of plunder had they encountered such a soft, radiant young woman.
Possession. Violation. Desecration.
Such vile thoughts sprouted rapidly in their minds. If not for Sanji standing in front of them, they would have already lunged forward to enact their depravity.
“A man capable of such schemes…”
Sanji slowly drew the katana from his waist and licked the blood from its edge. His gaze settled upon Zhu Ping’an as though beholding the most exquisite mountain delicacy in existence.
“…surely his heart must have seven apertures. A seven-apertured heart… how exciting that would be.”
“Since Second Boss has his eye on him, the man’s yours. The woman’s ours! Hahaha!”
The other pirates could barely contain themselves. Their mouths split wide with excitement.
“As you wish.”
Sanji’s lips parted, revealing rows of bone-white teeth.
“Y-young Master… Miss…”
The little maid had just regained consciousness when she saw the scene unfolding and nearly fainted again, clutching Li Shu and trembling violently.
“Zhu… Zhu Ping’an… wh-what do we do?”
Li Shu was pale as paper. It was clear what these men intended. In the feudal Ming, a woman’s chastity outweighed even her life. To her and the maid, this moment was nothing short of the end of the world.
He had barely survived against one pirate through luck. Now there were so many.
Zhu Ping’an could only smile bitterly.
More than a decade of bitter study—cold windows and lonely lamps. Practicing calligraphy against stone, hanging his hair from the beam to stay awake, stabbing his thigh to fight drowsiness. Finally, his name had appeared on the golden list. Finally, he had earned the right to step onto the grand stage of the Ming.
And now—was his life to end upon this sea?
No.
Zhu Ping’an shook his head.
From what he had glimpsed earlier in Li Shu and the little maid’s fortune, the red aura of bloodshed had been but a thin strand—not mortal, not fatal. The true deadly danger lay elsewhere.
This calamity, then, was destined to be frightening—but survivable.
“Nothing will happen,” Zhu Ping’an said softly, stepping in front of them both.
Li Shu and the maid stared at him in disbelief, thinking he merely sought to comfort them. In their eyes, death was certain. So many pirates—how could they possibly escape?
“Damn it, Second Boss, this guy’s too good at pretending! I can’t take it anymore. I’m cutting off his head and digging out his heart for you to soak in wine. Let’s see if he can keep pretending then! ‘Nothing will happen’? Heh—let him see whether something happens!”
One pirate strode forward, blade raised.
“I’ll do it—”
Others surged eagerly.
“Much obliged, gentlemen.”
Sanji leaned lazily against the cabin doorway, watching with interest, anticipating the spectacle of a body hacked to pieces.
A Thousand Pounds Hanging by a Thread — Life on the Brink
Just as the pirates closed in, ready to hack down the “pretender” Zhu Ping’an, a thunderous roar erupted outside—like the sky splitting open.
A wall of water—nearly ten meters high—rose from the sea, black and monstrous, and came crashing toward the ship.
“Ah—!”
“Ahhh—!”
Desperate screams tore through the air, hoarse and maddened.
In the blink of an eye, the towering wall of sea slammed down with earth-shattering force.
Before such a wave, the ship was nothing more than a toy.
With a catastrophic crack, it split cleanly in two. The pirates at the cabin entrance—including Sanji in his black haori—had no time even to react before they were swept away, hurled into the raging ocean, their fates unknown.
Against the savage violence of nature, individual martial prowess meant nothing.
Zhu Ping’an, Li Shu, and the little maid were no exception. The monstrous wave struck them alike, flinging them into the sea.
The only difference—
They wore lifebuoys strapped to their bodies.
And those floating rings became their slender thread of survival.
When the towering wave finally passed, the ship lay shattered, broken planks and debris rising and sinking upon the restless waters.
Smashed into the Sea — Suffocation — The World Overturned by Waves
The ocean swallowed him whole.
Water forced itself into his nose, his mouth, his lungs. The violent currents spun him head over heels, slamming him in dizzying succession. Up was down; down was up. The world became a churning abyss of darkness and roaring foam.
If not for the lifebuoy—and the fierce instinct to survive—Zhu Ping’an would never have broken back through the surface.
“Help—!”
“Help—!”
The moment he gasped his first ragged breath of air, cries reached his ears. Familiar voices.
The little maid. Li Shu.
They too had managed to resurface, buoyed precariously by their floats. But the sea was still raging. They were poor swimmers, and each incoming wave swallowed them whole before spitting them back out again. They had already swallowed mouthful after mouthful of seawater, coughing and choking, their strength fading.
Another towering swell was rising.