Hanboia Holm emerged from the fog like a memory long faded.
A patchwork of wooden shacks and makeshift docks sprawled across the shallows, built on stilts over a sea that had taken more than it ever gave. Weathered planks groaned beneath the boat as it slid into the central wharf, the sail now nothing more than torn cloth.
The village was grey—not just in color, but in spirit.
The air reeked of old fish, salt, and damp decay. Rusted hooks dangled from posts. Nets hung lifeless on ropes, too brittle to catch anything but rot. Murky water sloshed gently beneath the platforms, reflecting warped images of a place time seemed to have forgotten.
Children with sunken cheeks and swollen bellies peeked from behind broken barrels. Women, too thin to stand for long, sat in clusters cleaning salt-dried anchovies. Their hands moved automatically, but their eyes were distant. Old men leaned on crutches or sat slumped in wheelchairs, coughing into rags that came away speckled with red.
Everywhere, there was the sound of waiting.
Waiting for wind. For fish. For death.
Mo Zhenyu stepped off the boat and immediately wrinkled his nose. Fish cakes make sense now, he thought, trying to hide his discomfort behind his bamboo glasses.
But before he could gather his bearings, a cry rang out across the wharf.
"It's Fan He!"
Heads turned. Voices followed.
"By the sea gods... it's him—he's alive!"
A small crowd rushed down the warped dock, a tide of disbelief and awe in their weak, stumbling footsteps. They surrounded Fan He like a wave, tugging at his sleeves, patting his back, some too stunned to speak.
An old man grabbed his shoulder with a trembling hand. "We thought... after the storm... you'd gone to the Deep."
A haggard woman wept openly. "Another storm orphan... that's what they said. I told them you will come back because you always do."
Fan He raised a hand, embarrassed by the attention. "I'm alive, Auntie Shen. Just scraped by."
"Scraped by?" barked another man with a half-missing leg. "You brought back that?" He pointed toward the standing young man dressed in shabby clothings.
Murmurs erupted.
"You fished a boy?"
"From the deep sea?"
"How the hell—"
"He must've made a pact with the sea ghosts."
"Impossible...."
Fan He scratched the back of his head. "No ghosts. Just... guts, luck, and some help."
He turned and gestured toward Mo Zhenyu.
"This is my companion. Name's Mo Zhenyu."
Dozens of eyes turned to the boy with the bamboo glasses and unreadable expression. His robes were travel-worn but clean, his presence oddly centered amid the chaos.
A wrinkled old woman leaned close to another. "He's too pretty to be a fisherman. Is he a merman?"
Fan He chuckled. "He's not. He's a painter."
"A what?" someone echoed in disbelief.
"A painter," Fan He repeated, then grew serious. "His boat sank because of the storm, and he lost his companions. I fished him by luck and saved his life."
The crowd went silent at that.
Mo Zhenyu gave the barest of nods.
Fan He cleared his throat. "Where's Chief Yubo?"
A child ran off. Moments later, a man with a long grey beard and a wide-brimmed straw hat emerged from the far side of the pier. He walked with a cane carved from driftwood, his right leg stiff and braced with metal.
"Fan He." His voice was rough but steady. "I thought I'd be burying your mother this week. You made me a liar."
Fan He bowed his head respectfully. "Sorry for the trouble, Chief. I need to speak with you. Privately, if possible."
Chief Yubo studied Mo Zhenyu with sharp eyes, then nodded slowly. "Very well. Come to my hall."
Fan He turned to the crowd. "I'll visit my mother and sister soon, I swear."
A few people stepped forward, some offering dried herbs, others just pats on the shoulder. One old man grunted, "Told you the boy had his father's spine."
Another whispered, "Or his madness."
Fan He smiled faintly.
Mo Zhenyu said nothing, following silently as Fan He walked toward the village's central platform, ready to speak to the man who ruled over this floating graveyard of memories.
—
Chief Yubo's home sat at the heart of Hanboia Holm, perched on a raised platform of aged grey planks, with beams reinforced by rusting metal and scavenged ship parts. Its roof was patched with tar-stained canvas and coral-stiffened rope. Time had worn its face thin—every wall lined with fishing charms, bent nails, and faded murals of boats that no longer returned.
Inside, the light was dim. A single lantern hung from a central beam, casting a weak amber glow. The scent of brine, old wood, and dried fish filled the room. The floor creaked beneath every step, echoing a soft protest.
Fan He paused as he entered. His eyes scanned the walls—not seeing them, but remembering.
The last time I was here... was when they told me my father's boat never came back.
He swallowed quietly and sat on the floor mat, exhaling as if he'd been holding his breath for days.
Chief Yubo's wife shuffled in and offered a cracked clay cup to each guest. She was gaunt, her spine bent from years of hard work, but her movements were gentle. She handed one to Fan He, who nodded gratefully and took a small sip.
Mo Zhenyu, sitting cross-legged beside him, glanced at the murky contents of his own cup, the rim stained with salt and something darker. Without a word, he placed it back on the floor and folded his hands into his lap.
"What is happening, Fan He?" the old man asked softly, settling down across from them. His voice, though frail, carried the weight of responsibility.
Fan He hesitated for a beat. Then he reached into his coat and pulled out a small astral container, etched with runes that shimmered faintly even in the dim light.
He placed it on the floor between them.
Chief Yubo leaned forward. The moment his eyes caught the shape and aura of the seal, he froze.
"This is…" he breathed, voice faltering.
"A high-rank star beast," Fan He said. "A Blue Lagoon. I caught it. With Zhenyu's help."
The chief's fingers hovered just above the container. "Fan He… This isn't just luck. This takes skill. Courage. Strength."
Fan He nodded, his voice calm. "I know. But it also brings risk. That's why I wanted to speak to you directly."
He leaned in slightly. "We both know the merchant group will swindle us if we trade through the usual route. They've done it before. But there's another way—that place."
The chief's eyes sharpened.
"I heard his disciple is preparing to break into the Astral Flow realm," Fan He said quickly. "If we offer the star core directly, he won't pass on the chance."
Yubo leaned back with a slow exhale. "How did you hear about.."
Fan He's voice grew steadier. "If we do this right, we'll have enough star coins to buy medicine, rice, ink, tools, even better fishing vessels. No more gambling every season. We can build a proper reserve for the dry months. Maybe even set up a proper trade hub here."
The chief looked at the boy—no, the young man—across from him. The eyes weren't naïve anymore. Not like last time.
"I didn't think I'd see the day you'd talk like this," Yubo muttered.
Fan He replied. "This isn't about me. It's about the Holm. I'll leave the logistics to you. But for now—" he picked up the astral container again and slid it back into his coat "—I'll keep this with me. Safer that way."
Chief Yubo opened his mouth, hesitated, then gave a tired smile
Fan He chuckled and bowed respectfully. "Thank you, Chief."
He rose to his feet.
Zhenyu followed, silently.
Without a word more, they stepped out into the sea-salted air.