Deep Sea Embers-Chapter 737: The Key Word

The fleet was making its return journey along the same path they had taken previously, navigating back towards the periphery of the fog border. This return seemed more turbulent, likely due to the aftermath of the sinking of the Holy Island, which had left the nearby waters distinctly unsettled. Once mirror-like in its calmness, the sea now undulated continuously with fine, scale-like waves. The thick fog that enshrouded the area was notorious for creating strange, almost hallucinatory illusions, which kept everyone on edge.

Despite the eerie atmosphere, their voyage back through the mist remained uneventful for the most part, with no tangible threats materializing from the foggy veil. ƒreewebɳovel.com

High above, the ethereal sails of the Vanished were unholstered, emitting a soft, creaking noise as they shifted angles, harmonizing with the sounds of ropes in motion as a thin mist swirled gently around the deck. Amidst this light fog, the silhouette of Agatha was barely visible as she moved through the whiteness, appearing almost ghostly.

Agatha was attentively observing the “environment” surrounding the Vanished. At that moment, her eyes seemed to perceive two realms simultaneously – the real world and the spectral landscape of the spirit world. The surrounding fog appeared altered from its usual state, and the spirit world seemed unusually unsettled. Although it didn’t seem to pose an immediate threat to the Vanished, Agatha remained on high alert, her concern palpable.

Meanwhile, inside the cabin, the rest of the group was assembled. The captain was deeply discussing the Abyssal Deep Sea with his followers, not omitting any details of his conversation with the Nether Lord.

Morris, puffing on his pipe, sat beside the long table. The smoke curling around him reflected his troubled thoughts. After a lengthy period of contemplation, he finally set his pipe down and spoke in a tone mixed with wonder and disbelief, “In all my years, I’ve encountered countless incredible things, but never something like this. The creator of this world, extending an invitation to you to take over His role…”

In a state of disbelief, Nina pinched herself hard as if trying to confirm the reality of the situation. She then looked up at Duncan, her voice tinged with astonishment, “Did you actually turn down that offer?”

Duncan responded with a serene demeanor, “Yes, I did. The Nether Lord’s plan is fundamentally flawed, so I rejected it.”

Lucretia spoke softly after mumbling something to herself, “I remember you once asking me if I felt this Boundless Sea was confining. Now, it seems, even within such a constrained sanctuary, we are reaching our limits… I never imagined that in coming here, so far from the civilized world, we would be confronted with such staggering news.”

A heavy, somewhat oppressive mood settled over the cabin. A silence enveloped the area around the long table for a time, broken only when Nina approached Shirley, her voice low and laced with concern, “How are you feeling now? Are you experiencing any discomfort?”

“I don’t feel any different than I usually do. In fact, my senses, like eyesight and hearing, seem to be enhanced,” Shirley spoke softly, her eyes glinting with a residual blood-red hue. “The only inconvenience is the thought of having to either cover my eyes or keep them shut whenever we return to the city. It’s going to be quite a hassle.”

With a tone of relief, Nina responded, “The important thing is we’re back safely. When I learned you and Dog were missing, I was so worried. I even considered going out in person to search for you two, but Mr. Goathead prevented me from doing so.”

Overhearing their muted conversation, Duncan surveyed the group seated around the elongated table. His previously tense expression softened slightly as he let out a gentle sigh.

“Let’s conclude this discussion here. Our journey to Holy Island has been exhausting. Before we make our way back to the city-state, I suggest everyone takes some time to recuperate.”

As he finished speaking, Duncan stood up, gesturing with a wave of his hand that the others should remain seated. He then turned and made his exit.

With the captain’s departure, a heavy silence fell over the cabin, persisting until he was out of sight. Nina eventually broke the stillness, her voice low, “Uncle Duncan seems very worn out… He’s burdened with so many concerns.”

“He indeed has a multitude of issues weighing on him,” Morris remarked, putting out his pipe, “Sadly, there’s not much we can do to assist him.”

After pondering for a moment, Lucretia directed her attention to Dog, “Did father mention anything else when he rejected the Nether Lord’s proposal?”

Dog paused to think, then replied with uncertainty, “He said he’s contemplating another strategy, but it’s still in the conceptual stage, and he’s yet to determine a viable approach… That’s all he disclosed. He didn’t elaborate to either me or Shirley.”

Upon hearing Dog’s explanation, Lucretia sank into deep thought as she contemplated the meaning behind her father’s actions…

As Duncan exited the cabin, he made a beeline for the captain’s room at the ship’s stern, bypassing everything else on the middle deck. Through the swirling thin mist, he could see the captain’s dark wooden door, enigmatic and silent as ever, with the phrase “Door of the Lost” clearly etched on its frame. Drawing closer, Duncan hesitated, his hand hovering just above the door knob. He stood still, lost in a moment of contemplation, his gaze drifting to where the ship’s edge met the pale mist, merging with the chaotic sky. Time seemed to stretch as he remained there, immersed in his thoughts.

Finally, he shifted his gaze away and entered the room.

Crossing the familiar threshold, stepping onto the well-known floor, and entering the room he knew so well, Zhou Ming let out a quiet sigh and casually walked through the living room.

In his single-room apartment, Zhou Ming found himself surrounded by an atmosphere of timeless familiarity. It was as if not only the recent years but even thousands or tens of thousands of years had frozen the room in a constant, unchanging, eternal state.

Each item in the room was deeply etched into Zhou Ming’s memory. He moved through the space, past the furnishings that he knew like the back of his hand, and approached the window. This window, which had remained perpetually closed, now drew his gaze outward.

Through the glass, he observed the pale mist, resembling layers of ethereal curtains. Beyond it, there was no discernible ‘street’ scene, only the chaotic interplay of light and fog.

With a moment’s hesitation, Zhou Ming extended his hand towards the window, pressing his palm against the cold, unyielding glass. The window, as ever, was immovable, seemingly fused with the very fabric of the space around it.

He inhaled deeply and blinked slowly.

In that brief span of darkness, within the first 0.002 seconds of closing his eyes, Zhou Ming saw… nothing. There was no window, no fog, no glimpse of any ‘real side’ of his surroundings. All that existed was an unfathomable darkness, an abyssal void that seemed to signify the annihilation of all existence.

Stepping back, Zhou Ming tried to steady his breathing.

He reflected on the changes he had undergone, recalling how, in his experiences on the ‘other side’ of the door, every blink in that fleeting 0.002-second interval had previously allowed him to perceive some hidden ‘real scenery’ beneath the surface of reality. But why, in this place, did he only encounter an absolute darkness?

Was it because here he was ‘Zhou Ming’ and not ‘Duncan’? Or was this room a manifestation of some higher-level existence? Or, perhaps, was it that there truly was… nothing here?

As Zhou Ming stood pondering in the living room, a flicker of light caught his peripheral vision. It was his computer. The machine, which should have been unplugged, was operating, its screen displaying the usual looping screensaver.

Zhou Ming’s brow furrowed in realization. He quickly seated himself in front of the computer, his movements somewhat clumsy and unpracticed after a prolonged absence. He made several errors as he began to type, but gradually, he regained his familiar rhythm.

He remembered a previous interaction with this computer’s browser—it had shown him ‘the Moon,’ a revelation that had peeled back a layer of truth about the world.

Could it provide answers to his other questions?

Driven by this thought, Zhou Ming’s fingers flew over the keys, his mind racing with possibilities and questions about the nature of his reality, the identity of ‘Zhou Ming’ versus ‘Duncan’, and the profound implications of what lay beyond the window and within the computer screen.

As Zhou Ming’s fingers danced lightly across the keyboard, he began his search by typing “0.002 seconds” into the search box, promptly pressing Enter. He watched with a mix of anticipation and anxiety as the cursor spun and the progress bar inched forward, his mind awash with turbulent thoughts.

He recalled a conversation with Navigator One, who had told him about his arrival in this world at the dawn of the Great Annihilation. He remembered vividly the ancient kings encircling him, and a chaotic cocoon floating amidst the ashes… Could this cocoon be symbolic of his “single-room apartment”?

This thought led to a cascade of questions: What did the various items and furnishings in his apartment represent? The computer, what role did it play in this mystery? The shelf at the room’s end, its significance? And the “models” that had been transformed here after being engulfed in flames, what did they symbolize?

His train of thought was interrupted as the cursor halted, and the progress bar disappeared, replaced by an error message on the browser. Yet, Zhou Ming was not taken aback by this.

After a moment of contemplation, he typed “The Great Annihilation” into the search box. The browser responded with another error, refusing to yield any information.

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Undaunted, Zhou Ming continued his quest for answers, entering a new keyword: “The End of Time.” Again, he was met with an error message. Undeterred, he persisted, typing in one term after another — “Cosmic Collision,” “Redshift,” “Sanctuary,” “Ancient Kings,” “Deep Sea Era,” “Stars”…

Each attempt was met with the same unyielding error message, the screen adamantly refusing to divulge any secrets.

After countless efforts, a sense of frustration began to etch itself on Zhou Ming’s face. Even when the last keyword “Zhou Ming” elicited yet another error, he let out a soft sigh, a feeling of loss washing over him.

The computer, “it,” offered no answers, leaving him in a state of uncertainty, teetering between disappointment and an inexplicable emptiness. Zhou Ming leaned back, his gaze fixed wearily on the screen where the small cursor continued to blink in the search bar as if taunting him with its persistence or perhaps mocking his futile attempts.

Zhou Ming remained in contemplative silence for several minutes. Suddenly, his attention snapped back to the blinking cursor as if a forgotten idea had just resurfaced in his mind.

With renewed purpose, he straightened up and quickly typed a new keyword: “Inverse Singularity.”

As soon as he hit Enter, a phantom roar invaded his senses, overwhelming his mind. In the next moment, the screen in front of him plunged into an abyss of darkness, engulfing the room and leaving Zhou Ming in a state of shock and anticipation.