From the Ship of Fools to Earl of Wugang

Chapter 116 Boat Song and Dense Fog

The small boat, marked with a red anchor, remained in the distance until dusk, and only turned back after confirming that the Heron had not returned.

Considering the time constraints, the group decided to continue their exploration while preparing dinner.

The kitchen of the Hailu was clearly not designed for more than 20 people to eat at the same time, so the survey team had to split into three groups and take turns changing the duty personnel.

The first group of people filled the table, and Count Schenkel stood in front of the table with a bottle of rum.

He poured the wine into a row of thick glasses and took the last one for himself.

"Today, we will complete a project that has made Twilight Harbor famous for eighty-one years. The old port belongs to the history of the Schenkel family, and also to every adventurer."

The count raised his glass and looked at the divers, crew members, and union representatives present, his voice ringing out loudly under the low-ceilinged cabin.

"When we return to Dusk Harbor, the reporters will remember my surname, but I will make them remember the Heron, the union, and everyone who works here today!"

Edmund, who was working on his potato stew with a fork, looked up when he heard this.

The spirituality spread along the count's fingers holding the cup, connecting with everyone's gaze and breath.

As a suitable candidate for the "Path of Conquest," Edgar von Schinkel evokes a subtle resonance. This influence strengthens courage and group identity, but is insufficient to compel listeners to act against their own will.

The eligible individuals are usually unable to consistently exert their abilities, which is more like the old achievements of the Schenkel family finding a new outlet through his voice.

The count himself seemed oblivious, raising his glass even higher: "To the old port, to the safe return, and to our future endeavors. Cheers!"

No one can resist rum, and the clinking of glasses and cheers nearly overturned the table.

Theo Harding led the shouting, and the crew began to tap the rim of the plate with the handles of their spoons.

Rum, stew, and hot bread quickly eased the tension that had built up during the day.

Amid cheers, Neud pulled a small bone flute, about half a palm's length long, from his robe sleeve and played a lively tune.

Moro added high notes with several bird calls on his shoulder, and soon a series of rhythmic table-clapping sounds filled the restaurant.

As the last note faded, the cheers were almost as enthusiastic as the speech itself.

Edmund suddenly remembered that he had studied the flute for a few years when he was in school in his previous life. Although he hadn't practiced for many years, he thought it was still worth a visit.

He borrowed a bone flute from Neud, rinsed it inside and out with rum, and then dried it by the kitchen stove.

The bone flute's hole spacing and air vents were different from the bamboo flute of his previous life. After trying a few notes, he adjusted his breathing based on memory and finally played a tune belonging to another world.

As the melody of "A Laughter in the Vast Sea" played in the cramped cabin, the surrounding conversations gradually subsided.

The melody is unadorned, yet its rise and fall are as refreshing as a long wind crossing the sea.

As soon as the song ended, applause erupted throughout the restaurant.

Neud patted him with extra force, and Moro also flapped his wings repeatedly at his shoulders.

Edmund returned the bone flute: "Would you call this hardcore?"

Neud took the flute, looking quite serious.

"Love and freedom are always hardcore, now and in the future!"

The second group of crew members happened to hear this at the door and burst into another inexplicable cheer.

After dinner, the Hailu began low-speed nighttime measurements according to the tide table.

Edmund deduced that the Old Port Fixed Anomaly was most active when the tide was nearing a turning point and the regional spiritual tides continued to rise; if this period was missed, one would have to wait another day.

The sea was still clear at dusk. The towed camera crossed the eastern transfer terminal and filmed the downward-sloping steps behind a section of collapsed stone wall.

The first few steps are still exposed on the mud and sand, but the rest go through the seabed and continue into deeper depths.

A slanted door frame stands at the far end; inside, there is no soil behind the wall, only water darker than the surrounding area.

The suspended object split into two near the door frame. One half changed direction and was sucked into the door; the other half floated upwards along the stone wall, as if gravity had made two decisions there.

Edmund immediately demanded that the original tapes be preserved, the video recordings and ship speed be checked, and that all the depth sounding, sonar, and winch records from the same moment be retrieved.

The camera showed no signs of cutting, and the steps and door frame were still in the same position during the second retest.

The reasons were varied, and this little incident didn't actually bother the ordinary crew members much—their thick skin made them think it was just the employer making a fuss.

As midnight approached, fog rapidly formed over the sea.

After the Hailu entered at the lowest speed, the fog line had just passed the bow when visibility was almost simultaneously lost fore and aft of the deck.

The instruments in the measurement room immediately began to contradict each other. Satellite differential showed that the Hailu was slowly heading east, but the compass showed that the bow was heading north, and the depth sounder and the side-scan sonar also began to conflict.

No single device was capable of independently determining the position, forcing the captain to reduce speed to maintain rudder effectiveness.

Surveyors could only maintain manual records with difficulty, based on engine speed and cable length.

A few minutes later, the observer shouted that an old-fashioned Hong Kong lamp had appeared in the fog to the left.

The lights seemed to remain fixed in the same position, unaffected by the ship's movement, flashing repeatedly in a rhythm of three short flashes followed by one long flash.

The count stared at it for two rounds, his expression becoming somewhat uncertain.

"If I remember correctly, this is the pilotage rule for the South Channel of the Old Port. It requires incoming vessels to maintain a low speed and enter the breakwater along the right side of the lights."

However, the sonar operator stated that the screen showed only open seawater in the direction of the lighthouse, and there wasn't even a single rock large enough to support it.

Just as Edmund was about to have the camera adjusted, the radio operator suddenly removed one earpiece: "Someone's knocking."

He connected the signal to the speaker, and three steady muffled sounds came from the noise, paused for a moment, and then repeated.

The two commercial divers' expressions changed simultaneously, and they immediately recognized that it was a communication signal requesting an emergency retrieval.

The hydrophone completed the orientation calculation, and the sound source was located near the seabed, close to the tilted door frame previously captured by the camera.

A few seconds later, the same three impacts rang out from inside the measurement cabin.

The sound came from an empty equipment cabinet next to the wall.

Neud raised his hand to silence everyone. Moro flew to the equipment cabinet, listened closely to the door for a moment, and then tapped three times with his beak in the rhythm of Green.

The breathless crowd immediately heard a response from inside the cabinet.

Neud slowly turned to Edmund: "The underwater structure is overlapping with the ship's cabin; it came in through that door."

The cabinet door lock automatically popped open after the response, and seawater immediately seeped out from the back panel inside the cabinet.

The water flowed down the metal plate first, then spread in front of everyone, revealing five thick finger marks one by one.

A wet handprint, nearly twice the size of an adult's hand, was pressing down on them from inside the cabinet.