Dawn arrived with a thick fog over the harbor. Li Yuan was already up—an inaccurate term—and standing on the ship's deck, observing the morning activity.
The crew moved with an efficiency that came from experience. Ropes were checked, sails were prepared, the last of the cargo was loaded. Captain Deni stood at the helm, giving orders in a loud but not shouting voice—the tone of a leader who knew his team would listen without needing intimidation.
Yara emerged from below deck, her hair still messy from sleep but her eyes already sharp and focused. She approached Li Yuan with two bowls of oatmeal—a simple meal that served as standard breakfast on the ship.
"You need to eat," she said, offering him one bowl.
Li Yuan took it with a grateful smile. He didn't need food, but refusing would create questions he didn't want to answer. So he ate slowly, allowing his consciousness body to simulate the process that a mortal body does naturally.
"Nervous?" Yara asked while spooning her oatmeal.
"About the voyage?" Li Yuan looked at her with calm eyes. "No. The sea is a good teacher—it teaches patience and humility in a way the land cannot."
Yara looked at him with an expression that was a mix of amusement and curiosity. "You talk like a philosopher sometimes. How old are you really?"
"Old enough to know that age is just a number," Li Yuan answered in a light tone. "And young enough to still be curious about the world."
Yara laughed—a genuinely amused sound. "Good diplomacy. I'll stop asking."
They finished their oatmeal in comfortable silence, watching the fog slowly lift as the unseen sun began to warm the air.
The ship set sail with the tide, leaving Sea Wind City with a slow but steady motion. Li Yuan stood at the stern, watching the city slowly shrink in the distance—buildings turning into shapes, then into dots, then disappearing entirely in the fog.
"First job," a loud voice called to him. One of the crew members—a young man named Taren with strong muscles and a friendly face—gestured to him. "The Captain wants us to check the anchor ropes. Make sure nothing is worn or loose."
Li Yuan followed him to the front of the ship. The work was simple but required attention—inspecting every section of rope, looking for any signs of wear or weakness.
As they worked, Taren spoke in a relaxed tone. "You and that woman—Yara—are you two a couple?"
"No," Li Yuan answered without looking up from the rope he was checking. "Just wanderers who happened to be looking for the same ship."
"Huh." Taren sounded a little disappointed. "I thought there was a romantic story there. Two wanderers meeting in a port, looking for a journey together..."
When Taren spoke, Li Yuan heard through his Wenjing Realm the intention behind it—not malicious gossip, just innocent curiosity and maybe a little boredom from the routine of the voyage. This man was looking for stories to make the journey more interesting.
"The real stories are often more boring than we imagine," Li Yuan said with a small smile. "But sometimes that makes them more real."
Taren laughed. "Philosophical. Yara said you talk like that. She was right."
"You've already talked about me?"
"Hey, it's a small ship. Not much entertainment. A new crew is always a topic of conversation." Taren shrugged apologetically. "Don't worry—nothing malicious. Just curiosity."
Li Yuan nodded with understanding. This is different from the Kael and Valen tribes. No major political tensions, no hidden conspiracies. Just people living together in a confined space, trying to make the time pass comfortably.
Maybe this is a different lesson—not about great conflicts or community crises, but about the small dynamics of living together. About how very different people learn to live in harmony when they have no other choice.
That afternoon, as the sun was high and the heat radiated from the wooden deck, Captain Deni called Yara to the helm.
Li Yuan—who was helping to clean nets on the deck—heard through his Wenjing Realm their conversation even though he was too far away to hear with his ordinary ears.
"You said your father was a captain," Deni said in a testing tone. "Show me what he taught you. Look at this compass—where are we now based on the sun's position and the wind direction?"
There was a pause as Yara checked the instruments and observed the surroundings. Through his Wenjing Realm, Li Yuan heard a focused intention—no doubt or panic, just calm concentration.
"We're about twenty kilometers southeast of the harbor," Yara answered confidently. "The current is pulling us a little east of where you want to be, but that's normal for this time of year. If you correct now by shifting five degrees to the west, we'll be back on track in an hour."
Silence. Then Li Yuan heard something surprising in Captain Deni's intention—not skepticism, but a growing respect.
"Exactly right," Deni said in a slightly impressed tone. "Your father taught you well. Okay, you can help with navigation. Not a primary job—I'm still the captain—but you can take the helm shifts during the day when the weather is calm."
"Thank you, Captain," Yara said in a voice that couldn't hide her relief and pride.
Li Yuan smiled inwardly. She proved herself. Not by asking for special treatment, not by complaining about prejudice, but by demonstrating an ability that couldn't be denied.
It's a powerful way—not the only way, and it's unfair that she had to prove herself more than a man would—but the way she chose. And it worked.
The first night at sea came with a sky full of stars—more than were visible from land, because there was no city light to obscure them. The crew gathered on the deck after dinner, some playing dice, some mending equipment, some just sitting and talking.
Li Yuan found a quiet spot on the side of the ship, looking out at the dark water. The moon hadn't risen yet, so the sea was an absolute darkness—like a bottomless abyss.
Yara joined him after a few minutes, bringing two mugs of warm tea.
"I thought you might want this," she said, handing him one mug.
"Thank you." Li Yuan took it, feeling the warmth through the ceramic.
They stood in silence for a moment, listening to the sound of waves hitting the ship's hull, the creaking of ropes in the wind.
"The Captain was impressed with your navigation today," Li Yuan said.
Yara shrugged, but through his Wenjing Realm, he heard the pride she was trying to hide. "My father taught me well. He always said that the sea doesn't care if you're a man or a woman—it only cares if you know what you're doing."
"He sounds like a wise man."
"He was the best person I ever knew." Yara's voice became quieter. "When he died—a sudden heart attack in the middle of a voyage—I felt like... like I lost my anchor. Like there was nothing holding me to one place anymore."
When she spoke, Li Yuan heard through his Wenjing Realm a sadness that was still fresh even after five years. And deeper than that—a guilt that she wasn't speaking aloud.
"You feel guilty," Li Yuan said softly—not a question, just a sympathetic observation.
Yara turned to look at him with a startled expression. "How did you—"
"The way you talk about him. The way you say 'the best person' with a tone that carries more than just sadness." Li Yuan looked at her with eyes that had seen too much loss not to recognize it. "You feel like you should have been able to do something. Save him somehow."
Yara looked back at the sea, her hand gripping the mug tighter. Through his Wenjing Realm, Li Yuan heard the internal battle—the desire to share versus the habit of keeping secrets.
"I was asleep," she finally whispered. "When it happened. He called my name—I heard it, even in my sleep—but I thought it was a dream. When I finally woke up and went to the helm, he was already... already gone."
"I keep thinking—if I had woken up sooner, if I hadn't been sleeping so deeply, maybe I could have called for help. Maybe he would still be alive."
When she said this, Li Yuan heard through his Wenjing Realm the burden she had carried for five years—not just the grief of loss, but a guilt that had poisoned her ability to make peace with that death.
"A heart attack," Li Yuan said gently, "often happens so quickly that there's nothing anyone can do. Even if you had woken up immediately, even if there was a doctor on the ship, the outcome would most likely have been the same."
"You don't know that."
"No," Li Yuan admitted. "But I do know that carrying guilt for something that was beyond your control will only make your grief heavier. And I doubt your father—who sounds like a wise man—would have wanted that for you."
Yara was silent for a long time. Then, in a voice that was barely audible over the sound of the waves:
"My sister, Mina—the girl I'm looking for—she was taken six months after my father died. I was... I wasn't doing well at the time. Drinking too much, not paying attention. And when the slave traders came to our village..." Her voice broke. "I wasn't there to protect her."
Through his Wenjing Realm, Li Yuan heard the whole story in Yara's intention—layered guilt, layered loss, and a steel-hard determination born from a failure she felt.
"So you're looking for her not just out of love," Li Yuan said with gentle understanding, "but also to atone for what you feel was your failure."
Yara looked at him with teary eyes. "Is that wrong?"
"Not wrong. But..." Li Yuan chose his words carefully. "Motivation born from guilt can make a journey harder. Because even if you find her, even if you save her, a part of you might never feel it was enough. Might always feel like you should have done it sooner, better."
"What am I supposed to do?" Yara asked in a small voice—not defensive, just... tired.
"Look for her because you love her," Li Yuan said with simplicity. "Not because you owe it to her. Look for her because she is worth saving, not because you need to redeem yourself. The difference is small, but it's important. Because one will give you strength, the other will only drain your soul."
Yara looked at him in a long silence. Then she blinked away the tears that had gathered and nodded slowly.
"Thank you," she whispered. "For listening. And for... for not saying that everything will be okay or that I don't need to feel guilty."
"A comforting lie doesn't help," Li Yuan said softly. "But a truth delivered with compassion just might."
They stood together in a silence that was now more comfortable, watching the stars slowly move across the sky.
And Li Yuan felt something he rarely felt—a sense that he had helped someone not with a grand intervention or a demonstration of power, but just by listening, by understanding, by offering a perspective that could only come from someone who had lived long enough to see certain patterns in human suffering.
This is also a path, he mused. Not just preventing wars or dismantling conspiracies. But also just... being there for someone in a moment when they need a listening ear and honest words.
Maybe sometimes, that is the most important thing I can do.