Four days after leaving the nameless island, the sea began to show signs that made Hassan uneasy.
The current changed direction twice in a single day—an unusual occurrence for this area according to the captain's maps and experience. The wind that should have been coming from the northwest was instead blowing from the south in an unstable pattern. And most worryingly: the water temperature dropped three degrees overnight.
"A storm?" Zahir asked as they gathered on deck on the third night after the change began.
Within the ten-meter radius, Li Yuan heard the crew's anxiety—not panic but a tension born of uncertainty. The sea was their home, but a sea that changed in unpredictable ways was an enemy that could not be fought with courage or skill alone.
"Not a normal storm," Hassan replied, looking up at the clear, star-filled sky. "The sky is too calm. But there's something... underneath. The currents are chaotic. Like two different bodies of water meeting and disagreeing on how to flow."
He looked at the map with a deep frown on his forehead. "We might be approaching a convergence zone—a place where currents from different directions meet. It could be dangerous if we're not careful."
"What's the plan?" Bashir asked in a calm but serious voice.
"We slow down. Navigate more carefully. And we look for an island to anchor at until the currents stabilize." Hassan pointed to the map. "There should be an island about two days from here—Tavish Island according to this map. A safe harbor, a large enough population."
Li Yuan listened while feeling the water around the ship through his Water Comprehension. Hassan was right—there was a disharmony in the way the water moved. Like two melodies being played in different keys at the same time, creating an unpleasant dissonance.
But there was something else he felt. Something deeper than just a conflict of physical currents.
The water carried different memories. Some drops carried stories of the warm tropical ocean—colorful coral reefs, fish swimming in large schools, a sun that shone on the surface with a burning intensity.
Other drops carried a different story—a cold sea from far to the south, where ice floated on the surface and large creatures swam in the dark depths.
Two bodies of water from two different worlds, meeting in this place.
A transition zone, Li Yuan mused. Not just physically but ecologically. A place where two systems meet and must find a way to coexist.
Or destroy each other in the process.
That night, Li Yuan couldn't meditate peacefully. The disharmony in the water was too strong, too disturbing to the resonance he usually felt.
He went up to the deck to find he wasn't the only one who couldn't sleep. Idris—a young crewman whose arrogance had been tempered by the experiences of the last few weeks—stood at the stern, looking out at the dark water.
Li Yuan approached with a slow step. Within the ten-meter radius, he heard Idris's unease—not fear but something more complex. Doubt about his life choices. Questions about whether he should have followed in his father's footsteps as a sailor or taken a different path.
"Can't sleep?" Li Yuan asked in a low voice so as not to disturb the other crew.
Idris turned, a little surprised, then shrugged. "The sea feels... strange. Like it's waiting for something to happen."
"The currents are meeting," Li Yuan explained. "Two bodies of water from different places, trying to find balance."
"What happens if they don't find balance?"
"Then we'll have turbulence. Unexpected waves, eddies, maybe even small whirlpools." Li Yuan paused. "But in the end, they always find a balance. Maybe not immediately, but the sea has a way of resolving its internal conflicts."
Idris was silent for a moment, looking at the water. "You talk about the sea as if it's alive."
"Because in many ways, it is alive. Not with human-like consciousness, but as a complex and dynamic system that is constantly changing, adapting, seeking balance."
Within the ten-meter radius, Li Yuan heard a shift in Idris's intention—from unease to genuine curiosity. The young man was starting to learn to listen to things that were deeper than the surface.
"My father was a captain," Idris said suddenly. "He sailed for forty years before a storm took him. My mother told me I should follow another path—be a merchant on land, get married, have children, live a safe life."
"But you chose the sea."
"Yes. But I don't know if it's because I truly love the sea, or because I'm trying to prove something. To myself. To my mother. To my father's memory."
Li Yuan listened with calm attention. Everyone carries their own questions about the path they choose. Some find answers quickly. Others spend a lifetime searching.
"There's nothing wrong with either of those reasons," Li Yuan finally said. "Love and the desire to prove something can coexist. The question isn't why you chose, but whether that choice makes you grow or diminishes you."
"How do I know which one?"
"By listening. Not to what others say, but to what your own heart whispers in the quiet moments." Li Yuan looked at the dark sea. "If sailing makes you feel alive—even with all the danger and uncertainty—then it's your path. If sailing makes you feel like you're living someone else's life, then maybe it's time to consider a different path."
Idris nodded slowly, digesting the words. "And if I'm not sure which one?"
"Then you keep sailing until you are sure. There's nothing wrong with taking time to find the answer." Li Yuan smiled faintly. "Some answers take years. Some take a lifetime. And some never come, but the journey of searching provides enough meaning."
Within the ten-meter radius, Li Yuan heard something shift in Idris's intention—a slightly lighter burden, a pressure to decide immediately that was slightly reduced. The young man was starting to learn to live with uncertainty without letting it destroy his peace.
"Thank you," Idris said simply.
"You're welcome. Sometimes we all just need someone to listen without telling us what to do."
They stood together for a few more minutes, two people with an age gap that was invisible from the outside but who both carried questions about path and purpose.
Then Idris went back below deck to try to sleep again, leaving Li Yuan alone with the sea and his thoughts.
Morning brought a sight that made the entire crew stop.
On the horizon, the water changed color—from the dark blue they were familiar with to a bright, bluish-green. A clear line separated the two zones, as if someone had painted with a large brush on the surface of the sea.
"A convergence zone," Hassan said in a voice that was a mix of awe and concern. "I've heard stories about them but never seen one directly. A place where two great currents meet."
Zahir looked on with wide eyes. "Is it safe to cross?"
"It depends. Sometimes the meeting is calm—just a change in color and temperature. Sometimes... it's not."
Hassan looked at the sky, then at the water, then at the sails. "We have no choice but to cross it. Tavish Island is on the other side. But we'll do it carefully—sails reduced, everyone on alert."
The crew moved with the efficiency that comes from practice and trust in their captain. The sails were reduced to half. The ropes were double-checked. The cargo was secured more tightly.
And the Seafarer's Star slowly approached the line that separated two worlds of water.
As the ship crossed the boundary, Li Yuan felt the change with a clarity that was almost painful. Like stepping from one room into another with a different temperature, a different music, even a slightly different gravity.
The water on this side was lighter, warmer, carrying stories of abundant life—coral reefs, tropical fish, a sun that was never truly cold.
The ship swayed as the two currents pulled from different directions. Not dangerously but enough to make some of the crew hold on to ropes.
Hassan stood at the helm with steady hands, his eyes never leaving the water. Within the ten-meter radius, Li Yuan heard the captain's total concentration—there was no room for any other thoughts, only a focus on bringing the ship through safely.
For an hour, they sailed in the transition zone—a place where two systems met and couldn't fully blend. The water moved in strange patterns, sometimes swirling in small circles, sometimes flowing in opposite directions just a few meters from each other.
But Hassan navigated with a skill born from decades of experience. He read the water like Li Yuan read intentions—understanding the patterns behind the chaos, finding a safe path through the turbulence.
And finally, they passed the last zone. The water became stable again—warmer, brighter, moving with a different but consistent rhythm.
The crew let out a collective sigh. Some laughed with relief. Bashir even smiled—a rare occurrence.
"We made it," Hassan announced in a voice that showed none of the tension he had just been through. "Tavish Island should be visible tomorrow morning."
Within the ten-meter radius, Li Yuan heard the crew's relief and pride. They had crossed something that many sailors only heard about in stories. And they did it without losing a single member or damaging the ship.
Li Yuan stood at the stern, looking back at the convergence zone that now looked like a thin line in the distance.
A place where two worlds meet, he mused, is always the most dangerous but also the most interesting. There, the rules from both sides don't fully apply. There, something new can be born—or something old can be destroyed.
And the choices we make when crossing that zone—whether we move with caution or haste, whether we respect the forces that are meeting or try to impose our will—determine whether we survive or are destroyed.
Bashir came up to him with a more relaxed step. "You didn't look worried just now."
"I trust Hassan," Li Yuan answered simply. "He knows what he's doing."
"But you also felt something in the water, didn't you? I saw the way you looked—like you were listening to something we couldn't hear."
Li Yuan was silent for a moment, considering how much to explain. "Water carries stories. And in a convergence zone, the stories from two different places meet. It creates... a complex harmony. Not always beautiful, but always interesting."
"You talk like water is an old friend of yours."
"In many ways, it was my first teacher. And sometimes the best teachers are the ones who never stop teaching new lessons."
Bashir nodded with an understanding that required no further elaboration. He had already learned that Li Yuan spoke in metaphors that were often deeper than they seemed on the surface.
That night, as the crew celebrated their success with a dinner that was a little more special than usual—fish roasted with spices saved for a special occasion—Hassan sat next to Li Yuan with a lit pipe.
"You weren't surprised today," he observed. "Even when the ship was rocking hard, you stood there as if you already knew it would happen."
Within the ten-meter radius, Li Yuan heard Hassan's intention—not suspicion but genuine curiosity. This captain was starting to realize that his passenger was no ordinary traveler.
"I have crossed many unsettled waters," Li Yuan answered honestly without giving details. "You learn to read the signs."
"More than that. You read the water like I read the sky—with an understanding that goes beyond technical knowledge." Hassan exhaled smoke. "I'm not asking what your secret is. Everyone has their secrets. But I want you to know: whatever you carry, you are safe on my ship."
"Thank you. That means a lot."
Hassan nodded, then looked at the crew who were laughing and sharing stories about the tense moments earlier. "They're good kids. Some are still learning—like Idris—but they all have potential."
"Idris will be fine," Li Yuan said. "He just needs time to find out if the sea is his path or just a stopping place."
"You spoke with him?"
"A little. Last night."
Hassan smiled—a rare expression on his usually serious face. "Good. The boy needs someone to listen without telling him what to do. His mother gives enough unsolicited advice."
They sat together in a comfortable silence, listening to the sounds of the crew, the waves, the wind that filled the reduced sails.
"How much longer will you sail with us?" Hassan finally asked.
"Until you can't take me any further south."
"That's still a few months. We'll stop at a few more islands, maybe six or seven, before reaching the limit of my normal trade route." Hassan looked at him with eyes that tried to read. "After that, you'll have to find a ship willing to go further."
"I know. And I appreciate how far you can take me."
Hassan nodded in acceptance, not pushing for a reason why Li Yuan wanted to go so far. He had already learned that some questions are better left unasked.
And Li Yuan sat there, under the star-filled sky, on a ship that had become a temporary home, with a crew that was slowly becoming familiar, carrying a journey that had no clear final destination but every step of which provided a new understanding.
About water and currents that meet.
About choices and doubts.
About the way humans sail through the transition zones in their lives—places where the old meets the new, where habit meets change, where who they are meets who they can become.
And in all of it, the same lesson repeated:
The key to getting through safely is not in forcing or fighting, but in reading, understanding, and moving with the wisdom born of listening.
To the water. To the heart. To the subtle whispers of life itself.
Just as Li Yuan had done for fifteen thousand years.
And would continue to do as long as this journey took him.