It didn’t overturn the boats, but the impact—combined with the shifting water—still sent shockwaves through Yiwansan’s body. His stomach lurched. For a moment, he felt airborne, then slammed back down, seawater splashing like a wall before him.
But then he heard it—the most beautiful sound in the world:
The clam’s shell grinding to a stop. The sound of mechanical failure, like gears unable to turn. A creaking, groaning stall.
Yiwansan collapsed onto the wet deck, soaked to the bone. He didn’t care.
The boats were now nearly side by side—you could step from one to the other. Luo Ren emerged from the cabin, braced himself against the doorframe, and pulled a chisel and hammer from the toolbox.
Yiwansan scrambled up and crawled toward the edge, peering overboard.
The old clam was right below them, its shell wedged into both hulls. It struggled, trying to turn, but looked more like a broken machine, sputtering in vain.
Yiwansan burst out laughing. “Got you now!”
The sun had retreated behind the clouds. A hazy mist drifted over the sea.
A sharp, fishy smell filled the air. Between the clam’s pale yellow flesh, Yiwansan spotted a square pearl-encrusted box.
Or maybe it was just coated in nacre.
Scattered around it were dozens of uneven pearls, many with a golden shimmer. Luo Ren recognized them—they were called dangzhu, or “bright moon pearls.” On clear, sunny days, they’d give off a faint glimmer of light.
Everyone crawled over, struggling to stand.
Cao Yanhua panted, “Is anyone hurt?”
Apparently not—but even if someone was, it hardly mattered now.
Luo Ren jumped into the water, wedged between the two boats. One foot on each hull, he placed the chisel at the back of the pearl box, held his breath, and struck hard.
The clam trembled violently. The boats rocked with it. Its flesh spasmed.
Yan Hongsand screamed, “Look!”
Everyone saw it—the surface of the pearl box rippled with blood-red lines. One long vertical stroke, two short strokes to the sides.
It was the ancient oracle bone script for “water.”
The second death scroll was inside.
Yiwansan murmured, “Killed by blade… drowned by water… So it’s telling us the cause of death?”
They had discussed this before. Were the seven ancient murders symbolic? Like the seven deadly sins—greed, lust, gluttony, envy, sloth, wrath, pride?
Luo Ren had rejected that theory. The spiritualist had said these were the first recorded murders in history.
Because they were so early, they likely happened close together in time, not over years or based on abstract sins.
The first scroll was “blade.” The second was “water.” The pattern was starting to emerge.
The second strike landed true. The pearl-covered urn dislodged, and the clam’s flesh twitched, then gradually went still.
Yan Hongsand asked hesitantly, “Is it… dead?”
Luo Ren didn’t answer. Suddenly, he looked around, alarmed. “Where’s Mu Dai?”
Where was she?
Not on his boat. Not on theirs. They’d told her to stay back during the crash to avoid getting hurt.
But now… where was she?
Panic rose in Luo Ren’s chest. He shoved the urn into Yiwansan’s hands, climbed aboard, and scaled to the top of the boat. He scanned the horizon.
Nothing but fog. The shoreline was barely visible.
Below, the others had started calling out:
“Mu Dai!”
“Boss lady!”
“Little master!”
Luo Ren’s face turned ashen. “Could she have fallen overboard?”
Could the impact have flipped her boat? Right after the crash, everyone had been disoriented, half-deafened by the ringing in their ears. No one noticed anything else. And afterward, they’d all focused on the clam…
Had Mu Dai screamed for help? Had she… drowned?
The others seemed to realize it too. Panic filled their faces as they peered into the water.
Luo Ren’s mind buzzed, as if a voice was whispering: “Drowning doesn’t take long. It happens fast.”
He gritted his teeth, ignored the stares, and dove into the water.
Without sunlight, the sea was bitterly cold. Luo Ren held his breath and dove deeper, groping, searching.
Only when his lungs burned and he could no longer hold it did he surface.
As he broke the water, he saw ripples—Yiwansan had jumped in too. So had Yan Hongsand. Her bad leg was tied with a rope to the deck. She was telling Cao Yanhua, “If I don’t come up, tug the rope. Pull me up.”
Water splashed. Yan Hongsand surfaced first, gasping. Cao Yanhua rushed to help her, but she recoiled in horror, face pale.
“Cao… Cao Fatty—throw it! Throw it away!”
Throw what? All he was holding was the urn.
Confused, Cao Yanhua looked down—and nearly passed out.
On the surface of the pearl-covered box, a grotesque human face had begun to emerge. It twisted, pushing outward, as if it would burst free at any moment.
Was this… the death scroll?
The first one had been shaped like a bamboo slip. Why was the second one different?
wannaberecluse On SRTT Chapter 98.2