Chapter Twenty-Four: The Performance

Once, there was a ship that set out to sea. This vessel was christened the "Teapot." With the wind rising, she hoisted her sails and departed the harbor. "Blow, blow with all your might! Soon the Teapot will return, bringing us sugar, tea, and rum. When the whales we’ve caught are all processed, we’ll set out once more." It had been less than two weeks since she left the shore, just as a great whale swam beneath her keel. The captain swore to his crew that he would bring the whale ashore…

One ship after another docked at the vast port, their crews, flush with bounty, singing loudly. Their voices mingled and soared, echoing across the immense harbor.

The whale—nature’s greatest creature on this planet. For its bones, for its oil, for its rich rewards, whaling had become an industry with a legacy as old as history itself. In this era, there was never any worry about finding a market for whales, and the whalers themselves were the most vital crew members aboard any whaling ship, second only to the captain.

As both the captain and the chief harpooner of the Gale, Liu Yun was, without question, the indispensable core of the ship—none could rival him. It was this dual role that allowed him to restrain his crew’s longing for home, spending more time at sea to hunt several massive sperm whales in a single expedition.

“I wonder how my son is doing now?” Standing in the crow’s nest, Liu Yun gazed at the approaching coastline, murmuring to himself.

He was a typical Han man of the Chiyun Empire: black hair, black eyes, nearly six feet three, with a bronzed, muscular frame. In these times, anyone daring to venture out to sea had to be more than capable, and Liu Yun was no exception. Beyond his seafaring expertise and mastery of the compass, he maintained daily practice of his family’s secret martial art—the Thunderclap Palm.

Though the Liu family’s Thunderclap Palm bore a resounding name, it was, at best, middling among the third-tier secret arts. Yet in the age of firearms—paired with ever-advancing guns—even such a technique had found new relevance, rising to the status of a second-tier art, its effectiveness in battle rivaling the first-tier disciplines.

Thanks to this, the Liu family had managed to rise from obscurity in his grandfather’s generation by exploring new lands, and later, by riding the tides of the world war, becoming a veritable force to be reckoned with.

Had Liu Yun not left home early, he might now hold a military post, commanding thousands. Yet what was lost in one place was gained in another. By leaving, he escaped the inevitable intrigue and infighting that awaited heirs of powerful clans, and instead found freedom and love.

Though in recent years he’d had little time for serious martial practice, the countless hardships he’d faced had honed his physique to a level not inferior to Liu Tian, who had just broken through as a martial artist.

Of course, if it came to a real fight, even a newly advanced martial artist like Liu Tian could, without resorting to forbidden techniques, end Liu Yun with three blows and leave the onlookers roaring with laughter.

“I wonder if my son has given up martial arts—no, that’s impossible,” Liu Yun said, then chuckled. He’d long since abandoned hope that Liu Tian, who had inherited his own stubbornness, would quit martial practice. Still, each time he returned, he prayed in silence.

A man must have dreams—what if they come true? This was the phrase Liu Yun uttered most often.

“Captain, we’re about to dock!” Before Liu Yun could finish his melancholic musings, the first mate, waving his sailor’s cap, shouted up to him, “Don’t just stand up there on lookout, it’s time to go home!”

Yes, it was time to go home.

Nearly five months at sea—longer than any voyage before. Had they not arranged for supplies and whale sales in advance, even the most modern whaler, the Gale, would not have endured so long.

Now, it truly was time to return.

No more daydreams—it was time to go home. Liu Yun shook his head. This time, he would give the crew a full year’s leave, let them return to their hometowns to be with their families, and hope all matters would be settled within the year.

Liu Yun had neither the desire nor, in theory, the power to meddle in the power struggles of the Kingdom of Flowers, but as captain, he wished to shield his crew from any misfortune.

The sovereign was aged and infirm, with no clear heir. The second prince, ruthless and armed with military power, was unfavored. The third prince, though popular, was foolishly kind. The beloved Princess Rose, brilliant yet lacking in foundation—in such circumstances, history had already written, time and again, what was likely to unfold.

Humanity repeats the same mistakes. Still, one can only hope for smooth sailing and tranquil seas.

…

Within the palace, Princess Rose, Lilia von Ein, was pacing anxiously.

The moon may wax and wane, fortunes rise and fall, but at this moment, Queen Elizabeth von Ein could not be allowed to die.

On the one hand, Lilia could not bear the thought of losing her beloved grandmother at the age of sixty. On the other, she herself was not ready to assume the throne—not even having graduated from the academy.

If Queen Elizabeth were to pass now, the odds were sixty percent that the throne would fall to the very second prince, Walker von Ein, who many believed had orchestrated the murder of his elder brother during the world war. The third prince, Murphy von Ein, stood a thirty percent chance. Only if the two destroyed each other would Lilia have less than a ten percent chance at succession.

It was not for lack of effort on Lilia’s part. According to the customs of the Kingdom of Flowers, she was not recognized as an adult before the age of fifteen, with her grandmother managing her father’s fief in her stead. In the two years since coming of age, though she worked tirelessly, how much could an ungraduated student possibly achieve?

Were it not for the late crown prince’s loyalists and Queen Elizabeth’s favor, Lilia would not even have that slim chance.

Though the queen was elderly and frail, her health had always seemed robust. Recent examinations showed her in good condition. There should have been at least a decade of peace ahead—how had she suddenly taken ill after a mere draft?

A suspicion lurked in Lilia’s heart, but now was not the time to dwell on it. Forcing herself to banish such dreadful thoughts, she prayed with all the earnestness she could muster for her grandmother’s recovery and safety—she must not die at this hour.

“Mother—how is Mother?” Suddenly, Walker burst in, disheveled and tear-stained, demanding, “Is she out of danger? What are the doctors doing? How did things come to this?”

“Lilia, you’ve been with Grandmother all along—did you not take good care of her?”

Moments later, Prince Murphy, having also heard the news, hurried in. Soon followed a procession of nobles and officials, the waiting room quickly crowded to capacity.

The royal capital—no matter the world, no matter the place—was ever a house with draughts at every corner, especially when the one in power was nearing the end of her days…