The corpses hung from the ceiling, toes dangling. They wore human clothing and should have been human, but their appearance no longer was.
Their faces were pale green, skulls swollen, bulging veins crawled from their necks to their faces. Their eyes were about to burst from their sockets like fish. Even more horrifying, their bodies were covered in slime, which dripped from their toes to the floor, binding their legs together—almost forming a fishtail.
Their noses and eyes were fusing, their features morphing, as though they were halfway transformed into fish.
And their stomachs—all of them, men and women alike—were grotesquely swollen, as if in the final month of pregnancy.
The thick stench of fish filled the air.
Such a horrific scene left everyone rooted to the spot, stunned into silence.
There was no wind in the lower deck, yet the suspended bodies gently rotated from the ropes they hung on. Lu Youyi suddenly pointed at a man not far away and said, “That’s… that’s Li Wei!”
Li Wei’s hands hung by his sides, head bowed, staring at the ground. His abdomen bulged like it was holding two basketballs—so swollen that the buttons on his clothes had burst open.
Lu Youyi’s face turned pale. “Are they… already dead?”
But as soon as he asked, Lu Youyi already knew the answer. After turning into this, how could they possibly still be alive?
The sound of viscous liquid dripping echoed throughout the hold. Jiang Luo slowed his breathing, trying to inhale as little of the air as possible. Under the flashlight’s beam, the slime on the floor glistened. He whispered, “Let’s go. We’ll find Kuang Zheng first.”
It had only been an hour since Kuang Zheng was taken—he couldn’t have turned into this yet.
They carefully weaved their way between the bodies. The deeper they went, the more intense the fishy stench grew. It was as if they were submerged in water that hadn’t been changed for years, teeming with decaying fish, shrimp, and aquatic plants. Every breath was torment to the nose.
As they moved, a pair of pale blue toes brushed past Jiang Luo’s hand, causing him to suddenly halt.
He turned around and looked up, staring at the body that had touched him.
The corpse’s eyes bulged, its head hung low from the noose. Jiang Luo stared at it for a long while. Behind him, Ye Xun asked with concern, “Jiang Luo, what’s wrong?”
“Ye Xun, I don’t think they’re corpses,” Jiang Luo pressed his lips together. “I think they’re still alive.”
The others behind him: “?!”
Zhuo Zhongqiu shivered at the thought. “That’s impossible! I looked carefully earlier—they weren’t breathing.”
Jiang Luo turned to them and suddenly asked, “What do fish use to breathe?”
Without waiting for an answer, he muttered to himself, “Gills. The nose is just an olfactory organ in fish.”
Ye Xun followed his gaze upward, and in just a few seconds, sweat broke out on his forehead. “Should we take one down to check?”
They lowered one of the bodies from the ceiling. It didn’t respond at all, its wide-open eyes eerily seeming to watch each of them.
Jiang Luo felt the area under its nose—no breath. He moved his fingers to both sides of its neck. Nothing. But as the flashlight moved down, Jiang Luo suddenly noticed something odd on either side of the throat.
He carefully touched the area and found a slit. Lifting the outer layer of skin, he uncovered a warm, breathing fish gill.
Jiang Luo looked up at the others.
They stared at the gill at his fingertips, their expressions complex. None of them had expected that these were still living people.
Still alive even after becoming like this—no one could say for sure whether that was a blessing or a curse.
“Still alive, but barely,” Jiang Luo said in a low voice. “Weak breathing, failing heartbeat—he can last at most an hour.”
He withdrew his hand and wiped the slime off on his clothes. “When the crew checked you, did they only check for fever?”
Ye Xun composed himself. “They checked our eyes too.”
Jiang Luo shone the flashlight into the victim’s eyes. Aside from a cloudy, milky-white film, there were no other symptoms. He couldn’t figure out what it meant, and was about to move the light away when a thought struck him. He murmured, “Deep-sea fish—don’t their eyes degenerate?”
Some fish didn’t even have eyes, and those that did often couldn’t see.
Jiang Luo felt like he had caught onto something. He handed the flashlight to Lu Youyi and asked him to hold it. Then Jiang Luo began carefully inspecting the victim. The nose showed no changes. Moving past the nose, he pried open the victim’s lips.
A wave of fishy stench hit him. Holding his breath, Jiang Luo saw that the person’s teeth had also changed—becoming sharp, jagged, almost shark-like, aligning more with fish than humans.
Jiang Luo was nearly certain now—the blood eel was a deep-sea fish.
He moved the flashlight further down and stopped at the man’s abdomen.
The bulge was unnatural. More terrifyingly, as the light passed over it, something inside seemed to react. A bump suddenly emerged from the surface of the belly.
As if that were a signal, more bumps followed—two, three… soon there were over twenty uneven bulges squirming under the skin.
The sight made everyone’s scalp tingle. Cyril, crouched nearby, flinched in fright. His voice trembled, “There’s… something in his stomach.”
“Cut it open,” Wenren Lian said after a moment. He took out a dagger and had Ge Zhu light a match.
He briefly ran the blade through the flame, murmured “I’m sorry,” and then plunged the tip into the victim’s belly, slashing it open with force.
A flood of thick, stinking, bloody slime burst out, and two to three dozen palm-sized baby fish slid out with it, flopping around on the ground.
Ge Zhu gagged and clamped a hand over his mouth. “What the h*ll are these?!”
Jiang Luo turned his head to avoid the splatter of slime from the wriggling fish tails. He quickly speared one of the baby fish with his knife and held it under the light to inspect.
The fry was pitch-black, scaleless, smooth like an eel—but unlike an eel, it had a tail. Its eyes protruded from either side of its head, blood-red throughout.
Clearly, these were blood eel fry.
They were using ordinary civilians as breeding vessels for the blood eel.
This one didn’t have the monstrous, bloated head of a mature blood eel. It was fragile. Within half a minute of exposure to air, they had all died.
Jiang Luo threw away the fish fry on the tip of the knife and shone the light into the victim’s abdomen. Several translucent round objects were still stuck to the stomach lining—presumably fish eggs that failed to hatch.
Wenren Lian’s expression darkened. “There are probably fish eggs inside Kuang Zheng as well.”
“…And the incubation only took one day and one night,” Zhuo Zhongqiu squatted beside them. “Li Wei was taken just last night, and by tonight his belly had already swelled that much.”
Ge Zhu didn’t know where he found two wads of tissue, stuffed them into his nostrils, and cautiously lit a match to prod at the transparent fish eggs clinging to the stomach. Once heated, the eggs quickly detached from the stomach wall and fell.
“They’re afraid of fire,” he muttered thoughtfully.
They stitched the victim’s abdomen back together. Now without the fish fry inside, the belly sagged like an overinflated balloon suddenly deflated—unsightly in shape.
Wenren Lian said, “Rest in peace.”
With a swift motion, he drew his knife and ended the suffering of the half-human, half-fish victim.
Jiang Luo and the others continued deeper into the ship. The farther they went, the less the people hanging from the ceiling seemed to have changed.
“Kuang Zheng?”
They fanned out, calling Kuang Zheng’s name in hushed voices.
Suddenly, a faint knocking sound came from a corner.
They rushed toward the source of the noise. “Kuang Zheng?”
Their flashlight beams jittered, finally settling on where the sound came from. Kuang Zheng was lying on the ground, a rope still looped around his neck. The rope was broken—likely the result of him struggling free.
The moment they confirmed it was Kuang Zheng, everyone rushed over.
Kuang Zheng’s face was flushed red, his breathing rapid, his forehead drenched in sweat. He was fighting off the effects of a sedative, struggling to keep his eyes open.
Jiang Luo patted his cheek. “Kuang Zheng? Can you hear me?”
Kuang Zheng nodded weakly.
Everyone let out a collective sigh of relief. Jiang Luo placed his hand on Kuang Zheng’s abdomen. The faint swelling made his expression turn grim.
Just then, Wenren Lian stiffly pulled his hand back from behind Kuang Zheng. “Jiang Luo…”
Jiang Luo looked at his hand—coated in mucus.
There were eggs inside Kuang Zheng too. He was already beginning to mutate.
Lu Youyi panicked. “What do we do?!”
Jiang Luo told Wenren Lian to roll Kuang Zheng over and lift his shirt to examine his back. “Have Cyril invite the god to descend. Ask if there’s a way to purge the eggs from his body. If not, we’ll have no choice but to cut open his stomach and remove them manually.”
Cyril looked utterly miserable. “I-I’ll try.”
Ye Xun suddenly said, “Let’s call the police.”
He pressed his lips together. “Whether we pass the test or not doesn’t matter anymore—human lives come first.”
Jiang Luo nodded calmly. “Ye Xun is right. When we left from the Delta Port, there was already a police ship tailing the Angonise from a distance. We can sneak into the communications room when the crew isn’t looking and connect to the police ship to send a distress signal.”
The Angonise was currently anchored in international waters—outside the jurisdiction of any single nation. But if there were victims from a specific country, that country had the right to board the ship and arrest suspects.
The communications room, however, was located in the crew’s work area, a place with constant traffic. Sneaking in was next to impossible. But right now, saving Kuang Zheng was the top priority. Clearly, this was not the place for proper medical intervention. The group once again used the Five Ghost Transport technique to leave the lower deck.
Since they hadn’t set up an altar, incense, or offerings, the Five Ghosts were visibly annoyed, barely willing to help. They flung the group out the door and vanished without a trace.
So they had no choice but to haul Kuang Zheng back to Jiang Luo’s room the hard way, carefully avoiding detection the entire time.
Once back, Kuang Zheng’s breathing had worsened. Jiang Luo had Lu Youyi drag him to the bathroom, where he turned on the tap to fill the tub.
Placing Kuang Zheng in the water seemed to slow his mutation. His breathing gradually calmed, but he had already lost consciousness completely.
They readied the surgical tools and high-purity alcohol. Thankfully, the luxury cabin had all the resources they needed. After thoroughly cleaning the bathroom, only Cyril and Jiang Luo remained.
Jiang Luo put on gloves and nodded to Cyril.
Cyril clenched his fists, took a deep breath, and began singing the summoning chant.
Jiang Luo watched him dance and sing in rhythm, though the constant pitchiness made his scalp tingle. Cyril continued for a full fifteen minutes with no sign of success. Just when Jiang Luo thought the ritual had failed, Cyril suddenly closed his eyes and stood stiffly upright.
A few seconds later, he opened his eyes.
His once-clear blue irises now brimmed with calm maturity. In his hands appeared a book titled 300 English Phrases to Learn Well. He looked at Jiang Luo in surprise, then said, “Young Master Jiang.”
Jiang Luo tested, “Brother Hei?”
Hei Wuchang waved his hand and made the book disappear. “It’s me.”
He really lived up to the name Bai Wuchang—inviting a spirit actually summoned Hei Wuchang instead.
Would Hei Wuchang be of any help?
After the greeting, Jiang Luo explained Kuang Zheng’s situation. Hei Wuchang pondered a moment and asked, “Young Master Jiang, have you ever heard of ‘scraping the bone to heal the wound’?”
Jiang Luo glanced at Kuang Zheng. “You mean you’re going to scrape open his flesh?”
Hei Wuchang shook his head. “Not quite.”
“I’ve never performed such a procedure before, but based on your description, if the goal is merely to expel the fish eggs, it’s relatively simple. One only needs to channel ghost-fire into his hands and feet, letting the heat travel through his limbs to his internal organs. Then, scraping upward from his abdomen, we force the eggs out through his mouth.”
Jiang Luo didn’t fully understand. He asked directly, “What do you need me to do?”
Hei Wuchang said, “Young Master Jiang, please help me hold down his limbs.”
Jiang Luo and Hei Wuchang tied Kuang Zheng’s hands and feet to the sides of the basin, letting him float on the water’s surface. Jiang Luo supported Kuang Zheng’s head so that he could still breathe while keeping his lips submerged. “Brother Hei, I’m ready.”
Hei Wuchang said solemnly, “OK.”
Jiang Luo: “……”
Hei Wuchang speaking English while wearing Cyril’s shell was just too surreal.
With a wave of his hand, Hei Wuchang summoned four ghostly blue flames. The flames entered Kuang Zheng’s body through his limbs. His expression immediately changed, letting out a muffled groan of pain.
Jiang Luo held him down while Hei Wuchang took a broad-bladed knife and began scraping Kuang Zheng’s abdomen from bottom to top, forcing out the hidden contents of his belly.
Kuang Zheng began to vomit up blood-tinged mucus and yellow stomach acid. His face grew increasingly twisted with pain. Suddenly, he convulsed violently and spewed out a large quantity of mucus and fish eggs.
The translucent, spherical fish eggs spilled into the cold water. Jiang Luo saw that some of them had already begun to hatch, tiny fish larvae like tadpoles darting about.
If they had been even a few hours later, these fish larvae would have emerged fully and taken up residence inside Kuang Zheng’s body.
Hei Wuchang forced out three waves of vomit from Kuang Zheng. Only when the final batch no longer contained any mucus did he say, “It’s done.”
Jiang Luo immediately pulled Kuang Zheng upright and, covered in sweat, went to wash his hands. Hei Wuchang looked around, hesitated for a moment, then asked, “Young Master Jiang, where are we? I haven’t been able to find Young Master Cyril these past few nights.”
“We went out to sea,” Jiang Luo replied. “This probably isn’t within your area of responsibility, is it?”
Hei Wuchang’s expression cleared with realization. “Indeed, this isn’t our domain.”
Jiang Luo recalled how Cyril had looked like a drained husk in recent days. He gently advised, “Brother Hei, you can’t make Cyril work through the night every single night. He can’t take it.”
Hei Wuchang listened quietly, guilt deepening in his expression. After a moment of thought, he nodded. “I will reflect on this. Young Master Jiang, divine possession cannot last too long, or it places a heavy burden on the host. I will take my leave now.”
Jiang Luo thanked him. Hei Wuchang withdrew the four ghostly flames from Kuang Zheng’s body and closed his eyes. In the next instant, Cyril reopened his eyes. He was so exhausted he could barely stand. “Kuang… how is he?”
Jiang Luo smiled, “You succeeded.”
The moment he heard the answer, Cyril collapsed forward.
Jiang Luo caught him in time, called someone in to help, and they moved both of them to the bedroom. Ye Xun and Wenren Lian changed Kuang Zheng’s clothes. Once both were settled, the group crouched beside the bathtub, staring at the fish eggs in the water.
The eggs quickly died in the cold water—it clearly wasn’t suitable for their growth.
Perhaps only the warm, enclosed environment of the human body was ideal for nurturing the larvae.
Deep-sea fish lived in frigid, pressure-heavy environments, but the blood eel’s eggs were astonishingly delicate. Most likely, the crew of the Angonise had learned this secret and used it to lure civilians aboard, turning them into living incubators for breeding blood eel larvae.
This wasn’t humans eating fish—this was cannibalism in disguise.
Jiang Luo looked at Wenren Lian. “Do you remember the day Wilton jumped into the sea? We ran into the crew at the stern. They said they were monitoring the waters for fish eggs.”
“We were fooled,” Wenren Lian sneered. “That day, they were probably releasing bait to lure the blood eels in.”
And the bait was very likely the four missing civilians aboard.
They’d been at sea for four days—and four civilians had gone missing. The blood eel caught weighed over 500 jin; it was very likely it had devoured all four.
The civilians didn’t know, but the crew did. Did the rich people know too?
Off to the side, Ge Zhu murmured, “Ever since we were in the lower deck, I’ve been thinking about something. The captain said the blood eel would be edible in three days. But which one? Was it the giant one they fished up, the civilians gradually turning into fish, or the larvae being incubated?”
Jiang Luo figured it was probably the larvae, but didn’t voice his suspicion. He just shrugged and said, “Who knows?”
***
They barely slept that night. At dawn, Kuang Zheng finally opened his eyes.
He was weak but stable. Wenren Lian fed him some porridge, and the group began planning how to sneak into the communications room.
There were always people in the communications room, and crew constantly moving nearby. In the end, the best plan they came up with was for Jiang Luo and Ge Zhu—who held identities as wealthy passengers—to scout things out themselves.
They didn’t need to be sneaky. They could simply use the excuse of “touring the crew’s work areas” to openly enter the communications room.
Jiang Luo and Ge Zhu both agreed this plan could work.
The Angonise was a huge, luxurious cruise ship, with hundreds—maybe thousands—of crew members. If they accidentally exposed themselves, no one would even know if they were killed and fed to the fish.
Caution was paramount.
They put the plan into action immediately. After lunch, Jiang Luo brought Ge Zhu to the captain and requested a tour of the crew areas.
The captain smiled, “Then let the First Mate show you around.”
The First Mate stepped forward with a charming smile on his handsome face. “Mr. Zhong, Mr. Lu, this way, please.”
Along the way, the First Mate did his best to be witty and engaging. But every time he met Jiang Luo’s eyes, he quickly looked away—as if terrified, yet faintly tempted.
Jiang Luo had no interest in him. Wearing sunglasses, a loud floral shirt, and white shorts—the typical tourist look—he smiled rakishly and occasionally pulled off his sunglasses to wink at attractive boys and girls.
Ge Zhu looked at him like that and couldn’t help but relax as well. The two of them continued their tour through many areas, and just as they were about to head to the storage hold, they came across two crew members seated at a rest table at the hallway corner, devouring their food.
On the table were two large plates of red meat—unclear whether it was beef or fish—seasoned and mixed raw into a mushy pile. Next to it was a small dish of ketchup and chili oil. The two crewmen were eating enthusiastically, their mouths slick with saliva and stained red as if with blood.
Seeing them approach, one of the crew cheerfully offered, “First Mate, gentlemen, would you like to have a bit?”
They spoke while still chewing. Jiang Luo looked at the pile of meat and thought of the corpses hanging in the lower deck last night. He smiled and declined, “Thanks, but no need.”
Ge Zhu also politely refused.
The First Mate, however, gave in to temptation and took a few bites before leading them onward.
After they had toured everything worth seeing, the First Mate finally brought them to the communications room.
As soon as they entered, Ge Zhu clutched his stomach with an exaggeratedly twisted expression and said he had a terrible stomachache. Jiang Luo feigned panic, exclaiming, “Could it be appendicitis? Someone help—get Mr. Lu to the infirmary!”
The First Mate and one of the crew members in the communications room immediately rushed over to support Ge Zhu and escort him to find a doctor.
Another crew member remained behind in the communications room. Jiang Luo approached him and chatted briefly. Then, taking advantage of the moment the crewman wasn’t paying attention, Jiang Luo struck and knocked him out with a precise palm strike.
He had used minimal force, so the crewman would only be out for a few minutes at most. Jiang Luo took the chance to turn on the communicator and try to connect with the police signal.
But before he could succeed, the crewman stirred and began to regain consciousness, propping himself up on the table.
Jiang Luo immediately shut off the communicator and leaned over, pretending he had been watching him the whole time, softly asking, “Are you alright? You suddenly dozed off.”
The young crewman looked dazed. He rubbed his forehead, not knowing why he had fallen asleep, and was flustered by Jiang Luo’s concern. “Thank you, sir. I think I was just a bit tired.”
Behind his sunglasses, Jiang Luo studied the tall, youthful crewman’s face, then narrowed his eyes slightly.
A better idea came to mind.
Jiang Luo leaned against the table, long legs crossed casually, standing face to face with the crewman. He removed his sunglasses, revealing a pair of striking phoenix eyes gleaming with mirth. “What’s your name?”
The crewman stared blankly at him for a moment, then replied shyly, “I’m Daniel.”
“Daniel,” the black-haired youth nodded, twirling the sunglasses between his long, bony fingers. “Do you have a girlfriend?”
Daniel stammered, unable to answer. The charming guest gave a look of sudden understanding and teased, “Or maybe… a boyfriend?”
The young man flushed. “Neither.”
“I see,” Jiang Luo nodded knowingly, but didn’t press further. Instead, he switched the topic to lighter things. “How long do you usually work at sea before you get a break?”
They chatted about life, interests, and other small talk, laced with subtle undertones that felt like flirty hints—though they were so fleeting, it made one wonder if they were just imagining things.
Jiang Luo fully embodied his flirtatious persona. Just when it seemed the conversation was wrapping up, he suddenly circled back to the original question: “So, do you like boys or girls?”
Daniel looked like he was starving. He swallowed hard and nervously took a sip of water. “I—I don’t know.”
Jiang Luo used the edge of his sunglasses to lift Daniel’s chin and smiled sweetly, “Then, are you free tonight?”
The meaning was obvious. Daniel instinctively wanted to nod, but his face showed disappointment. “Sorry, sir. I’m on duty tonight.”
Of course Jiang Luo already knew—he had seen Daniel’s name on the duty roster. His smile turned a bit regretful as he tucked away his sunglasses. “That’s a shame.”
He stood and walked a few steps toward the door. Daniel’s gaze followed him with barely concealed disappointment. But just as Jiang Luo reached the doorway, he suddenly paused and turned back with a grin. “Then how about I come visit you here tonight?”
The afternoon sun spilled over him, casting a warm golden sheen on his features.
Daniel’s eyes lit up instantly. He shot to his feet and said, barely able to contain his excitement, “I’ll be on duty right here, sir. You can come by anytime!”
Jiang Luo gave a roguish smile and waved goodbye.
As soon as he stepped outside, his expression vanished into cold indifference. Passing by a corner trash can, Jiang Luo casually tossed the sunglasses—the ones that had touched the crewman’s chin—into it.
In the communications room.
Daniel stared at the spot where Jiang Luo had disappeared. He swallowed hard again.
But more saliva continued to flow from his mouth, dripping down the corners of his lips. Daniel wiped his mouth, slowly sat down, and muttered to himself, “So hungry… I’m so hungry…”
