Heart of the Ocean (12): Being watched

“Young Master, the signal is down.”  

A pale, gaunt young man in a wrinkled, seawater-soaked blue-black checkered shirt—now resembling dried pickled cabbage—spoke with trembling caution.  

Even though the failure was caused by natural disaster, and even though his tone was nothing but submissive, the man in the checkered shirt was still viciously kicked by the young master, sending him flying several meters before he crashed into the wall and slumped to the ground.  

“Useless! If you had just been faster, this wouldn’t have happened!”  

The volatile young master usually carried himself with refined elegance—the kind of man who preferred subtle, underhanded tactics. But even the most composed facade had its limits, and right now, his patience was long gone.  

This trip was supposed to go smoothly, yet it felt like he was cursed with relentless misfortune. First, their ship had been attacked by sea monsters. Fortunately, he had noticed the danger in time and escaped with his closest aides and bodyguards.  

But then, as if fate itself was mocking them, their lifeboat drifted without signal, their supposedly foolproof satellite phone turned into a useless brick, and they lost all sense of direction, left to drift aimlessly at sea.  

It took them days to finally reach this island. And just when they were about to use the island’s shoddy equipment to contact their people—just when they were so close—the damn thing got struck by lightning and fried.  

At this point, the arrogant young master couldn’t help but take his frustration out on others.  

Yet, once he calmed down slightly, he extended a handkerchief toward the fallen researcher, carefully wiping the grime off the man’s face.  

“My apologies. I lost my temper just now. I shouldn’t have kicked you.”  

The man in the checkered shirt seemed almost more terrified by this sudden gentleness, his trembling growing even more pronounced. After all, he had been by the young master’s side long enough to know just how ruthless he truly was. He didn’t dare complain, not even when struck—because a bullet to the head would be a merciful death compared to what this man was capable of.  

The young master, however, had little patience for prolonged acts of kindness. His voice dropped low, laced with something ominous.  

“How soon can the signal tower be repaired?”  

“U-Under normal circumstances… three days. If there are complications, no more than seven.” The man stuttered, scrambling for an answer. “If the island has the tools and specialized technicians, it could be faster.”  

When they had stormed the maritime bureau, they had killed all the staff on sight—meaning any relevant technicians were likely among the dead. If they wanted to find someone else who could repair the tower, they’d have to search beyond the bureau.  

But for now, this group wasn’t keen on drawing too much attention. This island belonged to its residents—locals who knew the terrain far better than they did. While they were formidable outsiders, provoking an unknown enemy on their home turf was a risk they couldn’t afford.  

At least, not until they had a clearer grasp of the situation.  

The expensive handkerchief, now soiled, was tossed onto the checkered-shirt man’s face.  

“Then hurry up. Don’t disappoint me again.”  

The maritime bureau had resting quarters—soft sofa beds in the leadership’s offices, private showers, everything they needed. After seizing the place, the group had turned it into a temporary base.  

And the young master, as the highest-ranking among them, naturally claimed a private room for himself.

However, he wasn’t living completely alone either. Two bodyguards who didn’t snore had set up foldable worker’s beds at the door, ensuring his personal safety around the clock.  

Because of the heavy thunderstorm, the sounds of thunder, wind, and rain masked the turmoil inside the Maritime Bureau. Few people noticed the commotion within. If any staff members’ family members grew anxious and came looking for them, they would be immediately tied up by these ruthless thugs.  

They would either be killed outright or interrogated for useful information before being killed.  

Ordinary people truly couldn’t hear these sounds, but that didn’t mean there were no witnesses at all. Though the Maritime Bureau was a standalone building, it wasn’t the only one in the area. Nearby residents who caught glimpses of such horrifying scenes could only shut their curtains, press themselves against the walls, trembling in fear, pretending they had seen nothing.  

Tan Xiao had sharp hearing. The house he lived in wasn’t too far from the Maritime Bureau, and he faintly caught the sound of gunfire. As a law-abiding citizen, he wouldn’t normally jump to such conclusions—after all, explosive noises could also come from firecrackers, popcorn machines, or other sources.  

But after experiencing several game instances—whether in that scenario with Dr. Wen or in this current one—he had heard enough gunfire to recognize it. Those sounds just now were definitely gunshots.  

“Xiao Bai, did you hear that just now?”  

Xiao Bai was diligently gnawing on a large bone. Hearing Tan Xiao’s question, it raised its head with a puzzled expression. “Hear what? The thunder? Does Master fear thunder?”  

Xiao Bai still retained some habits from its past as a nanny robot. For instance, its original programming included a scenario response protocol: during thunderstorms, if the thunder was loud and a child was afraid, it was to put on a brave front and comfort its young master.  

But Tan Xiao had never been afraid of thunder, and Wen Yi, after all, was Tan Xiao’s partner—not Xiao Bai’s master. Besides, if Wen Yi wesd scared by the thunder, he’d just cling desperately to Tan Xiao’s warm, sturdy chest, with no need for Xiao Bai’s intervention.  

Tan Xiao had only been asking Xiao Bai, but Wen Yi chimed in, “I heard it. Gunshots, right?”  

Tan Xiao glanced at Wen Yi in surprise. Despite the latter’s usual display of having no common sense about human life, he actually recognized the sound of gunfire. “Yes, gunshots. There might be very dangerous people on the island.”  

Truthfully, Tan Xiao didn’t have an in-depth understanding of the game. Even with his restored memories and reactivated game functions, he wasn’t entirely sure whether he was fully aligned with other players. The game marketplace had restricted his access to firearms, so the gunfire could have come from local law enforcement, NPC civilians in the instance, or other players in the same scenario—all were possibilities.  

But no matter which side it was, they posed a serious threat. Tan Xiao himself wasn’t too concerned, but given Wen Yi’s current state, if his appearance was exposed, he could easily become a target for multiple factions.  

After all, the system’s introduction was vague—it demanded the elimination of monsters but provided no description or markers for them. In other words, players had to figure it out themselves through trial and error.

Where there are multiple possibilities, there will be collateral damage. He remembered that every time his partner appeared in a game instance, he seemed to be the kind of monster NPC that players needed to deal with. What if this delicate, pitiful jellyfish got caught in the crossfire? And it wasn’t just the players—local residents might also mistake Wen Yi for some kind of sea monster.  

At the thought of this possibility, the usual gentleness in Tan Xiao’s eyes darkened like the depths of the ocean. He smoothed the beautiful hair of the jellyfish currently sitting in his lap and said, “Baby, starting today, we have to be extra careful. You must never take off the mask I gave you without permission.”  

Fortunately, when he had stockpiled supplies earlier, he had bought a bit of everything. His home had full-body protective suits, helmets, and all kinds of masks. But going outside in full protective gear would look far too suspicious—just wearing a mask would be much less noticeable.  

As for the eye color, that wasn’t too much of a concern either. Sunglasses could cover it, and colored contacts were another option. If all else failed, they could just claim Wen Yi had awakened some kind of special bloodline.  

The player forums had a few well-known veterans who had been lucky enough to draw special abilities—some even turned into vampires, so red eyes wouldn’t be unusual.  

But Tan Xiao didn’t think he needed to explain too much. These were just precautions, just in case.  

Wen Yi nodded obediently. He had always been good at following orders—after all, he was just a weak, pitiful, helpless little jellyfish. He only wanted to stay with his owner and had zero interest in other humans.  

Xiao Bai, meanwhile, was happily gnawing on its bone without a care in the world. It wasn’t worried about this jellyfish spirit’s safety at all—it had long since seen through the act. That timid demeanor? All an act. A carefully crafted performance Wen Yi put on to get closer to its master.  

In front of Tan Xiao, this guy pretended to be a fragile jellyfish who couldn’t even twist open a tiny water bottle cap. But in reality, a single flick of his tentacle could effortlessly drag a one-ton water tank.  

And then there was his ability to change size. Was being as big as a fish tank really his limit? In that footage of the monster attacking the cargo ship—clearly another deep-sea creature, an octopus bigger than the ship itself—Wen Yi hadn’t shown a hint of fear. Instead, his expression had been one of disdain, like he was looking at some insignificant little creature that posed no threat.  

At times like these, Xiao Bai was absolutely certain of one thing: Wen Yi was absolutely, one hundred percent faking his weakness. There was no need to worry about him.  

Tan Xiao, blinded by love, kept falling for this big liar’s act. But the smartest, most perceptive Xiao Bai had already seen through everything!  

Thanks to the signal tower being struck by lightning—or maybe it was just a forced plot coincidence in the game instance—the islanders were now facing an internet blackout.  

To be fair, bad weather already made the signal spotty, but having a weak signal was still different from having none at all. With a signal, even if it was slow, people could still contact each other, still patiently wait for videos to buffer, and still find ways to pass the time.  

But no signal meant nothing—no internet, no calls, no texts, no TV.  

The island’s original inhabitants weren’t too bothered. After all, they’d lived here long enough to be used to things like this. Power outages weren’t uncommon, let alone internet outages. Many households had candles and gas canisters ready, playing cards for entertainment, and some wealthier families even had their own generators—no internet, but at least they still had electricity.  

The players, on the other hand, had already been restless these past few days. Being cooped up indoors during a storm like this only made them more agitated. Most were itching to stir up trouble.  

Tan Xiao’s standalone guesthouse, with its prime location, single occupancy, and stockpile of supplies, had long since caught their attention.  

A dark, stormy night like this was the perfect time to make their move.