Lillian’s luck was good.
The dice settled, and the points pointed to tranquility.
The Secret Keeper flipped over the event card: “Calmness”.
“At this moment, there is only peace between the sea and the sky.” His voice became unusually relaxed. “Nothing happens. You may rest, or… simply enjoy the scenery.”
He paused, pulled a small hourglass from the pocket of his black robe, and placed it gently on the table. The fine sand began to flow silently, marking the time limit for this moment of serenity.
“By the way,” he mentioned casually, “there is a kitchen on the ship. If you are hungry, you can go prepare something to eat. I guarantee there will be things you like there.”
These words carried a hint of temptation. Lillian’s gaze moved from the hourglass toward the cabin, Elvia’s stomach gave a soft, cooperative rumble, and even Elvira’s cold, stern expression softened slightly.
The hunger and exhaustion following a long period of tension were quietly magnified at this moment.
“Jiang Ming, shall we go together?” Lillian turned, her crimson eyes looking toward him. Elvira also looked over silently, waiting for him to stand.
Jiang Ming simply leaned back against the chair and shook his head. “You go first. I’ll sit for a while.”
Lillian watched him silently for two seconds before she stopped insisting and nodded gently. “I’ll bring some back for you.” After speaking, she turned with the Elvira sisters, and the sound of their footsteps vanished down the corridor leading to the cabin.
Only the sea breeze, the sound of the waves, the sitting Jiang Ming, and the black-robed figure at the head of the table remained on the deck.
As the fine sand flowed, time seemed to stretch.
The Secret Keeper suddenly spoke, his mask turning slightly toward Jiang Ming, his voice lowered. “Why not directly use the power of the Crowned Ones to tear through this Illusion? For you, it should be effortless.”
Jiang Ming did not answer immediately. He gazed at the blurred horizon where the sea met the sky.
“Because this isn’t a dreamscape at all,” he said steadily. “I originally intended to enter Elvira’s dream, but the Angels intervened. This isn’t anyone’s dream; it’s a barrier woven by Them. A stronger, more realistic cage.”
He paused and turned his gaze to the Secret Keeper, as if he could see through that wooden mask.
“My power might be able to shake it, but I cannot tear it open silently. Besides,” a small smile played at the corner of his mouth, “in a place like this, the rules are balanced. If I use power exceeding the limit, then correspondingly, the world will generate matching monsters. Perhaps an entire legion of Deep Ones, or perhaps something… something more ancient. At that time, the three of them would be in even more danger.”
As he finished speaking, he raised his right hand. Glimmer circulated around his fingertips as the air was disturbed and woven by an invisible force. In the next moment, a crown entwined with dark gold thorns quietly manifested in his palm.
The thorns were sharp and ancient, and every barb condensed the weight of rules and knowledge. A faint, ethereal pressure spread out, causing the surrounding light to warp slightly.
This was the Royal Crown of the Universal Construct School, a supreme object symbolizing the authority of “Construction and Definition”, enough to make any Beyonder who knew its significance tremble and kneel.
However, in Jiang Ming’s hand, it was as light as a toy picked up on a whim. He carelessly flicked a thorn on the crown with his index finger, his eyes devoid of any reverence or solemnity.
“Look,” he looked up, his gaze falling back onto the Secret Keeper, “I have the ability to flip the table. But the price of flipping the table might be the entire table crashing down on the people I care about.”
“So,” he closed his five fingers, and the crown dissipated into a stream of light as if it had never existed, “I choose to play along according to your rules.”
The sea breeze swept past, and the sand in the hourglass was already half gone.
The Secret Keeper watched him silently. Behind the mask, no one knew what his expression was.
After a long silence, he finally spoke slowly.
“Then, I wish you a pleasant time… playing within the rules.”
***
The crisp sound of a spatula hitting an iron pan, the light sizzle of oil meeting heat, and the lowered, somewhat relaxed laughter of the girls.
These sounds drifted through the barriers of the cabin, painting a touch of worldly warmth onto this journey.
He opened his eyes and looked toward the kitchen, a trace of complex emotion flitting through the depths of his gaze. A moment of serenity in this place was like stolen time—precious and fragile.
Inside the kitchen, steam billowed, carrying the warm aroma of food.
Unexpectedly, the kitchen was not an illusion but real and well-stocked. Lillian had rolled up her sleeves, revealing her fair forearms, and was methodically preparing ingredients.
She seemed very familiar with the place, quickly finding flour, eggs, and sweet-smelling fruit. Her crimson eyes were lowered, and her focused expression softened her usual detachment.
Elvia assisted at her side, curiously fiddling with some kitchen utensils she had never seen before, occasionally receiving soft instructions from Lillian. The joy on her face resurfaced, as if she had temporarily forgotten the killing intent on the sea. “Sister Lillian, did you used to cook often?” she asked softly.
Lillian’s movements paused for a moment before resuming smoothly. “…A long time ago, I looked after someone.” Her voice was very quiet, drowned out by the sound of the stove. “He always failed to eat on time.”
She didn’t say who it was, but Elvia nodded as if she understood, while Elvira’s hand, which was wiping the cutlery, slowed down slightly.
“He… seems very tired,” Elvia whispered while stirring the batter in the bowl, referring to Jiang Ming.
“He has always been so.” Lillian poured the prepared batter into the skillet, watching the edges quickly turn golden and bubble. Her voice was calm. “People who carry too much are always used to showing their most relaxed side to the outside world.”
“Put a little more sugar in this one,” she suddenly said to Elvia, pointing to a jar of crystalline sugar. “He… prefers things on the sweeter side.” This detail was spoken so naturally, as if it had long been etched into her instincts.
Elvira glanced at Lillian and silently arranged the sliced fruit more exquisitely.
Soon, the simple food was ready: golden-brown pancakes made from otherworldly fruit gave off a sweet fragrance, the heated jerky and bread had become soft, and there was a pot of hot drink brewed from dried flowers found on the ship.
“I’ll go call him.” Elvia picked up a portion, eagerly wanting to head out.
“I’ll go,” Lillian said softly. Using a clean cloth to protect her hand, she picked up the plate of pancakes that had been specially fried to a golden brown with extra sugar, along with the steaming cup of drink. Her movements carried a certain gentleness.
Elvira nodded and stayed in the kitchen with her sister to tidy up.
Lillian carried the tray through the slightly dim cabin corridor, her skirt brushing against the old floorboards. Arriving at the door leading to the deck, she did not go out immediately but paused for a moment, listening to the waves and the wind through the wooden panels.
The usual calm on her face was replaced by a deeper expression—one of care that was almost overflowing. She took a deep breath, tucked her emotions away properly, and then pushed open the door.
The sea breeze rushed in instantly, blowing the hair across her forehead.
Jiang Ming was still sitting there with his back to her, looking at the boundless sea. His figure appeared somewhat lonely and upright against the vast background, yet exceptionally steady, like a reef anchoring the sea.
Lillian walked over, her footsteps very light. She did not disturb him immediately, but simply placed the tray gently on the table next to his hand. The sweet scent of the pancakes and the warmth of the drink immediately diffused into the air.
“Eat at least a little,” her voice sounded beside him, softer than the sea breeze. “The hourglass hasn’t finished yet. This time is our own.”
Jiang Ming turned his head and saw her. A flash of surprise crossed his eyes before it turned into a warm smile. “Thank you.” His gaze swept over the plate of noticeably more golden pancakes, and his smile deepened. “It looks great.”
Lillian sat in the chair next to him, very close—a distance sufficient to share this peaceful view of the sea. She did not ask him what he had just discussed with the Secret Keeper, nor did she urge him to rest again. She simply sat with him in silence, looking toward the distant horizon together.
After a moment, she finally spoke softly, her voice almost lost in the wind.
“…Don’t always carry it alone. At least here, we can be each other’s anchor.”
She did not look at him. Her profile was outlined by the light of the sky in a graceful curve, but the tips of her ears were stained crimson.