In the Lower City,
Old Tom leaned against his doorframe, smoking the last half of a hand-rolled cigarette.
He squinted at the other side of the street.
Something was wrong.
Just across the narrow street, the vegetable seller’s stall was still there, the wilted leaves uncollected.
But it was too quiet.
The vegetable seller herself was slumped in a bamboo chair, motionless, without even her usual thunderous snoring. Not just her — everything on that street, the hanging clothes, the stray dogs, and the homeless curled in the corners, were all fixed in place like a painting.
He flicked his cigarette, and the ash drifted down, landing in the stinking ditch on his side.
He could still hear the faint sound of water flowing in the ditch.
But across the street, there wasn’t even the sound of a fly.
Old Tom frowned and moved half a step forward, wanting to see more clearly. Something flickered at the edge of his vision. He looked down and found that the color of the half-brick his left foot was resting on seemed… a little lighter? It had taken on the same dusty gray tone as the things across the street.
He tried to pull his foot back.
His leg felt heavy.
Something was definitely wrong.
He suddenly wanted to look up and call for someone, but his neck turned slowly.
His gaze swept over the threshold. The wood grain of the threshold was losing its color bit by bit, turning into the same lifeless gray as the other side. The discoloration was slowly spreading into his doorway.
Old Tom opened his mouth but made no sound. He suddenly felt very sleepy, so sleepy his eyelids felt as though they were weighted with lead. The sleeping face of the vegetable seller across the street blurred in his vision.
He leaned against the doorframe and slowly slid down. As his backside hit the cold ground, the last sound he heard was the faint cry of a baby coming from somewhere far away in his world.
Then, that crying stopped too.
A gray, heavy silence wrapped around him. Before his eyelids closed, he saw his hand resting on the faded brick. His fingers gave one last, slight twitch, and then they too fell still.
***
Deep inside the Order Bureau, in a room filled with countless cold-light screens.
Alice sat in the only chair, the blue-white light reflecting on her face.
Rex walked in with light footsteps. He stood behind her, his gaze sweeping over the screens before resting on her stiff back.
“Alice,” he said, his voice low but clear in the electronic room, “go for a walk tonight.”
Alice’s typing fingers stopped. She was silent for two seconds before slowly turning her head, data spots still lingering in her eyes.
She looked at Rex, then turned back to the screen. her throat moved, but no words came out.
In the end, she just gave a light nod.
“…Okay.”
***
Event Card: [Silent Night]
“It seems luck is on our side for once.” The Secret Keeper put away the dice. “Tonight, both beneath the sea and beyond the mist, there shall be peace. No encounters requiring a dice roll. Perhaps, everyone, you can truly rest.”
After successive fierce battles, this gift of peace was more precious than any supplies. Exhaustion washed over them as the four returned to their cabins to rest.
Jiang Ming lay on the bed in his room, staring at the low ceiling. Every inch of his body screamed for sleep, but his consciousness was unusually sharp, like a string pulled so tight it couldn’t snap back.
He simply got up and returned to the empty deck.
The night wind was cold, carrying a salty, desolate scent. He leaned against the bow railing, watching the thick darkness swallow all light, his thoughts drifting.
Light footsteps sounded behind him — steady but intentionally softened. It was Elvira.
She walked to his side, also leaning against the railing, holding a notebook that wasn’t too thick, its leather cover somewhat worn.
“You can’t sleep either?” Jiang Ming looked at her. She had changed out of her usual sharp combat gear into simple dark casual clothes, her crimson hair hanging loose.
“Yeah,” Elvira replied.
“A diary?” Jiang Ming was surprised.
“Yeah.” Elvira laid the diary flat on the railing and opened a page. Inside was neat yet powerful handwriting, recording daily trivialities, training insights, and even a few pages of sketches of flowers or weapon structures.
“I only found it when I went back to the room. It wasn’t just me,” she paused. “Lillian’s room is magnificent. And under Elvia’s pillow, she found the old doll she used to sleep with as a child, the one she actually lost long ago.”
Jiang Ming fell silent. His room only had a hard wooden bed, a bare desk, and a single chair.
But now was not the time to dwell on that. He pushed the emotion down and looked back at the diary. “So, this is what was in your room.”
“Yes.” Elvira flipped through the pages, stopping at a newer section where the ink was still fresh, recording observations and fragmented thoughts from before they entered these waters. “Looking at it, I feel that… some of the previous days, though dangerous and difficult, at least had a clear trajectory. But now…”
She didn’t continue, but they both understood the unspoken words.
By the dim light of the lone lantern at the bow, the two of them discussed the stories in the diary in low voices.
The conversation gradually thinned as the night grew deeper. The sea only offered the rhythmic sound of waves, truly as peaceful as the “Silent Night” promised.
After a long time, Elvira closed the diary. She didn’t put it away; instead, she held it with both hands and solemnly held it out to Jiang Ming.
Jiang Ming was startled. “This is…”
Elvira’s gaze was calm. “I’ve already written the story up to the point before we boarded the Argo.” Her voice was clear and steady in the sea breeze. “For the rest of the voyage, I might… not have the right time or state of mind to record it.”
She pushed the diary forward a bit more, her fingertips lightly pressing against the leather cover.
“Jiang Ming,” she said his name, her tone serious, like a comrade entrusting something important, “you always see further than us and think more. If this diary stays with me, the remaining pages will likely stay blank.”
“So, I’m giving it to you.”
Her eyes looked straight at him, reflecting the faint light and the deep night.
“I hope that one day, when everything is settled and we leave this sea… you can continue the story.”
“Write down everything that happens after this Silent Night, whether good or bad. Write until… the end is reached, or we go home.”
The night wind brushed past, bringing the sound of the empty tide from afar. Jiang Ming looked at the diary being offered to him, then at Elvira’s calm face. He slowly reached out and took the weight.
The leather cover still held the faint warmth of her palm.
“Fine,” he heard himself say, his voice melting into the vast night. “I promise you.”
Elvira breathed a faint sigh of relief, and the tension in her shoulders softened. She said nothing more, only taking one last look at the boundless dark sea before turning away. Her footsteps disappeared into the corridor leading to the cabins.
Jiang Ming watched Elvira leave and sighed.
Although he was a Psychological Counselor, he could never fathom a woman’s heart.