Maritime Survival Log, Day Eight.

9:11 AM.

The sky was overcast, promising more gloom to come. Temperature: minus eight degrees Celsius.

Waves: moderate, with a warning for powerful gales surging over the sea.

Ye Shu had been up early doing business. Her brazier sales had already surpassed a thousand units in just an hour. She hardly had a choice—not if she wanted to keep her stores overflowing and her inventory brimful. If not for the fact that identical items could stack endlessly, both her cabin and her storage space would have long run out of room.

[Snagged a basic brazier! Finally, I won’t have to freeze like an icicle anymore. Toasty warm! I even have a sweet potato roasting right now, can’t get any better.]

[Easy for you to say! Do you even hear yourself? A sweet potato! Why do treasure chests discriminate? I only got fresh water and biscuits. Who remembers the last time they had a sweet potato…? Fine, I admit it, I’m jealous.]

[Sweet potatoes are great. Boss, when you’re done, can I have your peels?]

[Haha…I’ve camped out half the night, all for this moment! Guys, get a grip, there’ll never be any leftovers. The sweet potato will vanish, trust me…]

[Hey, Boss, be careful out there. Sang Biao’s got his eye on you—he’s out everywhere hunting you down…]

[Seriously? He thinks he can threaten the Boss? The guy only upgraded his boat by five levels. Boss’s boat is clearly on another level, or she wouldn’t be selling braziers at such a cheap price.]

Ye Shu glanced at the comments scrolling across her screen, then went right back to her work.

Braziers were sparking left and right as she rapidly distributed the goods.

Transferring supplies to every single player took a ridiculous amount of time and energy—the trade interface only allowed limited uploads per transaction. Even if braziers sold like hotcakes, there were simply too many players in this world. Her stash was just a single flicker in an ocean of need.

She was frantically uploading more braziers when the system chimed in her ear.

[Ding ding! All 100,000 sea-safe zones are shrinking by one-tenth. Safe zones are contracting! Please head for a designated safe area. Contraction begins in one hour!]

[New safe zone blueprints have been released. Players can check the Maritime Survival Log for details.]

[Remember, the black fog outside safe zones corrodes everything! Contact with the black fog means certain death!]

Ye Shu froze mid-action. The game was up to its old tricks again. She hazarded a guess—she wasn’t…inside the safe zone, was she?

She opened the Maritime Survival Log. A fresh yellow line slashed across the sapphire-blue blueprint, firmly marking her position outside its bounds.

She had to beat the black fog to escape this stretch of sea.

A closer look confirmed she wasn’t exactly nearby—the safe zone was still a haul at this speed.

With her ironclad ship clocking 52 knots, she might just make it if she hustled.

Soon, two private messages popped up: desperate pleas from Pang Pangzi and Fu Shiyi.

[Coastline888: Lady Ye, please don’t leave me behind. I’m still useful—can fish up treasure chests, and I can cook, right?]

[Taotie: Sister Ye, we’ve known each other for so long… might I hitch a ride? Just this once?]

Their fishing vessel hauled at a meager 30 knots—not nearly enough to reach the new safe zone border in time.

Ye Shu was generous, brimming with magnanimity as she charged the Fu brothers and Pangzi a fee for the hitch: three silver treasure chests apiece.

In the chatroom:

[What, again? Does this game ever end? I thought we’d just found some peace.]

[Lucky I’m in the safe zone. I’d be doomed otherwise! It’s impossible for a sailboat to make it within an hour.]

[Can you believe it? I’m literally one meter outside the yellow line—just scoot a little closer, and I’m safe… Hahaha, luck is on my side. Though, there are way more trawlers around now, so I better keep a low profile in my little Karami.]

[Jealous. Still running for my life here…]

[...]

Players in the safe zone: Tee-hee.

Players outside it: Not laughing, time to fire up the engines and beg the heavy hitters for help.

Across the endless waves, as players fled for their lives, two conjoined high-level ships sent up jets of spray, racing for the safe zone's heart.

"Holy crap! Did you see that? What just sped by?"

"No way—are there that many level-five ironclads now? Poor me, after grinding for so many supplies, I’m still stuck on a steamer. At this rate, I’m cannon fodder."

"Quit whining and getting sentimental. If we don’t run now, once safe time ends, we’re all dead."

A group of players stared intently at the hourglass on their log screens, nerves fraying with every falling grain.

Just as Ye Shu had calculated, the ironclad ship slid into the yellow line at 59:59, down to the exact second.

Not willing to tempt fate, she pushed a few hundred meters further in, to where dozens of fishing boats huddled within sight.

Her ironclad was, by all appearances, the largest in this water…or at least one of them. Its presence caused quite a stir among the gathered players.

On another ironclad, a crewman caught sight of Ye Shu’s ship parking nearby. In his rush to deliver the news to the boss, he twisted his ankle.

"Boss Sang…there’s a ship our size out here! Same level as us!"

"Idiot. You think I need to be told?"

Sang Biao glared coldly at the vessel matching his own.

As master of his own ironclad, he’d noticed her ship long before it drew near. He’d counted on being top dog—but clearly, he wasn’t the only one who’d made it this far.

If he could form an alliance, perhaps…

But if not? Then he’d simply strip her for parts. After all, that’s how he’d built his little empire—from deceit, threat, and blood. In a doomsday survival game, who cared for honor or virtue? Only survival mattered. Let the rest fend for themselves—it was none of Sang Biao’s business.

Ye Shu remained hard at work in her manufacturing bay.

No surprise—so many players needed braziers, it was a bottomless task.

She had all the raw materials for the next ironclad upgrade, save for a handful of fine glass panes.

But glass, as luck would have it, was rare. She scoured every channel, but no one was willing to trade.

Progress stalled.

After churning out another batch of braziers, a sudden barrage of cannon fire shook her ship to its hull.

No need to guess: one of the big fish was merging smaller vessels, the chaos sending shockwaves to even those minding their own business, like Ye Shu.

She’d considered moving elsewhere, but the safe zone was too cramped, packed with ships on every span of open water—this spot, at least, offered a clear line of sight.

In half a day, ships within miles had sunk one after another.

Sang Biao’s ship swallowed a dozen smaller craft, upgrading once again without a hitch.

The Fu family boat, tied to Ye Shu’s ironclad, remained unmolested—no one dared provoke them.

Later that afternoon, Ye Shu emerged from her workshop, having uploaded the last batch of braziers. The deck was stacked high with treasure chests hauled up by Pang Pangzi—mostly bronze and silver, with two rare gold ones glittering amid the heap.

Almost as if competing, Da Piaoliang and Jiao Ren Xiaobai split their duties: one commanding schools of fish to scout for treasure, the other bringing the chests to the surface for easy retrieval. Between them, they’d managed to land a good dozen more.