Chapter Sixty-Six: Extraordinary Memory

It was truly astonishing—Fang Yuan found that he could recite by heart the entire page he had just read. This miraculous sensation filled him with delight. If he could return to his former field of expertise, he was certain he would achieve remarkable accomplishments. The feeling seemed unreal, like a scene from a movie. To confirm that this ability was not a one-time occurrence, Fang Yuan read many more books, closing his eyes after each one and reciting aloud the contents he had just absorbed. Every attempt was a resounding success. Within an hour, he could flawlessly recount the entirety of a book that was not particularly thick.

“Master, if you’re not planning to sleep now, could you make something to eat? I’m starving.” Watching Fang Yuan’s excitement, Chong Chong suspected they might not sleep at all tonight.

It was already close to one in the morning. Since drinking Da Zhuang’s fish soup the previous day, they had eaten nothing else, only drank some wine.

“I knew you were a glutton. Aren’t you afraid you’ll turn into a fat worm, eating in the middle of the night?” Fang Yuan joked, but he still began to prepare a meal. He took out the frozen dumplings he had bought downstairs the day before and boiled them.

After being dragged out of the water, Xiao Bao was covered in blood. Due to the weather, the blood emitted a nauseating stench. His earlier shouting had left his voice hoarse. He ripped off his jacket and tossed it aside.

“Find out about that man. Who is he? Where did he come from?” Xiao Bao rasped out orders to his subordinates.

Someone immediately set out; when Xiao Bao gave a command, they always acted at once. The others stayed behind to deal with the aftermath of the great white shark—those pools of blood had to be cleaned up quickly, or a rotten, bloody smell would drift for miles around.

Xiao Bao returned to his room, took a shower, changed into clean clothes, but felt no urge to sleep. He didn’t have a habit of drinking; instead, he sat alone on the open-air balcony, smoking and replaying the recent events in his mind.

If not for the stains of blood on his body, Xiao Bao might have believed it had all been a dream—a dream that felt all too real. If this had happened to someone else, they would never believe what they had seen. But Xiao Bao was different. He was absolutely certain that what he witnessed was no special effect or sleight of hand, but reality. That man possessed strength enough to rival the rulers of the sea. Xiao Bao had been pampered since childhood, rarely taking others seriously, but Fang Yuan had earned his genuine respect.

Thinking about what Fang Yuan had done, Xiao Bao felt a trace of fear. Competent, low-profile people didn’t frighten him, but those who wielded power without scruples did. He couldn’t help but be wary.

On the balcony, there was a telescope. Whenever Xiao Bao couldn’t sleep, he would come here. On clear nights, he could see distant places through the lens, sometimes even the stars of the Milky Way. More often, though, he used it to gaze at the sea, watching ships and ferries far out on the water.

But tonight, he had no interest in any of that. The man named Fang Yuan clung to his thoughts like a shadow that refused to dissipate.

As a child, because of his physique, Xiao Bao often shut himself in his room. To pass the time, he read voraciously—his interests were broad, and he read every kind of book he could find. That was why, in this villa, he had turned the largest, brightest room into a library. Shelves lined every wall, filled with every sort of book, all meticulously categorized.

He had read every one of those books, many of them multiple times.

Among them was a particularly old volume. It was made from a material unlike any ordinary book—tough and resilient. Xiao Bao had tested it: neither water nor fire could harm it, nor could blade or bullet pierce it.

The book contained little in the way of written words, but was filled with narrative illustrations. Through these simple yet extraordinary images, Xiao Bao had deciphered the book’s contents.

It was a book shrouded in legend, its stories equally fantastic. Anyone else would have dismissed it as myth or fiction, but not Xiao Bao. What was described within was his lifelong dream, and no matter how others viewed it, he believed it could come true.

No one knew where the book had come from, for Xiao Bao had never spoken of it—not even his parents knew it was hidden in his study.

He had acquired it at the age of ten, right after he’d learned to swim and was eager to conquer the sea. His older brothers took him to the shore, and to keep him safe, they strapped a buoyant swim ring around him. Xiao Bao remembered clearly—the ring was sturdy and well-inflated.

Swimming in the ocean filled him with excitement, and he ventured far from shore. When his brothers noticed how close he’d come to the deep water, they hurriedly called him back.

He tried to return, but before he reached them, it felt as if something had bitten down on the swim ring. It was stuck tight; before he could wriggle out, a tremendous force dragged him into the depths.

At first, he could see through open eyes—a giant fish had clamped its jaws around the ring and was rapidly pulling him into the deep. Xiao Bao was terrified; as soon as he opened his mouth to cry, he gulped down several mouthfuls of seawater.

He remembered little of what happened next—just a suffocating sense of impending death, unable to breathe or speak. Events had unfolded so quickly that by the time his brothers realized what had happened, he was already far beneath the waves.

He never knew how he made it back to shore. When he awoke, his brothers were beside him, faces riddled with anxiety, calling his name ceaselessly.

Everyone was so relieved he had survived that no one noticed the small, tightly-clenched book in his hand.