“Young Master Zhao!” Tang En knocked on Zhao Changhe’s door. “We’re almost at Taiping Island. Everyone’s gonna head down for some rest and supplies. Are you coming with us?”0

It had been nearly ten days of sailing. During that time, Zhao Changhe had not once stepped outside of his cabin. He remained cross-legged, utterly still, requiring neither food nor water, nor even a chamber pot. This was something that utterly baffled the Tang Clan’s sailors.0

Does he just relieve himself on the bed? And if he truly doesn’t need anything, then is he still human?0

Zhao Changhe was known to be first on the Ranking of Man—nothing about his strength would come as a surprise. The sailors did consider that he may have already reached the second layer of the Profound Mysteries. Yet even at that level, the crew had seen others, such as First Seat Tang, still require sustenance and, naturally, other necessities.1

Zhao Changhe opened his eyes and exhaled a deep breath.0

Even in the clear, brisk autumn sea air, his breath emerged like a thick fog, as if it were the depths of winter.0

“How many days have we been at sea?”0

“This is the thirteenth...0