97: Chapter 97 Preparing to Enter

He switched on his thrusters and moved along the southern side of the Reef Ridge, covering a distance of about twenty-five meters in less than two minutes.

The signal was located at the base of a large rock on the south side of the Reef Ridge. The rock was massive, with one side overhanging to form a shallow depression at its base. The metallic signal was coming from within that hollow. As he approached, he tilted his headlamp downward, casting light into the depression to get a clear look.

It was an anchor—an iron anchor, covered in a thick layer of rust and calcification. Part of its flukes had already embedded into a crevice at the base of the reef, partially buried by sediment in the hollow. The anchor chain was nowhere to be seen, likely having snapped or rusted away long ago.

The anchor was an old-fashioned four-clawed iron type that he had seen before. This design had been used on Chinese sailing ships for a long time, across the Song, Yuan, Ming, and Qing dynasties. It was impossible to pinpoint the exact era just from the anchor's shape, but it matched the age of the shipwreck.

This meant the anchor likely belonged to that shipwreck. When the ship went down, the anchor must have broken loose and gotten snagged by the reef, eventually settling here, while the main hull was pushed by the currents on the west side of the Reef Ridge onto the sandy seabed where it now lay.

He took several underwater photos of the iron anchor. The object itself didn't have much salvage value, but as circumstantial evidence of the shipwreck's existence, it was very important. This evidence would be useful if he needed to go through any official procedures later.

However, he wasn't in a hurry to deal with that issue right now.

He glanced at his pressure gauge; he had about twenty minutes of air left. He decided to ascend, as he had completed everything he planned for tonight's scouting mission.

He reactivated his thrusters and began a slow, steady ascent.

The ascent was slower than the descent, which was a basic requirement of diving to allow for decompression and prevent nitrogen from bubbling out in the blood. He ascended at a rate of no more than ten meters per minute, making a three-minute safety stop at thirty meters before continuing.

During the ascent, he could feel the water warming up again, transitioning from the heavy, cold deep-sea water back to the more active upper layers. Visibility gradually returned, and he saw jellyfish and schools of fish again. Silver Barracudas darted past him once more—two this time, swimming in opposite directions as if chasing something.

Looking up at the night sky from beneath the surface, the light appeared distorted and blurry. The stars' positions were shifted by the water's refraction, but the brightness was perceptible, giving him the feeling of seeing an exit from the darkness.

He paused two meters below the surface, then lifted his head out of the water, removed his mouthpiece, and took a breath of the night sea breeze.

It smelled of salt, fish, and a hint of some plant life carried on the wind, possibly seaweed from the reefs.

He grabbed the intake handrail at the stern and hauled himself up, standing steady on the stern platform. He removed his helmet, letting the seawater drip from his hair.

The night sky was still there, as was the river of stars, looking exactly as they had before he went down.

This time, he watched for a few seconds, letting the starlight linger in his eyes before pulling his gaze back to the dark, heavy surface of the sea beneath his feet.

He knew what he had to do.

The condition of the cargo hold had been scouted. For the next step, he would need underwater suction equipment to clear the two-meter-thick layer of sediment.

This wasn't something one person could finish in a single night, but the hardest part—finding it—was already done.

The rest was up to him.

He stood on the stern platform for a while, letting the seawater drain off him as his thoughts slowly fell into place.

Regarding the equipment, fortunately, he had prepared well in advance.

Before setting out, he had anticipated this situation. The problem of seabed sediment was unavoidable in any deep-water salvage operation. He couldn't expect to dig through the mud with his bare hands, so while organizing his diving gear, he had conveniently tucked a small underwater suction device into his System Space, right next to the spare air cylinders. At the time, he figured it was better to have it and not need it than the other way around.

Now, it was coming in handy.

He didn't waste any time. He put his helmet back on, bit down on the mouthpiece, and checked his air cylinders. The second spare cylinder was still full and would be enough.

He retrieved the suction equipment from his System Space. It was a portable Underwater Pneumatic Suction Pump. The unit wasn't large, but its suction power was sufficient to handle soft sediment of this thickness. He had checked all the accessories beforehand—hoses, nozzles, and the discharge outlet were all there. It was very compact when folded, and once unfolded with the various interfaces secured, it could be used directly in the water.

He went back down.

This time he had a clear goal, making him much more efficient than during the scouting phase. He brought the suction equipment to the outside of the cargo hold, chose the area with the thickest sediment as his starting point, pressed the nozzle into the surface of the silt, and started the air pump.

The vibration of the machine operating was transmitted through the water as a low-frequency hum. A swirling disturbance appeared where the nozzle touched the silt, and the sediment was sucked up, mixed with water, and pushed out beyond the cargo hold area through the discharge hose. The process was slow but steady, advancing bit by bit.

He stayed by the machine, working underwater.

The cargo hold was quite large, and the area covered by the two-meter-thick sediment was even bigger than he had initially estimated. He had to move the nozzle back and forth, processing it section by section. He couldn't skip around; he had to follow a sequence, or any missed spots would require rework later.

Time ticked away.

He changed his air cylinder once, and then again. Each time he surfaced, he stayed on the boat for a short while to drink some water and stretch his wrists before heading back down.

The night began to change without him noticing. When he surfaced for the fourth time to change his air, he looked up and saw that the eastern horizon was no longer pitch black. A narrow, deep-blue band of light pressed against the horizon. The edges of the Milky Way were starting to blur; the brightest stars remained, but the rest were beginning to fade.

It was almost dawn.

He took a sip of water and checked the time; it was already past four in the morning. Since his first dive, he had spent a total of nearly six hours underwater. The suction work was mostly finished. He estimated that the remaining part would take about one more air cylinder's worth of time.

He entered the water again to finish the last section of sediment.

When the nozzle finally swept over the last corner of the cargo hold area, the disturbed water around him slowly settled. The silt particles gradually sank, and visibility bit by bit returned. He hovered in the water and looked down.

The ship was revealed.

It was no longer just a blurry outline, but a real, concrete hull structure. The texture of the wood was still visible. Although it had endured centuries of corrosion and pressure, causing many areas to collapse or deform, the frame was still there, the keel was still there, the cargo hold walls were still there, and the compartments for loading cargo were clearly discernible.

He hovered in place for a while, just watching.

Daylight was starting to penetrate the depths. The light filtering down from the surface was much brighter than it had been hours ago. Hitting the hull, it was a cold, blue-gray light that made this ship, submerged for centuries, look like a scene from an old photograph.

These past few hours hadn't been in vain.

He surfaced again, took off his helmet, and sat leaning against the gunwale. He removed his breathing tube and took a deep breath of the morning sea air.

The sea breeze was lighter than last night, carrying a slightly fishy, damp saltiness that wasn't unpleasant—it was even somewhat refreshing.

The eastern sky had completely brightened. The sun hadn't appeared yet, but light already blanketed the entire horizon, changing the color of the sea from the ink-black of late night to its current deep blue. The crests of the waves reflected the light in quiet, rhythmic streaks.

He placed his helmet on the deck, stretched his neck until the joints made a few soft clicking sounds, and then went into the cabin to grab two packs of Compressed Biscuits. He finished them with some water, found a flat spot to sit down, leaned his back against the cabin wall, and closed his eyes.

He wasn't actually trying to sleep, just letting his mind go blank for a moment.

After so many hours underwater, his eyes and attention had been in a state of high-intensity concentration. This fatigue wasn't muscular but neurological; he had to let it rest, or his judgment would falter when he entered the cabin later.

He just sat there, listening to the sound of the waves lapping against the hull. It was intermittent and rhythmic, like a very slow breath.

His consciousness blurred for a while. He didn't fully fall asleep, but in that state between sleep and wakefulness, he went over what he had to do next. He had seen the layout of the cargo hold clearly underwater just now. There was a gap formed by a collapse on the western side of the hold's wall. It wasn't man-made; it was the result of natural decay followed by the pressure of water and silt. He estimated the size of the gap to be just enough for a person to squeeze through sideways—not spacious, but sufficient.

He planned to enter from there.

Two hours passed just like that.

The sun had risen, and the light on the sea had turned a golden yellow, shimmering like broken glass on the water and dazzling the eyes.

He got up, drank some water, moved his limbs, and feeling like his condition had returned, he began to re-prepare his equipment.

He swapped in a fresh, full air cylinder, checked his helmet, and tested his lighting. The brightness was sufficient. He also took an Underwater Flashlight from his System Space; this was an extra backup light source he prepared, which he strapped to his right arm.

He didn't know what he would encounter after entering the cabin. Visibility in a relatively enclosed space was worse than in open water. Even if there was daylight outside, the cabin would likely still be dark. An extra light source meant an extra layer of safety.

He also took out a specialized underwater Short Blade and slid it into the sheath on his left leg. This wasn't for dealing with people, but to handle potential entanglements. A centuries-old shipwreck could contain anything—rotted ropes, deformed wooden beams, scattered cargo. If he got caught on something while moving in a cramped space, he needed a way to free himself quickly.

With the check complete, he put on his helmet, bit the mouthpiece, and entered the water.

He descended slowly along the outer wall of the hull. Water pressure pressed against his eardrums as the depth increased. He performed several equalization maneuvers to let his ears adjust, then continued downward.

The outline of the shipwreck became clearer bit by bit before his eyes. The western wall of the cargo hold was right ahead. He adjusted his direction underwater and swam toward the collapsed gap.

The gap was even more obvious than what he had seen last night. Daylight filtered down from the surface, making this area slightly brighter than the rest of the hull. The jagged edges of the broken wood were uneven, with some spots still hanging with rotted fibers. It looked as if it had been forced open from the inside, but those were just the marks of the wood naturally splitting under the long-term effects of water pressure and silt, not something man-made.