Lin Yi didn't first observe the ship behind him; instead, he followed the sound that infiltrated the will of the soul, the "creak—creak—," looking at the area below the deck.
His gaze fell on the sea surface closest to him.
This sea surface didn't seem very fragmented; instead, it was a viscous, oily, shiny black mirror. Despite the sound of seawater, it hardly stirred a ripple.
The ship clearly appeared to be sailing but resembled more of a sluggish glide. The slightly tattered and decayed hull was pressing against this deathly still "water surface," emitting an incredibly teeth-gritting sound, like bones scraping—"creak—creak—."
"Creak—creak—creak—"
"Creak—creak—creak—"
"Creak..."
The more he listened to it, the more monotonous it became, the more tedious, constantly echoing and amplifying in the deathly still Gray Mist Sea filled with black mist. It felt like a two-stringed violin resting on a person's spine, pulling the tune of a soul-calming melody again and again.
