The Southern Archives · Daomu Biji · Conversa

Legends are never in short supply on the South Seas. From Xiamen to Malacca, this route has been sailed for hundreds of years, and the stories passed down by sailors are more numerous than the fish in the sea. But when the events of the summer of the 32nd year of Guangxu began to spread, no one dared to treat them as mere legends. First, the "Da-de" vanished near the Panhua Reef. When the merchant ship departed from Xiamen Port, the winds were calm, the fair-wind flags hung from the masts, and the captain had promised his wife on the dock that he would return before the Mid-Autumn Festival. Half a month later, all that arrived at Penang Port was a piece of the gunwale shattered by the waves, without even a single bullet hole on it. Then came the "Fu-an." Then the "Tong-xing." By the time the fourth ship disappeared, the officials of the Nanyang Maritime Yamen could no longer sit still—it wasn't pirates, it wasn't a storm, and it wasn't a shipwreck. It was as if the ships had been swallowed by the sea, without so much as a rope left behind. Even more uncanny were the reports from fishermen who claimed to have seen a heavy mist near Panhua Reef. In the mist, figures stood indistinctly, all facing toward the mainland with their heads bowed, as if they were looking homeward. Water Ghosts Looking Homeward. These four words began to circulate through the docks. From Penang to Perak, from Perak to Xiamen. Sailors took detours, and merchants switched to land routes; the trade routes on the South Seas were severed as if by a blade. The Director-General of the Nanyang Maritime Yamen smoked for three days straight. On the night of the third day, a small boat with no colors docked at Xiamen. The men who stepped off the boat wore no official uniforms, yet they walked straight into the Director-General's study and closed the door. No one knows what was said behind that door. Early the next morning, an urgent telegram was sent from Xiamen. The text was brief: "Establish the Nanyang Archives this day to investigate anomalies at the reef. Dispatch agents of the Hai generation to take office. Life or death is of no consequence." When that small blue-brick building was completed, no firecrackers were set off. A black-lacquered plaque was hung over the lintel, bearing the words "Nanyang Archives." The plaque was inscribed by the Director-General himself, but the people inside the building did not necessarily answer to him. The door opens, and a wind blows in from the sea, carrying the salty, fishy smell of the tide. Where legends end, the archives begin. But for some, the moment they open the files, they are already recorded in another ledger. <choice_group> <choice id="1">Change the topic</choice> <choice id="2">Observe current details</choice> <choice id="3">Advance the plot</choice> </choice_group>