The Azure Phoenix Blade

Night at the Abandoned Fish Dock

In the back courtyard, Quentin Mo stood by the door, iron staff in hand. His brows relaxed only slightly when he saw Eleanor Su return.

Celeste stood protectively with Sylvie and Damien beside a low stool. Sylvie’s eyes were wet but she didn’t cry. Damien’s face was pale, yet he stubbornly kept his back straight, refusing to show fear.

Eleanor Su’s first words upon entering were, “We can’t stay here any longer.”

Quentin Mo nodded. Elias Xu’s face darkened. “The man at the bridge bought you one diversion. There won’t be a second. The searches in town will only tighten today.”

As silence fell over the group, Celeste spoke up softly, “We can leave through the back lane.” Seeing everyone look at her, she pressed her lips together, then calmly described the route she had memorized when they entered. “There’s a narrow alley outside the back wall of the apothecary. It leads to a riverbank where they dry bamboo rafts. If we avoid the ferry dock and stick close to the reeds, we might be able to slip out of town.”

Though young, her words were clear and orderly. She had clearly been observing and remembering throughout the journey.

Quentin Mo glanced at her. “You notice the details.”

Celeste lowered her head. “I was afraid I might be wrong, so I didn’t say anything earlier.”

Eleanor Su tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “You weren’t wrong.”

Elias Xu called for Shen Sanhe. The limping man entered, scanned every corner of the courtyard, looked at the children, and finally said, “Big boats are out. Small bamboo rafts can work—but you all have to keep your mouths shut and your noise inside your bellies.”

That night, Shen Sanhe led them out through the back lane and onto two narrow bamboo rafts. The night river was pitch black. The thin rafts felt like they were floating on shifting shadows. Sylvie clutched Celeste’s sleeve tightly, barely daring to breathe.

Quentin Mo stood at the rear raft, using his iron staff as a pole. He pushed steadily, guiding the raft slowly along the reed-lined bends.

His injured left shoulder tensed visibly with each effort, but his face remained expressionless. Only the calm, controlled ripples from his staff showed he was using his inner breathing techniques even here on this narrow waterway.

By the time they reached the abandoned fish dock, the sky was completely dark. The dock was half-sunk in mud, littered with broken fish traps, ruined salt baskets, and rotten ropes. Damp air thick with old fish stench assaulted their noses, making it clear the place had been deserted for years.

Shen Sanhe tied the rafts to a rotten post and led them into a broken fish shed on the east side. The roof had two holes, letting moonlight slant in. Dried fish scales and salt stains covered the ground, glittering like scattered dead moonlight.

Sylvie’s legs gave out the moment she stepped down. Celeste caught her and helped her sit on a drier hemp sack. Sylvie tucked her feet in, her small face scrunched up. “Sister, my feet don’t feel like mine anymore.”

Celeste rubbed her legs gently. “Borrow mine for tonight. You can have them back in the morning.”

Sylvie stared with wide eyes, took it seriously, thought for a moment, and actually nodded—then giggled at herself.

Damien sat nearby, trying to look unafraid. Seeing a drier spot under Sylvie, he quietly pushed his own sack toward her, then turned his head as if he had done nothing.

Sylvie noticed and looked up. “Damien, aren’t you sitting?”

Damien snorted. “I’m not afraid of getting wet.”

A night wind blew through the cracks right after he spoke. He shivered hard, his teeth chattering once.

Julian glanced at him but said nothing. He went to the bitter well behind the shed, drew half a bowl of water, gave some to Eleanor Su first, then placed the rest in front of Damien.

Damien glared. “What’s this for?”

“Your lips are white,” Julian said.

Damien wanted to argue but eventually took the bowl and drank in small sips.

At the entrance, Eleanor Su was rebandaging Quentin Mo’s wound. When the cloth was lifted, fresh blood seeped from the knife wound on his left shoulder. Under the moonlight, the edges looked black and purple. Even Celeste couldn’t help staring.

“It’s nothing,” Quentin Mo said.

Eleanor Su continued working. “Tell me it’s nothing when one of your arms actually falls off.”

Shen Sanhe, squatting at the entrance sharpening his knife, twitched his mouth in what might have been a smile but made no sound.

“Don’t take the official road from the fish dock tomorrow. Five miles west is White Sand Crossing. Small merchant caravans often head south around the hour of Chen. Their leader is Madam Gu. She respects money and rules. As long as you don’t cause her trouble, she’ll take people.”

Eleanor Su asked only, “Does she travel steadily?”

“If she weren’t steady, she’d have died on the southern trade routes long ago.”

That was enough. Eleanor Su nodded. “We’ll go to White Sand Crossing tomorrow.”

Deep into the night, Sylvie fell asleep first against Celeste, breathing softly, her brows finally relaxed.

Damien leaned against the wooden wall, stubbornly refusing to tilt his head at first, but exhaustion won.

His head nodded lower and lower until he slept, still clutching a small fist.

Julian sat deepest inside with his eyes closed, though he didn’t seem fully asleep.

Whenever the tide sounds grew louder outside, he would stir slightly before settling again.

Quentin Mo kept watch at the entrance, his back as steady as a black stone in the moonlight.