The Malani large sailing ship, some thirty zhang in length, was wretchedly battered, like a delicately crafted toy callously crushed in someone's hands. As onlookers watched, it sank to the bottom of the sea heralded by a few large bubbles, leaving nothing behind.
Mr. Cai twirled his ring somewhat sorrowfully; such a large ship, though old, was still worth tens of thousands of taels of silver.
Zhang He, having returned to the deck of the Tianbo Division, shook out his robe and settled back into the rosewood chair without a word.
On the Demon Thief's side, Zhang He's cousin, his arm newly plastered, strained his neck trying to get closer to Zhang He but was pulled back by the second in command, Qi Daoji.
Qi Daoji's face bore a solemn expression as he shook his head, conveying that now was not the time to make things uncomfortable.
