Margaret stood before a mountain of nautical charts, her fingertips gliding gently over the yellowed parchment. The cinnabar-red routes drawn on them looked like congealed trails of blood, glowing eerily under the flickering candlelight. When Dustin pushed open the door, he saw her tucking a thick stack of leather-bound ledgers into a rosewood chest. Glimpses of titles like Fresh Water Reserves and Ration Allocations showed her meticulous planning for the upcoming voyage. “Any news from the fishermen?” Dustin asked. Margaret looked up, her eyes reflecting the deepening twilight outside the window. “Su Lan just got back from the harbor. Found an old fisherman with the surname Qin.” “He claims he saw a mirage near the Blackwater Trench three years ago. Said there were floating pavilions and jade towers among the clouds, and at the front stood a stone tablet carved with the word ‘Penglai.’” She paused, tapping her fingers on the desk. “But the old man said the vision lasted ...