Chapter 517: His Little Disciple

Han Ruochen activated the sea scanning system. In the blink of an eye, the physical ink on the paper transformed before Han Ruochen’s eyes. A glowing, semi-transparent holographic overlay of the ocean floor burst into three-dimensional wireframes over the table. It was visible only to her. The high-definition topographical lines, current vectors and structural density profiles pulsed in vivid neon colours over the perfect map that Shen Lingxue had made.

[System scanning: Shen Syndicate Hydrographic data.]

[Cross-reference real-time marine topography and Subsurface Current Dynamics.]

[Critical Errors Detected: Three Major Hazards Flagged.]

A cold, knowing smile touched Han Ruochen’s lips. She did not pick up the pencil; instead, she simply folded her arms.

"Young Miss Shen," Han Ruochen began, her voice carrying the heavy weight of absolute authority. "If Young Miss Shen takes your map and sends the commercial fleet down the recommended vector, three out of the five cargo ships will be sitting on the ocean floor before the end of the week."

Shen Lingxue did not believe a thing that Han Ruochen was saying. She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. "Nonsense! That survey was conducted by the National Oceanographic Institute."

"Then the National Oceanographic Institute made a mistake by forgetting that the sea is alive." Han Ruochen rolled her eyes. She leaned forward and then tapped the three specific points on the map with her knuckles. "First error: they ignored the sandbar shift at point fourteen." She pointed at the narrow passage marked as eighteen metres deep—it was an unrestricted draft.

"Your satellite data was recorded in May," explained Han Ruochen, her vision showing the yellow, swirling slit vectors that were mapped by his system. "You relied on the surface radar. But the deep water undercurrents from the autumn monsoon dump over two hundred tonnes of silt into the pocket every forty-eight hours. Right now, at a low tide, that channel is not just eighteen metres deep. It’s barely six metres deep. A five-thousand-tonne freighter running your route would breach its hull on hard bedrock hidden beneath the fresh silt."

Shen Lingxue stiffened. She opened her mouth to object, but Han Ruochen did not give him a second to breathe and continued to speak, "The second error. You did not take in the subsurface thermal vent at the channel’s tail." Han Ruochen shifted his finger three inches to the west, where Shen Lingxue had planned to take a sharp turn.

"You marked this zone as a calm water zone," remarked Han Ruochen, pointing to the section that was highlighted in crimson on the mental screen. "What your military map doesn’t show is an active geothermal vent that is hiding right under forty metres deep; superheated water rises every afternoon at two, creating a severe localised low-density thermal pocket; it loses its buoyancy instantly. Any ship steering past this path will drop three metres in seconds, snapping the rudder against the surrounding rock walls."

Old Master Xu’s eyes sharpened into razor blades. He leaned in, peering instantly at the exact coordinates that Han Ruochen was pointing out. As a veteran sea captain, Old Master Xu knew about ghost pockets, but few men alive could pinpoint their precise locations without floating over them.

"And the third and the last flaw." Han Ruochen sucked in a breath and flattened her hands on the map. "It is the most lethal one." She pointed to the map and said, "The war submarine net array at grid seven."

Shen Lingxue sneered. Trying desperately to regain the control that she had lost. "That net array which you speak of was removed by the navy in the early nineties. It is recorded in the official records."

"The surface cables were indeed removed," Han Ruochen corrected coldly, her system projecting a high-resolution render of tangled, iron-core steel wire that was buried deep in the seabed kelp. "The heavy bottom anchors were left behind. The current has dragged those rusted iron cables straight into your cleared passage; if a heavy-duty twin-screw propeller passes over this grid, those submerged steel cables will wrap around the shaft like a python. It will lock the engine, rupture the drive seal and flood the engine room in under four minutes."

Han Ruochen looked up from the map. Her dark eyes locked onto Shen Lingxue’s pale face. "Young miss, your map isn’t any route to fortune; if anything, it is a death warrant."

Silence descended upon the study like a heavy hammer. The only sound was the ticking of the grand clock in the corner and the distant whistle of the wind. Zhai Muchen was motionless, staring at Han Ruochen with a mixture of awe and fierce pride. He had seen Shen Lingxue’s arrogance for months, yet in three minutes, Han Ruochen had utterly dismantled the wealthy heiress’s prized possession using nothing but raw, undeniable maritime truth.

"Not bad." This time around, Old Master Xu saw Han Ruochen’s skills with his own eyes and the documents were brought over by Shen Lingxue; there was no way Han Ruochen could have cheated. He took one look at the map and then slowly reached out to grab the leather-bound map before tossing it casually into the blazing stone fireplace. The high-grade paper caught fire instantly, curling into black ash.

"Old Master Xu!" Shen Lingxue gasped, taking a step forward in sheer shock.

She clenched her fingers tightly, nearly crushing the bones in her fingers.

"Young Miss Shen," Old Master Xu said, his voice dropping into an icy, flat tone that allowed no room for argument. "You brought me paper bought with your father’s money. Do you really think that I will accept the map that has never seen the light of the sea?"

Shen Lingxue’s face turned a shade of deep, humiliated red. She glared at Han Ruochen with pure, burning hatred, her fists trembling at her sides as she tried to calm herself down. She wanted to state that what Han Ruochen said was nothing but pure nonsense but—

"It seems like you are not happy with corrections that my little disciple pointed out."