Recap
“I owe you an apology,” Shen Chaomu said, choosing his words carefully. “I was wrong. I forced you to stay with me for my own purposes. But you should have your own life. So, after the Bei En incident…” He took a deep breath. “Let’s go our separate ways.”
His heart ached as he spoke, but he also felt a sense of release. He should let Long Shiyu pursue his own desires—sparkling gems, towering castles, and beautiful princesses. After all, if the protagonist of the fairy tale was an evil dragon, then the dragon-slaying hero was the villain, wasn’t he?
Silence fell, punctuated only by the sound of the waves outside.
Long Shiyu’s tail stilled, hanging limply in the air. He looked at Shen Chaomu, starlight reflecting in his eyes, shimmering with unshed tears.
“Don’t you want me anymore?” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.
___
Shen Chaomu was completely taken aback. His carefully crafted apology, with its sincere and well-intentioned words, had not gone as planned. Was this a dragon’s strange thought process, or was the fault his own?
“Why did this become…become me not wanting you anymore?” he asked, bewildered.
Long Shiyu burrowed deeper into the quilt, his form shaking slightly, but he remained silent. His tail lay limp and lifeless on the bed, devoid of its usual playful energy. Panic welled up in Shen Chaomu. He grabbed the end of the tail and tried to lift it, but it flopped back down when he let go. He tried again, shaking it vigorously, attempting to trigger Long Shiyu’s instinctive response. Nothing. It simply fell back with a pathetic thud.
Like it was dead.
Shen Chaomu stared at the unresponsive appendage. His attempt to revive the tail had failed. He leaned closer to Long Shiyu. “That’s not what I meant,” he explained. “I meant you could go wherever you want after this.”
The sorrowful dragon beneath the covers whimpered but remained otherwise unresponsive.
It’s over, he can’t even cry anymore. This is serious.
“I don’t want to drive you away,” Shen Chaomu insisted. “I…I…” He hesitated, then, with a vulnerability he never thought he would express, confessed, “I like you.”
Long Shiyu’s head emerged from the quilt, his eyes wide and glistening. “Really?”
“Really, really,” Shen Chaomu assured him. “When have I ever lied to you?”
The tail twitched weakly, a flicker of life returning to it.
Shen Chaomu was about to elaborate when he noticed something nestled beneath Long Shiyu. It was gray-red and soft…a scarf? He looked closer and recognized the one he had bought for Long Shiyu on the main island.
Even in his despair, Long Shiyu had kept the scarf in his nest, guarding his treasure. A wave of warmth washed over Shen Chaomu, a mixture of relief and an almost overwhelming tenderness.
Suddenly, the terminal blared a warning. It was the outpost, summoning him to a location near the Damocles Bridge.
Shen Chaomu glanced at the terminal, then at Long Shiyu. “I have to go,” he said. “Do you want to…come with me?” He was certain he had never spoken with such a hesitant tone in his life.
A rustling sound came from the bed as Long Shiyu got up. He obediently put on his fluffy down jacket and stood by the door, eyes downcast. His mood was still somber.
As Shen Chaomu passed him, pulling on his windbreaker, Long Shiyu reached out. “I want to hold hands,” he mumbled.
Normally, Shen Chaomu would have deliberated on the appropriateness of such a request, but today, he didn’t hesitate. He took Long Shiyu’s hand, smaller than his own, warm, with distinctly male knuckles. Shen Chaomu’s hands were rough, calloused from countless hours of weapons training, crisscrossed with shallow scars from past missions. The most prominent ran across his left palm, a reminder of a burning-hot dagger that had pierced it. He hadn’t flinched, even as blood sprayed; his attacker had paid the price.
Long Shiyu traced those calluses and scars, his heart sinking further. “Ying,” he whimpered.
Afraid he had done something wrong, Shen Chaomu asked cautiously, “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Long Shiyu replied, shaking his head and tightening his grip on his princess’s hand.
Two minutes later, they boarded the warship. Beneath the swirling stardust, the vessel cut through the waves like a sword, heading straight for the Damocles Bridge.
…
Karen sat reading her poetry collection, the aquamarine and coral necklaces resting against her throat. The aquamarine pendant emitted a faint glow. She turned a page, then coughed softly, her pale face seeming even more bloodless.
“Are you alright?” Augusta asked, watching her with concern.
Karen shook her head. She wasn’t feeling well. Commanding the skeletal mermaids was exhausting, and the recent attack on the mantises, at Shen Di’s behest, had further depleted her energy. She hadn’t been able to launch a successful attack on the increasingly vigilant hunters. No one had succumbed to her song, and without shipwrecks, there was no new life force to sustain her.
This was her reality. She was dying.
The pot on the snow continued to bubble. A teabag steeped in a porcelain cup, releasing a delicate aroma.
“This tea smells nice,” Augusta commented.
“Yes,” Karen replied, her gaze distant. “I bought it at the island market a while ago.”
“Have you been like this for hundreds of years?” Augusta asked, his usual bluntness softening with concern. “Singing, making tea, reading… It’s so boring. I couldn’t stand it.”
“It’s alright. I sometimes write songs,” Karen said.
“Those ancient characters that look like drawings? No one can understand them. What’s the point?”
“It makes me happy. Only my friends can sing those songs now. It’s a pity you can’t hear them, Mr. Augusta.”
Steam billowed from the pot as the water neared a boil.
“Have you ever seen the Beast Throne?” Augusta asked, changing the subject.
“No,” Karen replied, holding her stiff hands closer to the fire. “But it exists.”
“I know it exists; it’s part of family lore. But how are you so sure?”
“Because in the stories I’ve heard, the king before the old Dragon King, the one I don’t know—please allow me to call it ‘it’ for now, since I don’t know its gender or race—always wanted to leave the throne.”
Karen turned another page of the poetry collection and continued, “It used the throne’s power to achieve something, and then it wanted to leave, but couldn’t. Even the old Dragon King couldn’t escape the throne after he was killed. Now it’s Akasa Mo’s turn. Whoever sits on that throne is doomed. That’s why the old Dragon King went mad in the end, trying to kill all potential threats.”
“Never heard that before,” Augusta said, pouring the boiling water into his cup. “But it’s kind of like us mercenaries. In the end, it’s all about fame, fortune, and power. If you ask me, becoming the alliance’s most wanted criminal is a kind of throne. If I became one, I’d be famous throughout the Star Sea.”
Karen chuckled. “Maybe.” She took a sip of her freshly brewed tea. “I haven’t been back to see my little bear in a while,” she said wistfully.
“Don’t go back to the castle,” Augusta warned. “With those mantises around, Shen Chaomu and the Dragon King must have been there. It’s not safe.”
“My diaries are all there. I can only write a little on the terminal now, but it’s more comfortable to use a quill and ink. Speaking of which, Mr. Augusta, do you keep a diary?”
“No. Do I look like the type?” Augusta flexed his bicep.
Karen laughed, her voice like the tinkling of bells. “I write because Mr. Murphy liked to write,” she explained when she had recovered. “He said he was an ordinary person, writing poetry as a hobby, and keeping a diary to leave a trace of his existence.”
Augusta clicked his tongue. “Did he know you were a strange beast? Your lifespan is different from a human’s. His ‘trace of existence’ doesn’t really apply to you.”
“I know.” Karen nodded. “I was singing by the sea, and my fishtail was exposed. My family usually doesn’t allow me to show it, but I had gone out to relax that day.”
“And that’s when you met Edgeworth?”
“Yes. He was also relaxing and seeking inspiration. He was startled when he saw me.” She smiled. “He told me, ‘This unknown lady, your tail and blue-green scales are so beautiful. Your singing voice is unique. I think I’ve found new inspiration for my poetry.’”
“That was the first time someone wrote a poem for me. He wrote many more later, all in that collection.”
It wasn’t like the legend, where the little princess played on the shore for too long and lost her way home. It was simply a girl singing on a reef, happening to meet a poet. He, like her, loved the romantic sea.
He had said that the stars in Bei En were brilliant, like her skirt.
And ever since, there had been a moonlit shore, waves lapping against the sand, a distant fishing boat returning home, a drifting ice floe, and a lonely lighthouse. And a girl turning, smiling—
I threw away all my beautiful shoes and came to you through the deep undersea tunnel. So, the moon is beautiful tonight, isn’t it?
“Then, one day, Mr. Murphy got sick,” Karen said softly. “He never recovered, and now I’ve become like him. He was only thirty-three when he died, still so young. He was with me for only ten years, but I’ve thought about him for a hundred.” She tucked her golden hair behind her ear and smiled faintly. “And, I don’t know why, but I feel that Mr. Akasa Mo is a bit like me in that regard.”
Augusta fumbled for a response. “Well, it’s good that we can take care of those two here,” he finally said. “With the boss around, you just have to listen to him, and he’ll help you win the throne.” He sneered. “The Dragon King is too naive. If he were like the previous king, he would have killed you already. This will be his biggest mistake.”
“I think this ‘shortcoming’ is good,” Karen countered. “He isn’t like the old Dragon King, who killed everyone to defend his throne. Even by our standards, that was excessive.”
“I will try my best,” she continued, unconsciously touching the two necklaces. “This is my planet. If I try my best, it’s still possible…” Her gaze drifted towards the distant sea, her eyes now deep blue vertical slits.
…
The warship sped toward the bridge, wind whipping across the deck. Long Shiyu burrowed into Shen Chaomu’s arms, seeking warmth and comfort. The wound inflicted by Shen Di throbbed incessantly. The corrosive spiritual energy was particularly potent, its effects amplified when used against a dragon-slaying hero. But the princess’s coat was warm, and the scarf wrapped around Long Shiyu’s neck provided a comforting barrier against the cold, leaving only his beautiful eyes visible.
Long Shiyu, his sadness momentarily forgotten, mumbled a muffled “Eep” against the scarf.
Shen Chaomu stroked his head, his gaze fixed on the Damocles Bridge looming in the distance. The colossal structure stood amidst the waves like an ancient giant, its top lost in the swirling stardust. This was one of the thousands of pillars that formed the bridge, each constructed from layers of interwoven metal, a dense, imposing forest. Starlight glinted off the black iron, casting an eerie blue glow.
Even from several kilometers away, the bridge emanated an oppressive aura. Dozens of warships surrounded it, their lights illuminating the turbulent sea. Half an hour ago, the patrol fleet had discovered more corpses in the depths, their arms outstretched in a gesture of supplication. As before, their positions formed concentric circles, the center of which was this massive pillar.
Upon arriving, Shen Chaomu sensed the disturbance in the water. The siren’s spiritual energy and that of the skeletal mermaids were intertwined. As a creature born on this planet, she was favored by Bei En.
Their proximity to the tourist hotel and shipyard was unsettling. The Yermak, surrounded by rescue vessels, was slowly returning to the shipyard. Preparations were underway to salvage the Pied Piper. With limited manpower, they needed to decide quickly which ship to prioritize.
“We haven’t figured out how the siren connects those corpses, arranges them into a musical score, and amplifies her spiritual power,” Lu Shanhuai’s voice crackled through the comms.
The last time the siren had used this method, she had summoned the skeletal mermaids. What would it be this time?
Shen Chaomu’s gaze remained fixed on the bridge pier, his expression grim.
The distance to the bridge was fifteen to twenty kilometers. The closer they got to the pillar, the more intense the spiritual energy fluctuations became, until it felt like the seawater itself was imbued with power. There had to be skeletal mermaids there, and a lot of them.
Shen Chaomu waved to the other hunters on the warship. “Go to the other ships,” he instructed.
They trusted him implicitly. Though confused, they obeyed, transferring to the nearby vessels.
“I’m going to take a look,” Shen Chaomu informed Lu Shanhuai.
“Wait,” Lu Shanhuai said, alarmed. “The other hunters aren’t here yet, and Uther Green…oh, Uther has lost contact again.”
“Just like last time,” Shen Chaomu said, starting the warship’s engine. “Looks like I’m going rogue.”
Lu Shanhuai sighed.
Before setting off, Shen Chaomu glanced at Long Shiyu. “The bridge will be dangerous,” he warned. The implication was clear: he wanted Long Shiyu to disembark.
Long Shiyu fidgeted, his expression crestfallen. “You still don’t want…”
“Listen to me.” Shen Chaomu interrupted, his voice firm but gentle as he ruffled Long Shiyu’s hair. “I’m not driving you away. The bridge will be dangerous, so you need to stay close.”
Long Shiyu’s eyes lit up, his spirits lifting. “I won’t wander off,” he promised.
“I have my doubts about that, but I think I’ve found a solution.” Shen Chaomu blocked the comms again, preventing Lu Shanhuai from interjecting. “I still don’t understand what you misunderstood,” he continued to Long Shiyu. “My apology was sincere. If you want to leave, you can, at any time. But I would never force you away.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“Okay.” Long Shiyu nodded, a smile returning to his face. “I’ll remember that. If you break your promise, you’re a bad guy.”
It would take some time to reach the bridge at their current speed. Shen Chaomu unwrapped half of Long Shiyu’s scarf and looped it around his own neck. The scarf was long enough to keep them connected without hindering their movement.
“There,” he said. “Now you can’t run away, and I won’t leave.”
The scarf still held that pleasant scent, like the wilderness after a rain. Under the ship’s lights, the soft fibers and subtle gray color accentuated Long Shiyu’s fair skin.
“It’s so warm,” Long Shiyu said, his smile widening.
“Yes. It’s a good scarf.”
“I want to hold hands,” Long Shiyu requested.
Shen Chaomu took his hand, feeling Long Shiyu’s gentle touch against the calluses and scars.
The ship sailed into the darkening sea. In the past, such journeys would summon the ghosts of his ancestors, their presence in his mind a suffocating weight, a constant reminder of the thousand years of expectations resting on his shoulders. He would feel compelled to push forward, to never stop, lest he be swallowed by the darkness.
But tonight was different. He stood beside Long Shiyu at the railing, the wind whipping their hair. Unseen by others, Long Shiyu’s tail swayed happily, a joyful dance in the wind. He had held the princess’s hand, twice, and the princess had promised not to send him away.
Amidst the crashing waves, Shen Chaomu spoke, his voice low and steady. “One day,” he promised, “I will tell you the story of every scar.”
___
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