Chapter 28: The Scale-Stripped Mermaid (8)

Mermaid Tail Severance Rebirth was equivalent to the phoenix’s nirvana in mythology.

The telekinesis that originally lacked any power to harm would, upon the regeneration of her fish tail, transform into the deadliest weapon for inflicting wounds.

Yet no matter how potent this telekinesis became, it held no effect against one particular person.

—The one beloved by the mermaid.

This was precisely why, in the original plot, the female protagonist could harbor all the resentment in the world yet never truly harm the male lead, for a trace of love for him still lingered in her heart.

The Sea Master had never revealed this to Yu Shaoling.

The mermaid princess, who only now realized too late that she had already fallen for this human, shed tears of blood in agony right then and there.

She had killed her own beloved with her own hands.

If only she had recognized her feelings sooner—could everything have been salvaged?

No one could answer her.

A torrent of regret and self-recrimination caused the fine threads of blood seeping from her eyes to coalesce into stark crimson tears, trickling down the girl’s pallid cheeks.

The pinkish beads laced with blood splattered against the floor, each impact ringing out with a crisp, heart-wrenching clarity.

For a mermaid to willfully shed blood tears was a form of self-punishment beyond human comprehension.

Those condensed threads of blood mimicked countless razor-thin silkworm filaments, invisible to the naked eye yet scraping mercilessly across eyeballs and flesh alike—the blood tears welling from a mermaid’s eyes stood as irrefutable proof of pain too excruciating for any human to endure.

This was the most brutal punishment the mermaid princess had ever known since her birth.

Her nerves quivered uncontrollably from the torment, yet she bit back even the faintest whimper.

What was mere bodily agony compared to a fraction of a shattered heart?

A relentless buzzing filled her ears, and amid the clamor, a cold, hollow voice—devoid of all emotion—erupted without warning, echoing relentlessly in her mind:

“You killed her!”

“You killed her!”

“You killed the one you love most!”

“You must pay for her life!”

“Pay for her life!”

The hypnotic litany crashed over her in waves, stirring the thoughts already festering within the girl. Slowly, she pried open her tightly shut eyes.

Through the crimson haze, she glimpsed the hazy silhouette of a woman.

Yu Shaoling’s eyes flew wide in disbelief. But then realization dawned, and she curved her lips into a smile. “Have you come to take me away?”

Bai Qian missed the woman’s murmured words entirely.

She was still reeling.

Moments ago, when that terrifying telekinetic pressure had surged toward her, she’d been certain her end had come.

But it was all an illusion. The suffocating gale softened into a gentle breeze the instant it neared, wrapping around her with a soothing, invigorating chill.

—She hadn’t sustained so much as a scratch.

Snapping back to reality, Bai Qian recalled the lore about mermaids in this world: their restored telekinesis could never harm the object of their affection.

The realization ignited a surge of fury in Bai Qian.

This wretched fish treated her beloved like this?

Calling her “Little Captive” on the daily wasn’t enough—now she was trying to outright murder her?

Before Bai Qian could dwell on it further, a commotion in the room snagged her attention.

The sound was one she knew all too well. Understanding dawned, and she whipped her head around—

A blinding white light, several times more intense than before, forced her eyes shut.

When she blinked them open again, not a single trace of Yu Shaoling remained in the room.

Bai Qian stood frozen, still processing, when a piercing wail erupted from the bathroom: “Why!”

The mermaid, who had poured every ounce of her telekinesis into a desperate bid for suicide-by-love, had failed.

She had never loathed her own power more. Eyes blazing red, teetering on the edge of madness, she unleashed it once again, slamming it viciously toward her own heart.

White light flared anew. One second later, the girl materialized once more in the very spot where she had first beheld her beloved.

—This was torment far worse than any other fate.

The girl, drained of all vitality, lifted her hand again with a blank expression.

Bai Qian, who had rushed in at the sound, arrived just in time to witness the mermaid attempting to end it all yet again.

The door creaking open failed to register with Yu Shaoling. She giggled vacantly as fresh blood tears carved paths down her cheeks.

“Supreme Mermaid God, I beg you—let me go to her.”

Her plea had barely ended when white light blazed once more.

The Mermaid God heard none of her subject’s confession.

Desperate now, the mermaid princess—who could never succeed in self-destruction—began muttering feverishly to herself: “I killed her! I killed her! Take me away! Take me away with her, please! Mermaid God—”

Her words cut off abruptly as she spotted the woman standing before her.

She reached out tentatively to touch it, but stopped halfway through the air, afraid of startling this shadowy figure—real or illusory. With blood tears streaming down her face, she asked in a trembling voice laced with disbelief, “You… you… are you still alive?”

All the pent-up frustration Bai Qian had bottled up over the past few days melted away into helpless heartache the moment she saw the strings of blood tears sliding down the girl’s cheeks.

“I’m fine. Don’t cry.”

Yu Shaoling pulled her into a tight embrace.

She murmured apologies over and over right by her ear, adopting a humility she had never shown before, desperately pleading for forgiveness from the treasure she had lost and now regained.

“I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry. I really didn’t—I really didn’t want to hurt you. I… I… I never expected you to say something like that. My hand just shook. I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’ll never do it again.”

“Forgive me, please? I’m sorry. I was wrong. I’m sorry. I really, really didn’t want to hurt you. I’m sorry. Really, I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

She kept muttering the same words, repeating them over and over in a frantic loop, her panicked helplessness almost comical.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured at last. “I only just realized… from the very start, the one who became the captive was me.”

With that, Yu Shaoling finally succumbed to exhaustion, her emotions having swung too wildly, and fainted away.

Bai Qian gently settled her on the sofa. She stood there quietly for a moment, gazing down at the mermaid she both loved and loathed.

In the end, she let out a deep sigh.

If this one lost her memory even one more time, she was washing her hands of the whole mess!

Bai Qian headed out alone to find An Yan and ask about remedies for a mermaid shedding blood tears.

An Yan handed her a stalk of Six-Leaf Blue Grass and explained the proper way to use it. She was just about to shoo her off when her expression froze. Frowning, she said, “There’s a smell on you that I hate.”

Bai Qian’s face stiffened. “I shower every day.”

The woman shook her head gravely. “It’s not human body odor. It’s the filthy stench from the seabed.”

“What do you mean?”

An Yan pursed her lips and scrutinized her from head to toe, her gaze finally settling on Bai Qian’s collarbone. She pointed there.

A wisp of insubstantial black qi was wriggling its way out of her body. The instant it touched the light, it slyly tried to burrow back in.

An Yan was faster. She intercepted it, pinched its tip, and yanked the whole thing out.

With obvious disgust, she crushed it to nothing. “Tch. This revolting witchcraft again.”

Before Bai Qian could even ask, she explained. “This stuff messes with your mind. I almost fell for it once and nearly hurt the most important person in my life. Yours is so thin—probably a splinter off someone else’s. If I’m right, the one who got hit is your mermaid back home.”

Bai Qian recalled something else. “Can this witchcraft cause partial memory loss?”

An Yan shrugged. “Beats me. Aside from a massive personality shift, it didn’t do much else to me. What, did your mermaid lose her memory? More than once?”

Bai Qian let the subject drop. If this witchcraft could scramble someone’s temperament, then memory loss wasn’t out of the question.

“Could you come back with me?”

The woman guessed her intent and shook her head. “No need. The grass I gave you will take care of that too.”

Bai Qian didn’t press. She thanked her, took the unremarkable-looking Six-Leaf Blue Grass, and headed home.

She ground the leaves into juice and poured it into a small dish. Squatting beside the still-slumbering girl, she dipped her fingertip into the sky-blue liquid and dabbed it onto those bloodless lips.

The juice, which should have trickled along the lip line, was instead absorbed straight into her lips like magic. In the next instant, hundreds of identical black qi strands slithered out from Yu Shaoling’s body. They dissipated the moment they touched the light, vanishing completely in seconds.

Bai Qian finally breathed a sigh of relief.

She fed the rest of the liquid the same way, then shifted her legs, which had gone numb and sore, and started toward the kitchen.

The sleeping girl suddenly reached out and tugged at the hem of her clothes.

Bai Qian looked down. Yu Shaoling’s eyes remained closed; it was pure instinct.

She carefully pried the fingers loose and laid the hand back at the girl’s side. But that compliant hand latched right back on.

This time, it grabbed her own hand.

Bai Qian tried to pull free again. No luck.

The grip was shockingly strong. No matter how hard she tugged, it wouldn’t budge.

In the end, she sat down on the carpet, still held fast by the hand.

She stared at the girl’s serene, closed-eyed face for a while, weariness creeping in. She gave her hand an experimental tug—still stuck—so she simply rested her head against the girl’s waist and drifted off to sleep alongside her.

Yu Shaoling woke first.

When she opened her eyes, she saw Bai Qian lying on her side, fast asleep beside her.

The memories from before she passed out filled the brief void of her awakening, and Yu Shaoling quickly recalled everything that had happened.

Her daze lasted only a moment. The girl took hold of Bai Qian’s hand and, with devout and deep affection, pressed a kiss to her ring finger.

—This was a ceremony unique to the Mermaid Clan.

—Its significance ran far deeper than the human custom of exchanging rings at a wedding.

—Humans could remarry and replace the ring on their ring finger, but a mermaid’s Nameless Kiss could be offered to only one person in a lifetime.

—And by giving her Nameless Kiss, a mermaid surrendered complete control of her life to the other.

The Mermaid Princess pressed her beloved’s hand gently against her own left breast.

“Now, you can easily kill me.”

Bai Qian had no idea that an ancient, mysterious ceremony had already been performed without her knowledge.

When she woke, she found herself lying in bed.

Her surroundings felt both familiar and strange.

The woman’s lingering drowsiness vanished in an instant. Had her memory failed her?

Hadn’t this room been utterly demolished by Yu Shaoling’s telekinesis just a short while ago?

“You’re awake?”

A voice came from behind her.

Bai Qian turned and saw Yu Shaoling leaning against the headboard as she always did, absorbed in a book.

“Did you fix all this?”

Yu Shaoling’s slender finger turned the next page, her demeanor unchanged from any other day. “Did you forget? My telekinesis can do that too.”

It wasn’t that Bai Qian had forgotten—she had simply never witnessed it. Yu Shaoling had always used her telekinesis for destruction. Well, there had been that one time she smoothed away the itchy rope marks on Bai Qian’s skin.

“I took a look in your wallet just now.”

Bai Qian: ?

Yu Shaoling went on, “I won’t touch your things without permission again. Just this once—forgive me.”

The Princess, who had always regarded her as little more than a captive and treated her with aloof superiority, was now speaking in such a gentle tone. Bai Qian knew it was because the Black Qi no longer clouded her mind, but even so, she couldn’t adjust to the change right away.

Unaware of the transformation within herself, Yu Shaoling had clearly resolved to atone for that “unfortunate incident” with whatever time they had left.

She set her book aside, straightened her bent knees, and snapped her right fingers with a crisp click.

Bai Qian suddenly felt herself lifted by something soft and yielding, like a Sea Cloud formed of seawater. It carried her gently until she came to rest right in front of Yu Shaoling.

The girl reached out and touched the hollow at the center of Bai Qian’s collarbone.

Bai Qian looked down instinctively. Where her neck had been bare before, a delicate beaded Necklace now hung, adorned with a tiny Sea Conch.

No one knew better than Bai Qian what a Sea Conch signified to a mermaid.

Shocked, she looked up into the girl’s tea-colored eyes.

There was something mesmerizing about those eyes, drawing her in with their swirl of complex emotions.

“Bai Qian,” Yu Shaoling said softly. “I saw your name on your ID. Bai Qian, right?”

It was the gentlest smile Yu Shaoling had ever given. “I’m Yu Shaoling. Let’s get to know each other properly—my dear partner.”

Bai Qian: ???

“Wait—what do you mean, partner?”

“You like me, and I’m smitten with you too. Isn’t that enough to make you my partner?”

“Or do you need me to take you back to the Seabed first? To hold a bonding ceremony in front of everyone before you’ll accept it as real?” The girl pursed her lips. “Very well. If that’s what you want, then that’s what we’ll do. I just can’t return yet. Once I recover my Fish Tail, I’ll bring you back for the ceremony. Then we can bond as partners.”

At the mention of her Fish Tail, Yu Shaoling frowned despite herself. “I know you like me, but please don’t use that kind of drug on me again like you did last night. If you chafe at always being beneath me, then from now on—within reason—I’ll let you take the lead. That should make you happy, right?”

Bai Qian couldn’t squeeze in a single word as the other girl rattled on like a machine gun.

When Yu Shaoling finally fell silent, Bai Qian seized her chance. Her throat was choked with a dozen retorts, but in the end, only a simple explanation emerged.

“I forgot to warn you ahead of time, but last night… I really did it to help you get your Fish Tail back.”

Yu Shaoling sighed helplessly. “I know you did it because you like me that much. There’s no need to keep deceiving me. We both saw it—my legs haven’t changed a bit.”

Bai Qian gritted her teeth. “That’s because it has to be done three times in total. Last night was only the first. Where’s the effect supposed to come from?”

The girl looked mildly surprised. “Three times? How do you know?”

“You don’t need to worry about how I know. That’s just the rule. There are two more to go. Why not just do another one right now?”

Probably influenced by how this woman would casually bring up such matters out of nowhere in the past, Bai Qian could now discuss it without batting an eye.

Yu Shaoling didn’t agree right away. She was clearly hesitating.

Bai Qian immediately grew irritated. “Do it or don’t. It’s not my fish tail anyway. If it snaps off, it snaps off!”

With a scowl, she started to rise from Yu Shaoling’s lap, only for the other woman to pinch her waist and press her back down, forcing her to press close once more.

Having finally accepted that the woman before her was the one who held her heart, the princess was willing to bare her true feelings. “Your taste is so sweet. I’ll let you do it, but… can I have another taste first?”

Bai Qian: “……”

She’d been wrong. When it came to flooring the gas without a license, she’d probably never catch up to this shameless, blushing-ignorant pervert of a mermaid, not even in a few hundred more years!

~~~

In the original plot, Bai Qian hadn’t gotten a clear look at the female protagonist’s tail.

It hadn’t been out for long before it was soaked through with blinding crimson blood.

Now, she could finally admire this gorgeous fish tail up close and in vivid detail, utterly entranced and at a loss for words.

Yu Shaoling was still asleep, and Bai Qian stroked the tail with the lightest touch, afraid of waking her.

The scales were a pale pink, each one gleaming with a beautiful silver sheen, like faceted gems sparkling brilliantly.

Their shapes were exquisitely refined, but what stood out most was that unlike ordinary fish scales—which needed to stay submerged in water to retain their luster—even fully exposed to the air, they still shone with vibrant life.

No wonder the scumbag man had wanted to peel them off one by one.

A treasure like this, unique to the seabed, would tempt anyone’s greed.

Yu Shaoling never stirred. Bai Qian periodically reached out to check her pulse, confirming the woman was still alive before she could relax.

That night, as the lights went out, Bai Qian privately resolved that if Yu Shaoling hadn’t woken by noon the next day, she’d seek out An Yan to check for problems.

Early the next morning, she was roused by Yu Shaoling herself—buried face-first in her chest, sobbing so hard her entire face was soaked.

The girl clung to her tightly, her pitiful whimpers brimming with longing. “Wahhh, Bai Qian, I’m sorry! It’s all my fault. I forgot about you, and that’s why I did something so awful to you. Wahhh, please don’t ignore me. I’m sorry, wahhh, I’ll never forget you again!”

Bai Qian froze. Was this the crybaby Yu Shaoling?

Hesitantly, she asked, “You… remembered?”

Muffled against her chest, the girl nodded. “I remembered everything. Even the memory from that night, when you pulled me from the sea onto the shore—it all came back.”