Chapter 66

The woman stopped breathing more than a hundred nautical miles from land. Lin Feng gazed at her pale face and gently took the tiny human infant from her arms.

The infant had been burning with fever for several days, and being so young, spent most of the time asleep, rarely opening her eyes.

The moment Lin Feng cradled her, the infant began to whimper and cry. Startled, Lin Feng mimicked the woman’s motions, patting the little one’s back. But she was no mother, and the infant’s cries soon turned her entire body pink with distress.

Humans were fragile creatures, yet their voices rang out loud and clear.

Lin Feng looked troubled at the sniffling child in her arms. The infant opened her eyes, grabbed Lin Feng’s hair, and buried her face against her shoulder, calling out helplessly for “Mama.”

She must have been missing her mother.

Lin Feng held the child close, swaying gently with the ocean waves as she hummed a lullaby from the mermaid clans, composed to soothe baby mermaids. After a while, the infant quieted in the melody and drifted off to sleep.

Lin Feng continued humming softly as she swam toward the shore with the child in her arms, determined to entrust her to the humans on land.

That was the first time Lin Feng laid eyes on Shen Qingming—a name she would later hear more than any other from the lips of her fellow mermaids…

When Zhao Shuqing returned, her face was grim. Night had fully fallen, and the oceanarium, which typically closed at five in the afternoon, stood empty of visitors, leaving only the staff behind.

Wen Xiaoying spotted her and waved cheerfully. “Shuqing, you’re finally back.”

Zhao Shuqing nodded. “Where’s Lin Feng?”

“She’s been down in the dumps since you left—not her usual self at all. She should be resting in her room now,” Wen Xiaoying replied.

“Down in the dumps?” Zhao Shuqing headed toward Lin Feng’s room as she asked, “What made her mood sour? Did she eat lunch?”

“Nope.” Wen Xiaoying shrugged innocently. “She had no appetite for the meal you prepared, and she turned down the fresh stuff we made too. Skipped dinner as well. Looks like she’s holding out for you—if you don’t come back, she won’t eat.”

Zhao Shuqing’s gaze darkened slightly. She nodded and said, “Got it. I’ll go check on her.”

The gate wasn’t locked. Zhao Shuqing pushed it open with ease.

The room looked just as it always did. Lin Feng lay draped over the edge of the pool, her long tail trailing behind her, pale hair spilling from her shoulders. Hearing the noise, she stirred from her nap, her lashes fluttering as she awoke and met Zhao Shuqing’s eyes.

“Were you sleeping?” Zhao Shuqing approached and dipped her hand into the pool water. It felt a bit cool.

The weather had started cooling off lately. Though the oceanarium’s water systems maintained a constant temperature, Zhao Shuqing still worried that Lin Feng might catch a chill if she lingered too long. Her body was far too precious these days for any risk of illness.

“Too cold,” Zhao Shuqing said, ruffling Lin Feng’s hair. “Dry off and come on up. Time to head home.”

Lin Feng, still groggy from sleep, stared blankly at Zhao Shuqing for a long moment before extending her slender white arms, hooking them around her neck, and pulling her into a hug.

“Sorry…” Lin Feng mumbled into Zhao Shuqing’s shoulder.

Zhao Shuqing blinked in surprise and patted her back gently. “Out of the blue like that—what’s there to apologize for?”

Lin Feng shook her head, eyes downcast, and tightened her hold.

If only her judgment back then had been more decisive, Zhao Shuqing might not have lost her family. Perhaps both of them could have been saved.

Seeing Lin Feng refuse to let go, Zhao Shuqing recalled Wen Xiaoying’s words about her low spirits all day. Guessing it was just a bad mood, she grabbed a clean towel from nearby, gave Lin Feng a quick wipe-down, and lifted her from the pool.

Lin Feng seemed to snap out of it then. Placed in the chair, she looked a touch embarrassed but still clung tightly to Zhao Shuqing, like a child throwing a sleepy tantrum.

With no other choice, Zhao Shuqing held her while drying her off, then wrapped a towel around her tail. She leaned down and asked, “Wen Xiaoying said you haven’t eaten all day. Why not? Not hungry?”

Lin Feng rested her head on Zhao Shuqing’s shoulder and murmured weakly, “Hungry.”

“Then why didn’t you eat?” Zhao Shuqing asked with a chuckle.

“Missed you,” Lin Feng said. “Can’t eat if I can’t see you.”

Zhao Shuqing sometimes wondered if such pure confessions were a blessing or a curse. Lin Feng’s sweet words came so effortlessly—as if she weren’t the little fish Zhao Shuqing had patiently taught to speak, but some seductive sea queen reeling in her inexperienced catch.

She looked down at the girl in her arms with a mix of exasperation and amusement, sighing softly. “You…”

After giving Lin Feng a quick bath, Zhao Shuqing ordered some takeout. By the time it arrived, Lin Feng was settled in her wheelchair.

“What’s this?” Lin Feng eyed the takeout container, eyeing the neatly rolled pieces wrapped in something like dried seaweed.

“Sushi.” Zhao Shuqing tucked a blanket around her. “You’ve had it before. Forgot?”

Lin Feng had a vague memory of it. She picked up a piece of salmon sushi, examined it, then held it to Zhao Shuqing’s lips. “You first.”

The soft salmon brushed Zhao Shuqing’s mouth. She glanced up at Lin Feng and took the bite, her lips grazing Lin Feng’s chilly fingertips.

Zhao Shuqing pulled out a napkin to wipe her hand, then fetched disposable gloves from the delivery bag.

“Don’t want you getting messy.” She slipped them on, but Lin Feng’s sharp nails promptly poked holes in all five fingertips. Zhao Shuqing couldn’t help but laugh, though she figured it was still cleaner than nothing.

“Eat a couple to tide you over,” she said, fitting a hat on Lin Feng’s head. “I’ll cook when we get home.”

“Okay.” Lin Feng poked at the crinkly plastic bag on her lap, clearly amused by the noise.

After saying goodbye to Wen Xiaoying and the others, Zhao Shuqing wheeled Lin Feng out of the oceanarium. On the drive back, she decided to broach a certain topic.

The night breeze scattered the day’s lingering heat, lifting Lin Feng’s light hair. Strands danced in the air, occasionally brushing Zhao Shuqing’s hand like a teasing caress.

Zhao Shuqing cleared her throat. “Lin Feng.”

Lin Feng looked up, her eyes questioning.

“I want to spend more time looking after Teacher Shen lately,” Zhao Shuqing said. “I never had parents growing up, so he’s like family to me. Now that he’s sick and has no one to care for him, I just thought…”

Lin Feng wasn’t surprised by Zhao Shuqing’s words. She hugged the glass fish tank in her lap, lowering her head to watch Nemo darting in and out of the sea anemone. She knew she lacked the power to change what was happening.

Humans believed in fate, and Lin Feng felt herself starting to as well.

From the day she met Zhao Shuqing’s mother.

From delivering the infant Zhao Shuqing into Shen Qingming’s hands.

From being cast before humans as “bait.”

From falling in love with Zhao Shuqing.

It all felt predestined.

“Do what you want,” Lin Feng said softly, her voice cool as she gazed at Nemo. “I won’t stop you anymore.”

Zhao Shuqing met her eyes deeply and murmured a quiet “Mm.”

Over the next few days, Zhao Shuqing made a point of visiting the hospital during her lunch breaks.

The new caregiver, Brother Chen, was a bit stoic but strong and attentive. He wiped Shen Qingming down morning and night.

Shen Qingming had started off dazed, mumbling nonsense and barely recognizing anyone, but he improved steadily. Within days, he could sit up on his own, and even his complexion had gained a healthy flush.

Zhao Shuqing sat by the bed, peeling an apple. Shen Qingming fixed his dark eyes on her and swallowed hard with an audible gulp.

“Smells delicious,” he said, staring intently.

Zhao Shuqing glanced up, meeting his gaze.

Lately, she’d noticed something off about Teacher Shen, even as he recovered. He was still himself, yet… different.

“Hungry?” Zhao Shuqing finished slicing the apple and set it on the bedside tray. “Brother Chen went to grab food from the cafeteria. It’ll be back soon. Have some apple to hold you over.”

Shen Qingming tore his eyes away and stared at the fruit. After a pause, as if struck by a memory, he said, “I remember—I used to love apples, especially ones with that crisp, crunchy texture. My favorite.”

Zhao Shuqing shot him a puzzled look. He picked up a toothpick, speared a slice, and popped it into his mouth.

“Mm, just like I love,” Shen Qingming said, his eyes sparkling as he turned to her. “Delicious.”

Zhao Shuqing forced a smile. Just then, Brother Chen returned with the meal. She took the container, and before she even opened it, the scent of fish fillet porridge wafted out.

Shen Qingming’s eyes lit up. “What’s that?”

“Fish fillet porridge.” Zhao Shuqing uncovered it. The cafeteria version wasn’t as good as her homemade, but it was passable.

She set the porridge in front of him, added the side dish, and handed over utensils.

Shen Qingming gripped the chopsticks, fumbling for a moment before they slipped and clattered to the floor with a sharp ting.

“Sorry.” He stared at the fallen sticks, pulling his lips into a stiff smile. “Could I get a spoon?”

The room fell quiet, filled only with their breathing.

Zhao Shuqing studied his rigid grin, and suddenly Yao Jiajia flashed in her mind—the little girl who’d gone missing at the oceanarium. Her smile had been just like that: stiff, like something newly learned.

The realization sent chills racing up Zhao Shuqing’s spine. Brother Chen, oblivious, fished a spoon from the bag and passed it over. Shen Qingming’s eyes brightened as he dug in.

He ate with refined poise, no different from before on the surface. But Zhao Shuqing could sense it: Shen Qingming had changed.

He no longer knew how to use chopsticks.

A chill gripped her heart. She caught a faint fishy tang in the air, permeating the entire room.

That’s when she spotted something shiny in the gap between the bed and the table. Bending down as if retrieving the chopsticks, she picked it up too.

It was no bigger than a fingernail, dry to the touch—clearly lost there for some time.

Zhao Shuqing recognized it at once: a fish scale.