Chapter Text
When the Scorpion's ship descends upon them in the night to capture Gu Xiang, Wen Kexing knows that someone on his crew has betrayed him. The Ghost King on his ghost ship is not known for showing mercy to those who cross him. The Ghost King, on this occasion, leaves none alive. This is how the story will be told later, under the cover of darkness, by men huddled in inns, nursing drinks.
The truth is that there are some who survive Wen Kexing's rage, but only those he knows he can absolutely trust. Only those women he had been told would be unlucky to bring aboard his ship. They live, not enough of them to crew the ship, even, and how they get to shore from there will never be truly known. They abandon the ghost ship, piled high with the bodies of its former crew, off the nearest coast, and never return to her.
Zhao Jing has stolen from Wen Kexing, and so Wen Kexing decides to steal something from him, in turn. He will retrieve his A-Xiang, his sister, his daughter, the only family he has ever known, in time. It cannot be rushed, he knows. There is only one place Zhao Jing will take her, and Wen Kexing is without so much as a full crew, let alone a ship, let alone the knowledge of how to get there.
While Luo Fumeng takes The Ghost's remnants to lick their wounds and regroup, Wen Kexing breaks into one of Zhao Jing's strongholds. One man has a simple enough time slipping over the wall, through the gardens, past the main buildings, to where an incongruous body of saltwater sits. It is manmade, with a pretty bridge crossing the distance from one edge to the other. In the dark of night, it looks almost bottomless, which Wen Kexing knows to be untrue, and also surprisingly not that far from the truth. This body of water goes much deeper than anyone would believe, after all.
He strips down to just his trousers and hides his clothes in the nearest bush, before lowering himself soundlessly into the water. Once it reaches his neck, he takes a deep breath, and dives down into its depths. The salt stings his eyes as he opens them, but Wen Kexing was raised in the bosom of the sea and so he does not so much as blink. The harder part is adjusting to the darkness, which only grows the further down he swims. The hardest part is the lack of oxygen. No man could swim so far down without a breathing apparatus of some kind, which is why Zhao Jing had been so confident in leaving guards posted only on the outside of the buildings. Zhao Jing is, of course, deeply mistaken in this belief.
What belongs to the sea is of the sea, and though this water has been cut off from its source, it remembers still. Wen Kexing was born in the cradle of her waves, rocked to sleep at night by the tide rushing against the shore. Wen Kexing, who could swim before he could walk, has cut his teeth on her terrible storms, mercurial moods; her deep, dark depths. Wen Kexing is as much salt water as he is man, and what is of the sea belongs to the sea.
His breath holds. He makes it into the underground cave system, coming up into the light with a gasp. There, on the cave shore, is a very startled mermaid. His tail, half in the water, is a magnificent, powerful thing, scales catching in the light. As Wen Kexing swims closer, ignoring the alarmed shout, he realises that parts of his tail do not shimmer, devoid of scales, several ugly, raised scars bisecting the upper area in a criss-cross pattern. Harpoon scars, most likely, although Wen Kexing cannot know for certain. His fins, too, which must once have been whole are jagged and drooping, tips charred with fin rot. The mermaid quite clearly has not been well looked after, obviously malnourished, the ladder of his ribs visible even from a distance.
But, oh, he is nevertheless beautiful. He draws himself up, hair like a waterfall of ink cascading down over his shoulders, long enough to frame his pale, slender waist. But it is his face that holds the true beauty. Eyes like the deepest, darkest parts of the ocean, lashes a soot spill against porcelain cheeks, look back at Wen Kexing with mistrust and outright hostility. Similarly, the mermaid’s plush mouth is twisted up in a scowl, eyebrows drawn down with it. His cheekbones could, Wen Kexing thinks somewhat absently, cut glass.
"Who the fuck are you?" the mermaid demands as Wen Kexing's feet touch the ground and he starts to wade towards the shore. The mermaid looks poised to dive into the water at any moment, which is understandable, so he slows to a halt, water just above his waist.
"I've come to rescue you," Wen Kexing says with a pleasant, reassuring smile. It's not hard to be pleasant in the face of such beauty. He puts his hands together and bows, low enough for his nose to touch the surface of the water. "I am Wen. Wen Kexing."
The mermaid glowers at him and his face is no less captivating for it. "Rescue me," he echoes, voice flat, disbelief obvious. Wen Kexing does not blame him for being mistrustful of him, of course. He’d be concerned if he were met with anything else.
"Yes. Zhao Jing holds you captive here, does he not?"
He needn't ask. The giant iron collar around the mermaid's neck is an answer all its own. Clearly, the mermaid thinks similarly, and he snorts unattractively.
"I see you have functioning eyes," he says scathingly.
"May I know your name?" Wen Kexing asks instead of rising to it.
The mermaid looks a little taken aback at this. "My name," he echoes, this time doubtfully.
"Yes. You have me at a disadvantage now that you know mine and I do not know yours."
The surprise recedes as quickly as the tide from the shore, to be replaced with scorn once again. "I have you at a disadvantage?" the mermaid asks.
Wen Kexing doesn't bother to hide his amusement. "Ah, a poor choice of words. I apologise, of course," he says, bowing again.
The mermaid's tail flicks against the water in a manner not dissimilar to that of a displeased cat. "I suppose you expect me to go with you?" he says. "I don't know if you've noticed, but we're cut off from the sea here, and I cannot walk on land."
"Yes, I'm aware," Wen Kexing says. "May I come closer? If you don't want to trust me to get you out of here, I'll understand, but since I've come this far, you might as well let me free you of that collar, hm?"
The mermaid bristles at the mention of it, tail flicking in the water with enough force to send water droplets over Wen Kexing, even as far away as he is. There's a long, pregnant pause as Wen Kexing waits for him to relent.
"Alright," the mermaid says, at last. He doesn’t sound happy about it, but Wen Kexing hadn’t really expected him to.
"Thank you," Wen Kexing says and nevertheless approaches slowly. He knows how dangerous a wild animal becomes when cornered, after all. He knows exactly how powerful that tail is, too. Which is why he puts himself directly in its path as he comes closer to the mermaid, pausing only a short distance away.
"May I?" he asks again, gesturing toward the mermaid and the giant piece of iron around his neck.
The mermaid gives another irritated flick of his tail and then moves his hair back out of the way, baring his throat to Wen Kexing. It should be intimate, but Wen Kexing can see how tightly he is coiled and knows how easily he might gut Wen Kexing like a fish. He is certain there is a weapon hidden by the curve of his body, close to his hand.
Wen Kexing has no intentions of being killed in this cave, by this mermaid, so he moves slowly closer, telegraphing his movements the entire time. Up close, the cruelty of the collar is clear; the skin around it is blistered and red raw, huge welts raised around the edges. As he watches, a small trickle of fresh blood wells up and spills over, pooling in the dip of the mermaid's collarbone. It is exactly the sort of thing Wen Kexing might expect from Zhao Jing who, unsatisfied with simply cutting the mermaid off from the sea, has also made his ownership plain.
The heavy collar is attached to an equally heavy chain, which itself is attached to a mechanism. At present, it is wound fairly tight, enough slack for the mermaid to dive into the water, but not enough for him to leave the cave. Wen Kexing is sure that when Zhao Jing wants to see him, there is enough slack for the mermaid to do so. But still, the collar alone is heavy, he cannot imagine what swimming under the combined weight of the collar and the chain must be like. Likely, it leaves the mermaid weakened, if not exhausted, which is the point. With Zhao Jing, Wen Kexing knows all too well, the cruelty is always the point.
Fortunately, the locking mechanism on the collar is nevertheless fairly simple, easy enough to pick with the tools Wen Kexing has brought with him. He pulls them out of the pouch at his hip and says to the mermaid, "I'm going to pick the lock now. Try to hold still."
The mermaid looks at him as though he doubts this, but nevertheless stays motionless, which Wen Kexing takes as permission to proceed. It is, in the end, laughably easy to undo the lock, which opens with an audible crunch. Wen Kexing puts his picks to one side and then carefully eases the two halves of the collar from the mermaid's neck, to the sound of a sharp, pained, inhalation.
When he looks up, the mermaid's gaze is wide, shocked, and perhaps almost fearful. His expression shutters quickly as Wen Kexing looks at him, though, to be replaced by something purposefully blank. Wen Kexing does not mention it, and instead shifts his gaze back to the mermaid's neck. "I have something that will help with that," he says, pulling the medicinal plants he'd prepared from his pouch.
The mermaid all but snatches them from Wen Kexing, cool hand brushing against Wen Kexing's own. "Where did you get this?" he asks, accusingly.
It is a plant found only in the very deepest depths of the ocean, Wen Kexing knows, and its medicinal properties are not widely known. But what is of the sea belongs to the sea, and she provides for her own. "The ocean," Wen Kexing says, knowing the mermaid already knows this. He does not elaborate further, holding out his hand. "May I?"
The mermaid looks at him, gaze sharp, but then slowly hands the plants back. Wen Kexing stuffs it all into his mouth and begins to chew. The mermaid watches him warily as Wen Kexing next pulls a small flask from his pouch. He slowly, gently, takes the mermaid’s hand, pouring a little of the contents into it to show him what it is. It is fresh saltwater from one of the healing pools nearby; Wen Kexing had stopped there on his way, purposefully, to collect it. The mermaid is clearly suspicious about how he had known to obtain the water, too, but he gives a slow nod of his head, which Wen Kexing takes as his assent.
He spits the first wad of mashed up plant, endlessly bitter against his tongue, into his palm, before using his free hand to start gently tipping the water over the mermaid’s throat. It will not heal wounds so old, but it can heal the surface damage, at least, wash away any impurities to ensure the mermaid’s wounds do not become infected. The mermaid tenses as the water pours over him, though he makes no noise, shows no pain in his expression. Wen Kexing knows it must be painful, though.
“Almost done,” he murmurs, though the mermaid asked for no reassurance. He uses up the last of the water and then stuffs some more of the healing plant into his mouth, chewing on it as he begins to smooth the first batch onto the mermaid’s neck with gentle, careful fingers. They sit together like that in silence, interspersed only with the sounds of Wen Kexing spitting the plant into his palm, the gentle lapping of the water against the rocks.
To access the back of the mermaid’s neck, Wen Kexing has to shift behind him, gaze travelling down the length of his spine, each knob visible, much like the ladder of his ribcage. He is so very skinny, skin a little waxy from malnourishment. Wen Kexing allows himself to feel angry about it as he continues to gently apply the medicinal plant to the mermaid’s neck, but says nothing of it to him.
When he is finished, he stands and goes back over to the water to wash the plant residue from his hands. “We will need to give it five minutes or so to set,” he tells the mermaid as he does so, “and then, if you find it agreeable, we may leave.”
When he turns back around, he finds the mermaid watching him with his dark, clever eyes. “And how do you plan to get me over land?” he asks.
Ah. Wen Kexing has been waiting for this. “I cannot tell you until we go up,” he says, apologetically. “I would, but you see, I am not inclined to die down here, and you’d almost certainly kill me for it.”
The mermaid’s eyes flash and Wen Kexing can see the curiosity in him, no matter how carefully blank his face remains. “That isn’t much incentive for me to trust you then, is it?” he says dryly.
“I have been honest with you about it. Does that not count for anything?”
“I have no means of knowing whether or not you are honest, Wen Kexing.” The mermaid sneers his name, like an insult, a barb on his tongue.
Wen Kexing finds he does not mind very much. He gestures towards the mermaid’s hair and says, “May I?”
The mermaid narrows his eyes at him. “What?” he asks, brusquely.
“Your hair will get in the way on land,” Wen Kexing explains.
“That’s very presumptuous of you.”
“I am offering you something nobody else has.”
“You think you’re the first?” the mermaid scoffs, giving a sharp, jagged sort of laugh.
Wen Kexing waits until it has petered out to say, “I think I’m the first to come this far.”
The mermaid rolls his eyes. “How do you think I got the collar? It was not this way from the start.”
“And since the collar?” Wen Kexing presses.
He earns another eyeroll for this. The mermaid is silent a moment before straightening up a little. “Fine,” he all but snaps. “But keep your hands to yourself.”
“I wouldn’t dream of doing anything else,” Wen Kexing lies, crossing slowly back over to kneel down in the sand beside him. He runs his hands through the mermaid’s hair, which trickles through his fingers like water, the sensation much like silk, before starting to braid it.
As he works, the mermaid says to him, “Why are you doing this?”
Wen Kexing already knows he will be truthful about it, but still gives himself a moment to think as his hands work, deft and sure, through the mermaid’s hair. “Zhao Jing took something of mine,” he says eventually, “so I’m taking something of his in turn.”
“You want a bargaining chip then,” the mermaid surmises. It is not a bad guess, and were Wen Kexing any other man, he might, in fact, be correct. But Wen Kexing knows that his A-Xiang is far more valuable than this mermaid. He knows that Zhao Jing plays dirty. Wen Kexing is not fool enough to think he could bargain with him and win, not when Zhao Jing has every advantage.
“No,” he says, “I’m simply liberating you from him.”
The mermaid tenses beneath his hands. “I’m expected to believe that you mean to let me go free?”
“I do not expect you to believe it,” Wen Kexing corrects. “But yes, you’ll have your freedom. I am not Zhao Jing, nor am I a man like him.”
“You should not make promises you do not intend to keep,” the mermaid says darkly.
Wen Kexing says pleasantly, “If I break this promise, you have my permission to kill me.”
“I do not need your permission.”
“No, but you have it anyway,” Wen Kexing tells him. He twists together the last of the mermaid’s hair, tying it off with a piece of twine. It is not his neatest braid, but he had been trying to keep the hair away from the mermaid’s neck, while gathering as much of it as possible up out of the way. It is practical, then, at the very least. Wen Kexing stands and moves back, sitting down again a reasonable distance away. The mermaid visibly relaxes, ever so slightly, at this.
“If he took what was yours,” the mermaid says as he examines the braid, “why not simply take it back?”
“I intend to,” Wen Kexing says as he watches him. “But it is no simple matter. So in the meantime, I seek a little revenge.”
The mermaid looks up at him, meeting his gaze. They both know already that he will take what Wen Kexing is offering. The reward far outweighs the risk, after all. Even a false freedom at Wen Kexing’s hand would be preferable to staying as he is, Wen Kexing knows. But he does not blame the mermaid for being cautious, for asking questions, for wanting to understand a little of the man sitting beside him.
“What he has taken is very precious to you,” the mermaid says, unexpectedly.
Wen Kexing inclines his head. “Yes,” he says simply.
“I won’t help you,” the mermaid tells him.
“I am not asking you to.”
“But you will.”
“Perhaps.”
“You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t want something from me,” the mermaid says. He sees perhaps too much. Wen Kexing does not have the luxury to be upset about it, despite how uncomfortable it makes him. The mermaid is not wrong, after all. He would do anything he had to in order to get A-Xiang back. Stealing Zhao Jing’s mermaid had been an easy enough decision to make. They have known about him for some time; A-Xiang had wanted to rescue him, in fact, and Wen Kexing finds he regrets now that he had not agreed to it.
“Taking you from him is a good enough start, don’t you think?” he says, instead of agreeing with the mermaid’s assessment.
The mermaid rolls his eyes and says nothing. If he were a better man, if he had more tact, he would not ask, but Wen Kexing is not and he does not, so he says, “How long have you been here?”
The mermaid looks briefly shocked, gaze snapping back up to meet Wen Kexing’s own, before his mouth twists up in another scowl. “Three years,” he says, voice hard.
Wen Kexing says softly, “I am sorry.”
“Then you should not have asked,” the mermaid replies. He believes Wen Kexing is sorry that he asked, which he is not, and not that he is sorry the mermaid has been held captive for so long, which he is. Wen Kexing does not endeavour to correct him.
Instead, he stands and brushes the sand from his hands. “We may leave now,” he says.
“After you,” the mermaid says with a sardonic, sweeping hand gesture toward the only exit. Wen Kexing does not allow himself to dwell too much on how easy it will be for the mermaid to overpower him in the water. Turning his back on the mermaid is therefore the least of his worries, so he wades back into the water, swimming out as far as he can without going under, before pausing to look back at the mermaid expectantly.
The mermaid slips into the water gracefully, creating barely a ripple as he comes up behind Wen Kexing. “There shouldn’t be any guards,” Wen Kexing says, “but it would be best if you waited until I confirm as much. That way, if anything goes wrong, you won’t be implicated.”
The mermaid gazes back at him and says, surprised, “You don’t have any breathing apparatus?”
“I do not need it,” Wen Kexing tells him, before taking a deep breath and diving down under the water. It stings his eyes as he opens them to find the mermaid right there beside him, tail shimmering as it catches the last of the light.
His breath holds, of course. As they come out of the cave system, the mermaid surprises him by taking hold of his waist and propelling them both to the top of the pond at a much faster rate than Wen Kexing is able to swim. He lets go before they reach the surface, nodding to Wen Kexing, who ever so slowly and carefully raises his head above the water. As expected, there are no guards in sight or even within hearing.
He breaks the surface fully, gesturing the mermaid up. The mermaid follows a moment later, looking at Wen Kexing curiously. Wen Kexing holds a finger to his lips, climbing out of the water and then heading over to his hidden clothing. He shrugs his shirt back on, then pulls his boots on too. It’s inelegant, given how wet he still is, but he does not have time to worry about that. He extracts the pearl from the heel of his boot, before heading back over to the water.
The mermaid takes one look at it, eyes narrowing, and says in a hiss, “Who the fuck are you?”
Wen Kexing whispers, “Take it.”
“It is not mine,” the mermaid hisses, offended, eyes shining in the dark.
Wen Kexing wades part way into the water and holds his hand out towards the mermaid. “I know,” he whispers. “You are just borrowing it. Quickly, before we are caught.”
The mermaid looks at him, deeply unhappy, before finally, finally, reaching out and taking the pearl. His hand, as it brushes Wen Kexing’s, is cool and damp. He glares at Wen Kexing, before putting the pearl in his mouth and crushing it with his teeth. Between one instant and the next, the mermaid’s tail vanishes, replaced instead by legs. He swims as close to Wen Kexing as he can get, but then immediately stumbles as he tries to get his new legs under him.
Wen Kexing rushes forward to catch him, lifting him up into his arms and ignoring the muted sound of protest that follows. “Put me the fuck down,” the mermaid hisses against his ear, struggling.
“We don’t have time for you to learn how to walk here,” Wen Kexing whispers reasonably as he strides back over to the bushes. Bending down, he collects his jacket, covering the already shivering mermaid with it. “Here,” he says, softly. “Let’s go.”
“Fuck you,” the mermaid hisses, but stops struggling as he snuggles down under the jacket and into Wen Kexing’s arms. His eyes glint in the dark as Wen Kexing glances down at him.
He really is the most beautiful creature Wen Kexing has ever laid eyes on.
They make it back to the ocean without incident. The closer they’d gotten, the more agitated the mermaid had become, until he’d snapped at Wen Kexing to move faster. Wen Kexing, amused, had obliged. Now, he gently lowers the mermaid into the waiting rowboat, before pushing off from the shore with his foot.
“I can swim,” the mermaid says, jacket slipping down to pool in his lap as he reaches over the side of the boat to trail his hand in the water.
“There are traps,” Wen Kexing says as he begins to row. “The kind a pretty mermaid could easily be caught in.”
The mermaid’s head snaps up, eyes narrowed as he looks at Wen Kexing. “I'm not a fool,” he says sharply.
“I do not believe you to be,” Wen Kexing says, holding his gaze placidly.
The mermaid looks away first, returning his gaze to the water rushing below them. The sea rises up to meet the bow of the boat, breaking against it eagerly as they push through the waves. The water is as calm as can be. Wen Kexing had chosen the night well, the moon but a tiny silver sliver in the sky, leaving nothing to illuminate them as they make their way out into the open ocean.
It does not take long. Wen Kexing has long practice at this sort of thing, after all, and his arms barely feel the ache as he stops rowing. From where they sit, the town behind them is made up of tiny pinpricks of light. The few boats in the harbour blot out most of the buildings. Wen Kexing looks back at the land for a moment, before turning his attention to the mermaid.
He does not wait for Wen Kexing’s permission, slipping soundlessly over the side of the boat and into the water. Between one instant and the next, the mermaid shifts, legs to tail, spitting the pearl out into his palm. He leans over the edge of the boat, offering it to Wen Kexing, who shakes his head.
“Keep it,” he says. “You’ll have more need of it than I.”
“It’s not mine,” the mermaid says, jaw clenched stubbornly.
“The person it belongs to is long dead,” Wen Kexing tells him.
Stubbornness dissolves into shock. “What? How do you know that?”
“Because I killed him myself.”
The mermaid looks at him for a long, drawn out moment, gaze completely unreadable. Wen Kexing waits him out. Eventually, he retracts his hand and says, “Zhou Xu.”
“Sorry?” Wen Kexing says, caught off guard for once.
“My name,” Zhou Xu says.
“Zhou Xu,” Wen Kexing repeats, testing the feel of it in his mouth. “Thank you.”
“Don’t,” Zhou Xu says, scowling. “What do you want of me?”
“Nothing.”
“So I could swim away now and that would be that?” Zhou Xu asks, gaze sharp, knowing, even in the dark.
“Yes,” Wen Kexing says, and finds himself forced to dart forward to catch Zhou Xu’s hand as he starts to push off from the edge of the boat. The look Zhou Xu turns on him is infinitely smug. Wen Kexing lets go of him, lets him settle the rocking of the boat as he waits, expectantly, for Wen Kexing to say his piece.
“You are free to go,” Wen Kexing says eventually, stalling, “but I would ask something of you.”
Zhou Xu rolls his eyes. “I know,” he says, and then looks a little surprised as Wen Kexing reaches for him again and begins to transfer his spiritual energy into him. “What are you doing?” he asks. He doesn’t pull away.
“You’re weak,” Wen Kexing says. “I am giving you a fighting chance.”
“A fighting chance against what, exactly?” Zhou Xu asks, tense beneath Wen Kexing’s hold.
“I will not hold you to it, you understand,” Wen Kexing says.
“Wen Kexing,” Zhou Xu snaps, annoyed. “Spit it out.”
“Zhao Jing’s hideout—”
“I don’t know where it is,” Zhou Xu interrupts, “and I won’t take you there.”
“I know,” Wen Kexing says, “and I am not asking you to.”
“What, then, are you asking of me?” Zhou Xu asks warily.
“If anyone could find out where it is without alerting him, it’s you,” Wen Kexing says. “I only need coordinates. I would not ask anything more than that.”
“You think that’s where he took the thing he stole from you?”
“I know it is,” Wen Kexing says, and does not look up as he continues to concentrate on feeding his spiritual energy into the mermaid.
“It would be a suicide mission, even if I could tell you where it is,” Zhou Xu says after a short pause.
Wen Kexing has no choice but to look up at him, then. He does not hide his surprise at this statement. “Perhaps,” he allows, “but I will go there one way or another, with or without your help.”
Zhou Xu looks at him for a long moment, gaze searching. “What could possibly be worth that much?”
“Your pearl will probably be there too,” Wen Kexing says, instead of answering.
Zhou Xu surprises him again by shaking his head. “No, Zhao Jing does not have it.”
Wen Kexing raises his eyebrows. “Then who does?”
“That’s none of your business.”
Zhou Xu is right, of course, but Wen Kexing finds himself bristling anyway. He cannot blame Zhou Xu for assuming his motives are selfish, or suspect; likely both. But now it’s too late to admit that he had simply been planning to return the pearl to Zhou Xu, if Zhao Jing had had it. It would seem like a lie, despite the fact that it’s the truth.
“Will you help me or not?” Wen Kexing asks as he stops the transfer of energy, letting go of Zhou Xu’s hand. He could swim away now and they would never have to see one another again, Wen Kexing knows. He can see it in Zhou Xu’s gaze as he looks back at him, the way he’s clearly thinking the same thing.
“How would I contact you?” Zhou Xu asks.
Wen Kexing draws a small waterproof map out of his pouch and offers it to Zhou Xu. “I will be here. Look for this sign,” at this he points it out on the map, “and you’ll be able to find me, or one of my girls. They’ll know to look out for you.”
Zhou Xu takes the map and then holds Wen Kexing’s gaze for several beats too long. “I’ll think about it,” he says, before pushing off from the edge of the boat and disappearing down into the water’s depths without waiting for an answer.
“I’ll be waiting,” Wen Kexing calls out into the dark, and sits in his little boat for a short while, gently cradled by the ocean’s waves, before turning to make his way back to shore.
*
The makeshift shipyard shimmers under the heavy heat of the sun. Wen Kexing, sweat trickling down his spine, lounges on the ground beneath a sail repurposed as shade, peach juice dripping down his chin. His thin shirt sticks to every inch of skin it touches, trousers as unpleasantly slick with sweat. Everything, in this kind of heat, feels wet. Everything sweats, even his peach, which had been threatening to burst from its own skin before he’d taken his teeth to it.
Their new ship sits a short distance away, half finished, built from the bones of The Ghost. Wen Kexing had not wanted to salvage parts from a ship that had never truly been his, a legacy he had never asked for, but practicality had won out in the end. Luo Fumeng had stared him down until he had relented, in fact, because she had seen sense where Wen Kexing had not. We do not have the time, she had said, nor the funds. Unfortunately, she was right.
Wen Kexing is the only one among them mad enough to venture out into the heat of the day to continue working on the ship. He is, perhaps, the only one among them who cannot be idle. Manic energy has been building beneath his skin ever since A-Xiang was taken, and it has only mounted with time. There is no release for it that Wen Kexing can find. It keeps him tossing and turning restlessly at night, pacing back and forth back and forth back and forth during the day. The only way to quiet the buzz is to wear his body out so thoroughly that it has no choice but to submit. Building a ship has offered him this much, at least.
He is alone on the beach until he is not, a body coming to block out the sun as it stands before the entrance to his shadowy little hideaway. Wen Kexing tilts his head back and looks up, momentarily blinded by the sun, unable to make out a face as he squints up at the person. It takes several long moments for the face to resolve itself, spots dancing across his eyes as Wen Kexing jolts into a sitting position.
“Zhou Xu,” he says, surprised by how breathless he sounds.
“Move over,” Zhou Xu says, a dry command, and then waits impatiently for Wen Kexing to scramble over to one side. It’s not a particularly large space, carved out intentionally for one, but still Zhou Xu folds himself gracefully into the gap Wen Kexing has left for him.
Wen Kexing blinks several times, rapidly. “What are you doing here?” he all but blurts, unable to help himself as he takes in the sight of him. Zhou Xu is both exactly the same as Wen Kexing remembers him, ethereally beautiful still, and also completely changed. His skin no longer has that sunken, waxen quality to it, and although he is dressed, Wen Kexing can see that he is not so painfully skinny any more. He looks the picture of health, in fact, cheeks flushed from the heat of the day, a little tanned from the sun. It suits him, Wen Kexing thinks.
“Looking for you,” Zhou Xu says, the obviously very heavily implied.
Wen Kexing allows his mouth to split into a wide grin. “A-Xu, I’m flattered,” he teases.
Zhou Xu rolls his eyes. “You kept your word,” he says.
“Did I?” Wen Kexing asks, wrong-footed. He doesn’t remember making the mermaid any promises, and he feels certain that he would, if he had.
“In the cave,” Zhou Xu says, “you promised me my freedom.”
Oh, that. Wen Kexing waves him away. “It was nothing,” he says breezily. He sees his mistake as soon as he makes it, but it’s too late by then.
“It was not nothing to me,” Zhou Xu says sharply, jaw clenching.
“No, of course not,” Wen Kexing soothes hurriedly, sitting up a little straighter.
Zhou Xu huffs, then looks away as he says, “You have juice on your chin.”
Wen Kexing, delighted to be so distracted from his mistake, leans in and says, “Would you like to help clean it off?”
Of course it’s enough to goad Zhou Xu into looking back at him, eyes dark and sharp, brows pinched with annoyance. He shoves Wen Kexing in the shoulder, hard. “Fuck off,” he says, which only makes Wen Kexing laugh as he rocks back from the force of it.
“Have you ever had a peach before?” Wen Kexing asks, holding up the half eaten peach to show him, juice dripping down his fingers.
“What kind of fucking question is that?” Zhou Xu asks. “Of course I’ve had a peach before.”
“Well, would you like a bite?” Wen Kexing asks, undeterred, holding it out towards him.
He expects Zhou Xu to decline, or perhaps to take the peach from him. Instead, after a long pause, holding eye contact, Zhou Xu leans the rest of the way forward, before slowly and purposefully taking a bite from the peach. Juice blossoms out over the edges, trickling down Zhou Xu’s chin and over Wen Kexing’s fingers.
Wen Kexing’s breath catches in his throat at the sight, and he finds his mouth suddenly and inexplicably dry. He had thought he was warm before, but now he’s so hot he’s certain he might actually burst into flames at any moment. Zhou Xu looks at him as though he knows exactly what kind of effect he is having, straightening up to lick the juice from his fingers so obscenely that Wen Kexing has to look away.
“Ah,” he says, then has to clear his throat. “A-Xu.” The sentence ends there, peach juice staining his trousers as it drips down onto them, Wen Kexing’s gaze caught on the half-finished hull of the ship as he purposefully does not look back at Zhou Xu, who is managing to radiate smugness.
“I heard a story while I was away,” Zhou Xu says, casually. Too casually, in fact, although Wen Kexing’s brain is so busy setting itself on fire that no alarm bells start ringing, although they should.
“What kind of story?” he asks, because he knows he is meant to, voice miraculously steady through no thanks to himself.
“I heard,” Zhou Xu starts slowly, “that the Scorpion has grown brave enough to steal even from the Ghost King.”
Wen Kexing, surprised and caught entirely off guard, starts slightly as he whips his head around to look at Zhou Xu. Zhou Xu’s sharp-eyed gaze meets his own and says that Wen Kexing’s reaction has already given him away. There is no need to pretend otherwise, Zhou Xu’s gaze seems to say, while his mouth twists up in wry amusement.
“Did you?” Wen Kexing asks weakly, after too much time has passed. He feels laid bare by the idea of Zhou Xu knowing who he is, what he is. He had not been held captive for long enough to have been sheltered from the tales of the Ghost King as Wen Kexing played him, after all.
Zhou Xu inclines his head. “Mhm,” he says. “I heard that the Ghost King has a siren, and the Scorpion took her from him.” He tilts his head to one side ever so slightly as he looks at Wen Kexing. “I heard that he slaughtered his entire crew for letting them take her.”
Wen Kexing, heart in his throat, finds that he is unable to say a word, just as he is equally unable to look away. Zhou Xu continues casually, “If the Scorpion has stolen her, then she belongs to Zhao Jing now, and there is only one place he would have taken her.”
Still, Wen Kexing says nothing, uncharacteristically at a loss for words. Zhou Xu reaches out, cool fingers brushing against Wen Kexing’s own as he plucks the peach from his loose grasp, biting into it a moment later. Peach juice drips down his chin once more, but Wen Kexing, who has gone cold all over, cannot focus on it.
It is one thing to be known by the world as a monster. It is another entirely to be revealed as one to someone he knows personally. Wen Kexing knows that some small, childish part of himself had held out hope that this acquaintance might become a friendship. It had been foolish, yes, but no more so than now, under the cold light of day. He knows, logically, that it is still stiflingly hot even within the shaded area in which they sit; he just cannot feel it anymore. It is foolish, too, he knows, to care what this mermaid thinks of him. Zhou Xu will, perhaps, possibly, maybe give him the coordinates he needs in order to rescue A-Xiang, and then he will leave, and they will never see one another again. Alternatively, he will not give Wen Kexing the coordinates he needs, and then he will leave, and they will never see one another again. However they get there, the destination remains the same.
“Captain Wen,” Zhou Xu says, surprising Wen Kexing. His voice is hard, gaze harder. “You said you were not like Zhao Jing.”
He had said that, hadn’t he?
“I am not,” Wen Kexing snaps before he can stop himself, then shuts his mouth with such force that his teeth audibly click.
“I suppose you think that holding a siren captive on your ship is in some way different to holding a mermaid captive in a cave,” Zhou Xu says icily.
“She wasn’t being held captive,” Wen Kexing spits. The idea makes him white hot with anger, which is, perhaps, an improvement over the chill that has so recently taken up residence in his blood.
Zhou Xu clearly does not believe him. “Go on,” he says.
Wen Kexing does not hesitate before saying, “She is my sister. She was part of my crew.”
“Your sister.” It is flat, still tinged with disbelief, although Wen Kexing thinks he may have caught surprise in Zhou Xu’s gaze, just for a split second. Zhou Xu is now the one with peach juice dripping onto his trousers. Wen Kexing watches as liquid soaks into the fabric, little wet patches forming.
“My ward. My younger sister. My—” his voice catches on the word, “daughter.” He is not sure, now, whether or not that is something he has ever spoken aloud. Luo Fumeng often refers to Wen Kexing as A-Xiang’s father, as do some of the others, behind his back. She has even called A-Xiang his daughter to his face, before now. But has Wen Kexing ever spoken it aloud? Has he ever dared allow the words out into the universe, from the tip of his own tongue?
Zhou Xu does look surprised now, Wen Kexing notes without satisfaction, and seems disinclined to bother to hide it. “She is not a blood relation then,” he says at last.
“No. We’re both orphans. I had already been pressed into service with the former Ghost King when I found her and took her in,” Wen Kexing says. He has never told this to anyone before, either. Those who needed to know had already known, because they had been there when it had happened. Nobody else had ever been important enough to tell.
Wen Kexing is not foolish enough to think that this means anything, of course. He is simply aware that he must tell the mermaid some version of the truth, enough of the truth, for him to give Wen Kexing the coordinates he needs. He will not do so if he thinks Wen Kexing is cut from the same cloth as Zhao Jing.
Zhou Xu looks at him consideringly for a moment. “Did you kill your entire crew?”
“No,” Wen Kexing says, because it is the truth, and then purposefully does not elaborate, because it is also a lie.
“I can take you to her,” Zhou Xu replies, wrong-footing Wen Kexing so much that his mouth drops open. He gapes for a moment, the exact image of a fish gasping for air, before getting hold of himself.
“Why?” he asks, then.
“There’s a reason nobody has ever found it before,” Zhou Xu says. “I was not his only mermaid.”
“No,” Wen Kexing says, “I mean, why would you do that? That was not our agreement.”
“Why are you questioning it when it’s in your favour?” Zhou Xu asks. He looks amused, Wen Kexing thinks, which makes him feel sour for some reason.
“Because there’s no reason you should do this for me.”
“Then you can rest easy knowing that I am not doing it for you,” Zhou Xu says.
“Why then?” Wen Kexing demands. He will not look a gift horse in the mouth, but he also will not make mistakes when it comes to A-Xiang’s life. It has always paid to be cautious in planning, Wen Kexing knows; then, when the time is right, if need be, you may be reckless. It is one of his greatest strengths, after all.
Zhou Xu finally seems to notice that the peach has been steadily dripping juice onto his trousers and takes another bite from it. Around his sticky mouthful, he says, “My reasons are my own. You don’t need to know why I’m helping you, only that I will.”
Wen Kexing does not like that assessment at all. “Are you asking me to trust you?” he asks, dubiously.
Zhou Xu takes another messy bite from the peach, nodding. “It would certainly seem that way.”
He finds that he does not like this answer any better. The flippancy is, he thinks, intended to grate on his nerves, and it does so admirably. He frowns as he thinks, watching Zhou Xu polish off the last of the peach. He wipes the back of his hand along his mouth, doing little to make himself less sticky, before sucking the peach pit clean and throwing it out into the sand. Wen Kexing watches it settle.
“That will attract ants,” he says, annoyed.
“Then I suppose you’ll have to pick it up before it does,” Zhou Xu says, unreasonably beautiful as he lounges back on his elbows, licking peach juice from his fingers.
Wen Kexing allows himself to watch this, before saying, “Who has your pearl?”
Zhou Xu looks up at him, sharply. “Why do you want to know?”
“You are asking me to trust you. I’m asking you to trust me in return,” Wen Kexing says reasonably. It is a fair exchange, one that is stacked in Zhou Xu’s favour, in fact, given their current situation.
He seems to be thinking much the same thing as he squints suspiciously at Wen Kexing. After a long pause, he says finally, “Prince Jin.”
Wen Kexing is not certain what he expected the answer to be exactly, but he is very certain that that was not it. He allows himself a moment to search Zhou Xu’s face for signs of dishonesty, and upon finding none, he echoes, “Prince Jin?”
Zhou Xu nods, once. “Yes.”
Clearly he has no intention of elaborating, which makes Wen Kexing all the more confident that he is telling the truth. If it is a ruse, it is a good one. If it is not a ruse, then Wen Kexing has his sign that he can trust the mermaid to take him to Zhao Jing’s hideout so that he can rescue A-Xiang.
Wen Kexing sighs theatrically and then says, “Alright, A-Xu, alright. You win. Of course I have no choice but to let you lead us there, if that is what you want.”
Zhou Xu surprises him by grinning; a flash of sharp teeth. “I know.”