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The Lunarescent Depths, the locals say, have never been very forgiving.

Yingxing grew up hearing the tales his uncle regaled him with. The stormy seas that could only be explored during the day, the monsters that lie in wait beneath the surface, the impenetrable waves that swallowed the ship his parents were returning on whole — after nearly three decades of having lived in the coastal village he calls home, Yingxing knows better than to play around when it comes to the ocean.

Still, even knowing the stories, even having the warnings engraved into the very marrow of his bones does not stop Yingxing from diving into the waves this night.

For all that the ocean takes, takes, and takes, it has the incredible capacity to give, too.

A mermaid scale. Consuming one single mermaid scale is said to have the power to heal any ailment, whether one is at death’s door from a boiling fever or severed limbs.

When he was young, Yingxing listened to the stories of mermaids with rapt attention, wondering just how creatures who were known to drag sailors overboard could have such a fantastical ability. As he grew older, those tales fell to the wayside. And with no one in the village having seen a mermaid for themselves and only the elders claiming to know anything of the creatures, Yingxing firmly believes that such stories serve only to entice the foolish to swim to their deaths.

Tonight, Yingxing is one of them.

If Jingliu knew ahead of time about his plans, Yingxing knows that she would have stopped him, not wanting to feel especially indebted to him because she sees Baiheng as her responsibility. If Jing Yuan knew ahead of time about his plans, Yingxing knows that he might have tagged along in order to save the woman he considers a mentor. If Baiheng knew ahead of time about what he is doing now, all for her sake, Yingxing knows that she would have miraculously recovered from the illness currently leaving her comatose so that she could smack him upside the head and yell at him for his recklessness.

And that is why nobody knows where Yingxing is, and why Yingxing is walking further and further down into the rocking waves of the Lunarescent Depths. Tonight, the moon shines high in the sky, and the tide is deceptively low; Yingxing likely only has a few hours, if that, to search the waters for what he needs before the ocean will return to crashing higher up along the shoreline.

For all the tales told of their deceptive beauty and the greatness of their scales, none of the stories held any information for how to actually find a mermaid.

Perhaps I do not need to come face to face with one, Yingxing thinks to himself, kneeling down on the sand and running his hands through the grains. If one has shed its scales and those scales washed up, then I can find one here.

“Long,” Yingxing says, clasping his hands together in prayer to the ocean god his village has long worshipped, “may you look upon my search today with pity and compassion, and may I find the scale of a mermaid so that my friend can wake up tomorrow with a smile on her face and many more years ahead of her.”

Yingxing bows then, pressing his forehead to the sand and biting back the doubt that creeps into his mind. Finding the scale of a creature he has never seen in his life in the countless grains of sand is an impossible task, but Yingxing is more stubborn than a cliffside.

Any hint of shine, any vague shimmer, Yingxing unearths from the sands. Bits of glass, scraps of metal fishing line, even long-lost rings — the pile of forgotten and discarded things grows, and grows, and grows. The ocean’s tides lap at his feet, and he is forced to take his search further up the shore to avoid the water. Yingxing finds scales aplenty, but they are obviously not those of a mermaid; even if he has never seen such creatures in his life, even if he doubts their existence, he has heard the tales.

“Scales so beautiful that you would think pieces of the moon fell from the sky,” his uncle once told him.

The water rushes up to wash away the trash and treasure Yingxing has pulled from its depths, and Yingxing is forced to decide between moving closer to land again or continue his search, even as the tides rise.

The moon’s reflection catches Yingxing’s eye, reminding him of just how long Baiheng has remained unresponsive and bedridden. Day by day, night by night, her skin grows ever sallow, and the skin underneath Jingliu’s eyes looks more like bruises than shadows.

Steeling himself and taking a deep breath, Yingxing rolls his shoulders back and looks into the ocean. The water by the village has always been stunningly clear, and tonight is no exception.

Yingxing has always been strong, and capable, and stubborn, and tonight is no exception.

Sounds, sights, and sensations are all dampened under water. Yingxing cards his fingers through the sand anyway, keeping his eyes open in hopes of spotting any hint of shine. The salt burns, and his lungs ache, forcing him to surface. Yingxing gasps, tasting the mercy of fresh air in gulps before forcing himself back into the water.

Yingxing does not know how many times he continues this cycle of breathe, dive, search, surface, repeat. It is difficult to tell which part of the ocean he has already searched; the waves, after all, are not conducive to staying in one place. On one of the times Yingxing surfaces for air, he looks back toward the shoreline and realizes the tides have taken him out much farther than he anticipated.

No matter. Once he finds a mermaid scale, he will swim back to shore, and walking back to Jingliu and Baiheng’s home will not take him long.

As if Long heard his prayers, a brilliant shine catches Yingxing’s eye, its light clearly visible even through the ripples of the waves.

Yingxing doesn’t think twice before diving back in.

There, nestled in the sand, is a scale roughly the size of a pocket watch, its iridescent glow shifting from silver to gold to a blue so rich in color that it rivals the ocean itself.

With hope in his heart, Yingxing swims closer, his arms outstretched. The rocking motion of the waves, disturbed by the movement of his limbs, pushes the scale just out of his grasp. Frustration fueling him now, Yingxing continues chasing the scale. Every time it seems that he will be able to grab it, the tide pulls it away, and before Yingxing knows it he is swimming through the open ocean, the sandy floor beneath him replaced by seemingly endless darkness.

Perhaps it is this nearly all-encompassing darkness that keeps Yingxing from realizing that there are black spots dancing in his vision. Perhaps it is the lack of air in his lungs that makes it hard for him to think clearly.

Just as Yingxing finally, finally manages to close his hands around the scale — it’s cool, and smooth, yet somehow impossibly silky — he registers in his mind that if he does not resurface now, he will drown.

With the scale in his hand, his lungs crying out for air, and his heart pounding like a bird trapped in a cage, Yingxing kicks his legs with as much strength as he can muster and swims upward.

The clearness of the Lunarescent Depths, before an advantage in his search, works against him now. It is impossible for Yingxing to gauge just how close he is to the surface, even as his head aches from the changing pressure and darkness continues to encroach on the edges of his awareness.

Follow the moon, Yingxing thinks, even as the brilliance of the celestial body above him starts to fade away.

Yingxing’s head is so heavy. Water rushes into his mouth, salt bursting onto his tongue and burning through his lungs. His muscles burn, fire hot and scorching even in the coolness of the water, but his hand remains clenched around the scale.

In the darkness, the moon comes to life once more, two spots of light appearing to guide him.

Follow… the… moon.

Yingxing awakens to a pair of glowing teal eyes peering down at him and an incessant pressure in his chest, and before he is even consciously aware of it, he curls over and throws up.

Bile and salt water burst forth from his lips. The acidity and salinity scrapes through his throat and brings tears to his eyes as Yingxing hacks and coughs and expels the lungful of water he ingested from nearly drowning. Yingxing hadn’t known before that the human body could swallow that much water, but he knows now.

As his coughs begin to subside, the owner of the brilliant pair of ocean-hued eyes speaks. “I did not realize that your people could be so stubborn.”

Yingxing wipes his mouth and takes several deep, shuddering breaths, before he focuses his attention on the stranger stretched out beside him.

The stranger, simply put, is beautiful.

Hair like silk-spun darkness spills over their shoulders, which are bare and pearlescent under the first rays of sunrise. The rest of their skin is equally flawless, making Yingxing wonder if there was any merit in those tales of mermaids having been descendants of the moon goddess.

Because the stranger is, undoubtedly, a mermaid.

Where a pair of human legs should be, a tail shimmering with a collection of iridescent scales lies across the sand. The stranger’s arms melt into a pair of scale-covered hands and sharp, gleaming claws, and his flat but toned torso boasts a smattering of equally brilliant scales. Nearly translucent fins protrude from the sides of the mermaid’s face, roughly where a human’s ears are placed, and looking closer reveals the fluttering slits of gills on the side of the stranger’s neck. Finally, at the very top of the stranger’s head protrude two pairs of horns shaped like branches of teal-green coral.

“Are you done ogling now, human?” the stranger asks, shifting positions in the sand. “I have a few questions I want to ask you, in exchange for saving your life.”

The stranger being a mermaid explains why the words, spoken by a song-like lilting voice, are a bit awkward. This stranger is not from the village, since the stranger is clearly not human at all.

“Thank you for saving me,” Yingxing says, his voice hoarse. “May I know the name of my savior?”

The mermaid huffs, the end of their tail swishing back and forth. “Asking questions first, when I clearly stated that I already had some for you?”

Perhaps, if Yingxing had not just recovered from evidently almost drowning, he would have scrambled to apologize to the mermaid. He has heard the tales, after all, of the mermaids who lured sailors to their doom; offending one does not seem like a wise course of action.

But the mermaid clearly does not hold any ill will toward him. If they are telling the truth, then the mermaid rescued him from certain demise. Besides, if the mermaid really does have questions for Yingxing, then killing him would be counterproductive to their goal.

“I simply want to thank you properly,” Yingxing replies. “How should I address the one whom I now owe a life debt to?”

The mermaid huffs again, but this time they answer: “You may call me Dan Feng, former prince of my people.”

Yingxing inclines his head downward in as close to a bow as he muster with his muscles still feeling weak. “I am forever in your debt, Prince Dan Feng.”

Dan Feng’s eyebrows furrow. “I am no longer a prince. Dan Feng is fine.”

Yingxing is tempted to ask Dan Feng why he is no longer a prince, but he is interrupted by Dan Feng slapping a smooth and slightly slippery hand over his mouth.

“It is now my turn to ask the questions,” Dan Feng says, his tone (and, of course, his hand) leaving no room for argument. “Now that you have my name, what is yours? And what were you thinking, swimming so far out into the ocean with nobody to watch you?”

Yingxing goes to speak, Dan Feng’s hand still clamped over his mouth, but the sensation of his lips moving must have been too ticklish because Dan Feng jerks his hand away abruptly.

“My name is Yingxing. I was swimming into the ocean to find a mermaid scale.” Yingxing unfurls his clenched fist, relief suffusing through his body at the sight of the scale still in his palm. “Nobody was watching me because I did not want anybody to know that I was out here doing this.”

“But your effort was a noble one, was it not?” Dan Feng looks down at the scale in Yingxing’s hand, the very one that looks as if it had come from his tail itself. “If you sought the scale for the sake of your friend, then I do not know why you would not ask any of your other friends to come with you. Surely, having more than person search would make the endeavor easier, and you would not have drowned like you did.”

Yingxing’s shoulders tense. Dan Feng can’t have known that, unless… “You were there since the beginning?”

Dan Feng’s eyes flit to the side, his hands clenching in the sand below. “These are my waters. Of course, when I saw a strange human ambling into the tides, I wanted to ensure that no harm befell my home.”

Yingxing notes with some sadness that Dan Feng referred to the waters as solely his own. Combined with the mention of him being a former prince, plus the village having never seen a mermaid since the time of the elders… Is Dan Feng the only mermaid left in the Lunarescent Depths?

What a terribly lonely existence.

“I knew my friends would try to stop me if I told them my plans,” Yingxing says, holding the scale up to the light. With the sun just barely peeking above the horizon, the two of them are mostly shrouded in the night’s lingering darkness, but the scale seems to glow by itself; truly, a sliver of the moon having fallen into the ocean. “In case I did drown, I did not want anyone else to fall with me.”

Dan Feng is silent. Yingxing, still exhausted from the near-death experience, says nothing as well. The only sounds that accompany them are the gentle crashing of the waves against the rocky outcrop — Dan Feng, in saving Yingxing, has dragged him over to a gathering of boulders a bit far from where Yingxing started but still close to the land — and the birds that have begun to wake from their slumber.

“A stubborn, self-sacrificial fool.”

Yingxing looks up from where he was admiring Dan Feng’s tail and stares into Dan Feng’s equally breathtaking eyes. “Pardon?”

“You are a stubborn and self-sacrificial fool,” Dan Feng repeats himself, reaching out to tuck a strand of Yingxing’s greying hair behind his ear. “And that is why you are alive now.”

Yingxing chuckles and shakes his head. “Funny thing for you to say, after I almost died.”

Dan Feng’s hand settles itself against the curve of Yingxing’s cheek. His gaze is so clear, like pools of the purest water, and Yingxing can see his own wide-eyed wonder in their depths, a splash of periwinkle amidst the calm cerulean. “If you had wanted my scales for anything other than saving someone,” Dan Feng says, quietly, the tips of his claws scratching lightly against Yingxing’s skin, “then you would not have made it out of the ocean.”

It’s hard to think over the rapid beating of his heart and the flush spreading across his face, but Yingxing wonders still: what else would someone want a mermaid for, if not to cure the ailment of someone they loved?

And, then remembers.

Very few of the village elders spoke of these tales, deeming them too gruesome to share with the children. But Yingxing’s uncle always believed that knowledge was power, and as soon as Yingxing was old enough to understand that his parents were never coming back from their watery graves, Yingxing was deemed old enough to know about the darker sides of humanity.

A single mermaid scale can cure any ailments, from terminal diagnoses to even defects left from birth. It is only natural that some would wish to profit from a power not rightfully theirs.

And beyond that, continuously ingesting the flesh of a mermaid, flaying them of their scales and their skin both to feast upon the blood and bones beneath, would grant a person eternal youth and perfect immortality.

Once again, as Yingxing grew older, he stopped believing in such tales. But now, with Dan Feng sitting right beside him and a shimmering mermaid scale held in his hands, Yingxing knows abruptly that all the fantastical folktales his uncle told him about mermaids are assuredly true.

“Thank you,” Yingxing says, holding the scale over his heart.

For saving me. For trusting me.

Dan Feng’s hand travels downward, his thumb pressing briefly against the pulse point in Yingxing’s neck before his hand drifts downward to envelop the one held over Yingxing’s heart.

“Do not let anyone know of my existence.” Dan Feng’s command is whisper quiet but no less powerful. “And pray that you never need to seek me out again.”

Even if Dan Feng didn’t ask him to, Yingxing has no plans to tell anyone that mermaids are real. The logical part of him now knows that anyone finding out that Dan Feng patrols the waters off the coast of their village would spell terrible news for Dan Feng’s peace; the selfish, irrational part of him wants to be the only one who knows the regal curve of Dan Feng’s lips, the ethereal glow of Dan Feng’s skin, the hypnotizing notes of Dan Feng’s voice.

Yingxing places his other free hand atop Dan Feng’s and gives it a squeeze. “I promise.”

Dan Feng nods. And before Yingxing can say anything else, he slips himself off the sandy rock they were only just sharing and dives back into the ocean below.

If Yingxing stays there for several moments later, watching the way the sun’s light dances along the water in hopes of catching a glimpse of a shimmering tail beneath the surface, then there is no one else to make fun of him for it. 

Baiheng makes a complete recovery.

“I don’t know what was in that herbal medicine you gave me,” Jingliu says, her voice cracking almost imperceptibly, “but, Yingxing… thank you.”

Yingxing shakes his head. “An ancient recipe my uncle taught me,” he says, his words a touch too loud, a touch too stilted, but Jingliu does not call him out on it. After all, today has been an emotional day, what with Baiheng waking up as soon as Jingliu poured the medicine Yingxing brought over into her mouth. Baiheng is now sitting up on her own and chatting animatedly with Jing Yuan, who listens to every one of her words with softness in his eyes. Although Baiheng is frail and malnourished from having gone without food for so long, she is awake and alive.

Plentiful tears of joy have already been shed, but Yingxing knows that, once he and Jing Yuan leave their home, Jingliu will cry more freely at Baiheng’s side some more.

 “Rather apt timing, for you to remember such a recipe your uncle left behind.” Jingliu sounds thoughtful, and the way she raises an eyebrow as she looks at Yingxing signals to him that he has, perhaps, not quite evaded her questioning as he thought he did.

Yingxing laughs, the sound awkward even to his ears. “Ah… well. I simply had to search harder to find his writings.”

“Like at the ocean?”

Yingxing’s heart drops out of his chest and to the floor. “You knew?”

Sighing, Jingliu readjusts the soiled towels and clothes in her arms. She and Yingxing are carrying two loads of laundry out to the stream so they can be washed, hoping that by the time Baiheng needs to sleep tonight, she will have fresh sheets on her bed.

Those first few hours that Baiheng was awake, Jingliu hadn’t wanted to leave her side, but now that she was flush with health and preoccupied with Jing Yuan, Jingliu invited Yingxing to come with her to make progress on some of the chores that had been neglected in the weeks Baiheng had been comatose. Right now, the two of them stand just outside Jingliu and Baiheng’s house, right in the backyard where some of the plants have withered from lack of care.

“Of course, I knew,” Jingliu says. Then, she adds, almost too quietly for Yingxing to hear: “I considered doing the same thing.”

Ah. Yingxing’s shoulders relax. Of course, Jingliu had considered the same.

“The only thing that stopped me was the knowledge that, if I drowned, Baiheng could wake up to nobody at her bedside.” Jingliu stares ahead, her gaze unfocused. “For all I knew, the cure didn’t exist, and I would have sacrificed my life for nothing. At least, if Baiheng did pass away because nothing could be done, I would have stayed by her side until the very end.”

“So, thank you again, Yingxing. I just wanted to let you know that I understand everything you went through to save Baiheng. I will not press any further; since you are safe and alive before us now, I know that there is no need to worry.” Turning fully to Yingxing, Jingliu dips her head down in a bow. “I owe you a life debt.”

This time, the laugh that spills forth from Yingxing’s lips comes naturally. “Ah, Jingliu, Jingliu. There’s no need for that. We’re friends, are we not? There is no such thing as debts between friends.”

The smile on Jingliu’s face is small, but it is undeniably present. “We shall agree to disagree, then.”

Yingxing says nothing to that, only securing the laundry more securely in his arms, and with a silent agreement, the two of them continue their trek toward the stream.

The sand beneath Yingxing’s feet is starting to become more familiar to him than the wood flooring of his own home.

For the past few nights, Yingxing has returned to the shoreline, staring out into the Lunarescent Depths in hopes seeing ink-black hair and a tail more resplendent than the sun itself.

Every so often, Yingxing will think he has caught a glimpse of Dan Feng. A splash will rise up from the waves from miles out, or the wind whipping through the night will bring with it a few beautiful notes of song. But since that fateful night where Yingxing dove into the ocean in search of a mermaid scale, he has been unsuccessful in his search.

Yingxing steps further into the water, going farther and farther until the tide to rises to his hips. The first time Yingxing met Dan Feng, he had nearly drowned. Perhaps Dan Feng needs to see Yingxing get into trouble before he will show his face…?

“Whatever you are thinking of doing, please do not.”

With a grin almost too big for his face, Yingxing turns to the side to see Dan Feng’s head bobbing above the water. “You’re here.”

“I saw you return, all those other nights. I hoped that I would not see you again tonight, yet I should have known that you would.” Dan Feng does not look particularly upset, but his tone is certainly not a happy one as he swims above the water enough so that his torso and arms break the surface. “I told you not to seek me out again.”

Yingxing chuckles and reaches out to touch Dan Feng’s face. At the last second, he thinks better of it and allows his arm to fall to his side. “You did not say that. You only told me to pray that I do not need to seek you out again.”

“And here you are, seeking me out.”

“Not because I need to,” Yingxing says, “but because I want to.”

Dan Feng’s ear fins flutter, sending droplets of water through the air. His eyes, still the prettiest shade of blue that Yingxing has ever had the blessing of seeing, shimmer like jewels under the moonlight.

“I wanted to come by to thank you again.” This time, Yingxing does not shy away from taking Dan Feng’s hands in his own. Despite the claws at the tips of Dan Feng’s fingers, his hands are supple and soft. “My friend made a full recovery. Her partner is overjoyed.”

“Naturally,” Dan Feng says, his tone aloof but the softening of his eyes betraying his relief. “I am glad that she has returned to full health. You clearly care for her dearly.”

“I do,” Yingxing agrees. “Her name is Baiheng, by the way. And her partner is Jingliu. They’ve practically adopted an adult son together — his name is Jing Yuan.”

A splash sounds behind Dan Feng; a quick peek downward reveals that his tail is swaying animatedly in the water. Yingxing feels Dan Feng’s hands twitch in his hold, but Dan Feng does not yank them away.

After several moments of silence, Dan Feng asks, “Will you tell me about them?”

Ah. Yingxing knew he was in trouble the minute he woke up to cerulean eyes peering curiously down at him.

“Of course,” Yingxing says, and tugs them closer to the same rocky outcrop where Dan Feng dragged his unconscious body days before.

With the waning moon shining high above them, Yingxing tells Dan Feng all about his friends. He tells Dan Feng of how Baiheng was his oldest friend, having seen him carve the alphabet into the dirt of the school’s play yard and complimented him excitedly on his penmanship; he explains that Jingliu hailed from the city, searching for a reprieve from the pressure her wealthy merchant parents put on her and finding comfort in the simple way of life in the village; he complains about Jing Yuan, the younger man who had once been a small boy tugging on the legs of Yingxing’s pants to ask for spare change so he could buy food for his cat…

Dan Feng listens to every word, occasionally asking questions about terms he doesn’t understand and interjecting with his own input. And as the stories of Yingxing’s life continue to flow, Dan Feng begins to share bits and pieces of his own culture under the sea.

Centuries ago, mermaids were plentiful in the Lunarescent Depths. It was their natural habitat, their most comfortable home: the waters there were the clearest and purest waters near a coastline in the entire world, allowing the moon’s rays to shine down upon them. The structure of the seabed of the Lunarescent Depths, too, made it ideal for mermaids to thrive, as they could raise their young in places where it was easy for them to learn how to swim while still offering enough space to swim freely and find fish and kelp to eat. 

Somewhere during this time of abundance, a human discovered the healing properties of a mermaid scale. Perhaps the mermaid had offered the scale willingly. Perhaps the human had stumbled upon the scale accidentally. Perhaps there had been a battle and the mermaid’s scale was taken by force.

Whatever the origins, the humans of the village by the Lunarescent Depths knew of the value of the mermaids’ scales. Some were reverent, bowing at the shoreline to request a scale or two to ease the sufferings of their people. Others, however, coveted the power of the mermaids’ scales, and in time, those whose greed knew no bounds discovered that mermaid flesh was even more miraculous.

And with the waters being so clear, so easy to see through…

The mermaids were easy to hunt.

Even with their enhanced strength, seductive voices, and power over the waters, the mermaids were quickly losing to the rapid development of military technology. When the humans only had harpoons and nets, defeating them was easy; as soon as black explosive powder and steam-powered engines came into existence, though, the mermaids struggled.

Many chose to flee the Lunarescent Depths, forgoing the cleanliness and clarity of the water and the ease of raising their young in favor of surviving in the murkier, darker waves of the deep ocean, where no humans had claimed the sea their own.

By the time Dan Feng was born, only a few families of mermaids remained in the Lunarescent Depths. His parents, proud as they were, made sure to instill in him a strong love of their waters, reminding him that he was the prince of their people — but without a kingdom, there was no use for a royal bloodline.

One by one, as the humans steering their ships through the Lunarescent Depths grew even more violent in their hunt for scales and flesh, the only mermaids left were Dan Feng and his parents.

Eventually, even his parents left.

“They begged me to swim away with them,” Dan Feng says, leaning his cheek against the side of the rock as he stares out into the beyond, perhaps wondering just where his parents ended up. If they are still alive today. No trace of melancholy exists in his voice, but Yingxing knows all too well the speech of a man who has come to terms with their losses. “I refused. They could not force me to abandon my birthright.”

Dan Feng grows quiet. There, with his head pillowed atop his crossed arms and his midnight-dark hair pooling out behind him in the ocean, Dan Feng looks every part an untouchable, ethereal being.

Yingxing thinks of his parents, drowned beneath the waves, and his grandfather, passing away peacefully in bed. Yingxing thinks of Baiheng, having only recently escaped death. Yingxing thinks of Jingliu, and Jing Yuan, and all the people of his village.

Yingxing thinks of Dan Feng, all alone in the crystal clear waters of a kingdom he will never inherit.

“For how many years have you been by yourself?” Yingxing asks.

Dan Feng’s eyes flit downward, his shoulders tensing and his ear fins trembling. “Does it matter?”

Yingxing shrugs. “Perhaps. Perhaps not.”

Behind Dan Feng’s head, the sun begins to shine its first rays from where it rises from the ocean. The light bathes Dan Feng in its warm glow, making him look like the reflection of the sun in the water. Look at the light for too long, and your eyes will burn.

The sun’s arrival tells Yingxing that he has stayed far longer than what he originally planned for. Yingxing did not notice how many hours passed before, and now, he must head home and get himself ready to open his smithing shop lest the villagers complain. Now that he is abruptly aware of the time, Yingxing notes that his head aches, and his eyes feel heavy. Yingxing is loath to leave Dan Feng, all alone in the very waters where countless generations of his people were hunted and killed, but…

Dan Feng waves Yingxing away, though, slapping at his legs until he stands up.

“Though I enjoyed our conversation, do not seek me out again. If you come by, I will not join you,” Dan Feng says over his shoulder, flicking his tail and splashing water all over the just-dried fabric of Yingxing’s trousers before disappearing among the waves once more.

Yingxing returns to the shores of the Lunarescent Depths the next night.

And the next, and the next, and the next.

Despite his words, Dan Feng does come out to join Yingxing. Dan Feng does not always appear immediately, but he does always appear eventually, every single night Yingxing sets foot on the sand.

Yingxing can’t visit Dan Feng every night, no. He still has to function like a normal member of the village most days, and staying up until the sun rises to speak with Dan Feng, though it invigorates his soul, it would unfortunately leave him too physically exhausted to do much. Some of his regular customers have already complained that he is not as energetic as usual, wondering why the talkative and charismatic Yingxing is not there to greet them when they stop by his shop in the morning.

Still, others comment that he looks happier these days. That, in spite of the shadows underneath his eyes and the more frequent yawns coming from his mouth, he glows with a quiet contentment that was never there before.

“Have you found yourself a wife?” one of the two grannies visiting him today asks, as she collects her newly crafted hairpin from him and tucks it into her sleeve.

Startled, Yingxing shakes his head. “Not at all, ma’am. What gave you that idea?”

“You have the bearing of a man in love,” the granny replies. “There’s no need to hide from us, child. Who is she?”

The other granny beside her sighs, examining the repaired jade bangle around her wrist. “A shame. If I were only thirty years younger, I would gladly fill that role.”

“And leave your husband?” the first granny gasps, tucking her hands inside her sleeves.

“A-Yu would understand,” says the second granny.

Yingxing only laughs politely, and after a few more rounds of good-natured questioning and offers to introduce him to their granddaughters, the grannies leave, the door sliding closed behind them with a resounding clack.

A man in love, huh, Yingxing thinks, glancing through the window of his workshop. The sun is still high in the sky, but he notes that it is beginning its descent toward the horizon. There are worse things to be than a man in love.

After closing up shop for the day, Yingxing opens the door that leads to the side of the building where his bedroom and kitchen are. After his grandfather passed away, Yingxing converted the wing of the family house that had once hosted guest rooms into his own workshop and shop front. Yingxing was not hurting for money and could have built a separate building to sell his creations, but he preferred to live simply where he could; besides, whenever Yingxing was struck with inspiration in the middle of the night for a new hairpin or glass figure, he was able to just walk across his home and get to work.

Yingxing hasn’t had much time to work on his creations at night these days, though.

After a quick dinner and a small nap, Yingxing changes into some of his older robes, ones he does not mind getting wet and ones that are thin and light due to age. With how often he visits Dan Feng, Yingxing is forced to wash his clothes much more frequently, lest the fabrics be ruined by the salt water. It is a small price to pay to see Dan Feng, of course, but it does add to the list of chores that Yingxing must keep up with.

Under the cover of night, Yingxing leaves his home through a side entrance and heads toward the beach. Like all the other nights, there is no one else on the streets, and the lack of lamplight shining through the windows of the homes tells Yingxing that the rest of the village is settled in for sleep.

As Yingxing steps onto the road that leads directly out onto the sand, however, he feels the back of his neck prickle with awareness.

While in the village proper, it was more difficult for Yingxing to detect. But now, he knows for sure that he is being followed.

Yingxing stops in his tracks, and without turning around, says, “What a nice night it is, wouldn’t you say?”

The road is empty for several more moments. But then, rustling. Footsteps.

“It is a nice night indeed, Yingxing.”

Yingxing turns around then, a tight and forced grin on his lips. “I am glad that you agree, Chief Taoran.”

Even during his teenage years, Yingxing never liked Village Chief Taoran. The man came into power after the previous Village Chief, a man from Yingxing’s grandfather’s generation, passed away from liver failure. The previous Village Chief had been a healthy man who hardly drank a sip of alcohol in his life; although his age suggested that it may have just been from a natural weakening of the body, Yingxing always wondered.

Aside from the suspicious circumstances of his ascent to power, Village Chief Taoran is simply unkind. His leadership over the village has led to a flourishing trade route and more tourists coming to visit, but his unfair taxation policies have led to many families struggling to make ends meet while doing nothing for the village itself. Some of the natural greenery near the village, too, has been torn down under Village Chief Taoran’s command to build bigger, more lavish buildings with little to no purpose, and the animals that used to reside in those forests were hunted by his councilmen and displayed as trophies throughout his estate.

There can be nothing good about Village Chief Taoran following Yingxing through the village tonight.

“Though the night is quite pleasant,” Taoran says, “I do not believe it is pleasant enough for you to spend time on the beach, Yingxing.”

Yingxing shrugs, doing his best to keep his gaze steady. As much as Yingxing would love to glare down at Taoran, he cannot betray how off-kilter he feels. “Swimming at night is a pastime of mine. The sun is not in my face, but the waters have absorbed the heat from the day, so they are warm and inviting, not unlike a bath.”

Taoran hums. “Is that so? Perhaps I shall join you in the water tonight, then.”

“Ah, I couldn’t possibly impose on your time, Chief Taoran.” Yingxing loosens his smile and swallows his pride. “I am sure that you must be tired after all your hard work today.”

“Nonsense.” Taoran steps closer and comes shoulder to shoulder with Yingxing. “I was already patrolling the village.”

“Then I dare not intrude upon your patrol. If something were to occur in the village right now, without you there to intervene, I would be beside myself with worry.”

“That is what our hired guards are for.” Taoran takes a step, and then another, approaching the area where the flattened dirt road transitions into the soft sandy shoreline. “I would be happy to accompany you tonight, Yingxing. Unless there is someone else you are hoping to spend time with?”

Yingxing’s blood runs cold.

“I am not sure where you got such an idea.” Yingxing forces out a laugh. “Have you been speaking to the elderly women around the village too much? They believe I have gone and gotten myself a wife. The old women do love their idle gossip.”

“That they do,” agrees Taoran, a mild smile on his face. “I take it then that those rumors are untrue?”

“Certainly so,” Yingxing replies. Pushing past the blood rushing through his head, Yingxing feigns a yawn, throwing his head back and stretching his arms toward the sky. “Ah, I do apologize, Chief Taoran. It seems that my stroll has tired me out; I do not think I will be spending any time by the ocean tonight. Perhaps, you and I can go together another night?”

Something in Taoran’s expression makes Yingxing’s hackles raise, but he cannot pinpoint exactly what it is.

“What a pity.” Village Chief Taoran shakes his head and turns on his heel, walking back up the road toward the main village. “Let me accompany you home, then.”

Even if Yingxing would rather cut off all his fingers and toes, Yingxing agrees, and together, he and Taoran walk back into the village and toward Yingxing’s modest home. After exchanging their goodbyes, Yingxing closes the door and walks away just enough for there to be the sound of footsteps, then creeps quietly back to the entrance.

Through a small, concealed hole in the wall close to the door, Yingxing can see that Taoran has not left. The village chief simply stands there, staring, waiting.

Eventually, Taoran leaves. Yingxing watches his back until it disappears completely from his view.

Perhaps Yingxing should forego seeing Dan Feng tonight. It has been several days since his last visit, so he knows that Dan Feng may be expecting him, but it would be much safer for Dan Feng if Yingxing stays away.

Especially with Village Chief Taoran patrolling the streets and being strangely nosy about Yingxing’s whereabouts.

Yingxing turns away from the door. At least he made sure to watch Taoran return to his own home.

Wait.

Taoran’s home is in the center of the village, just as the homes of every village chief before him have been. Yingxing lives in the southwestern outskirts of the village, closer to the ocean.

Taoran certainly had not been heading back home.

Panic racing through his veins, Yingxing throws the door open and runs. Whether he remembered to close the door behind him, whether he is being far too loud in the middle of the night — none of that matters to him.

The homes of the other villages pass by Yingxing in a blur, his vision narrowing down to the stretch of road that leads directly to the beach. He’s panting by the time his feet touch the sand, but he has no time to rest; Taoran is nowhere in sight, but Yingxing spotted the prints of his shoe on the more solid, damp blocks of sand.

A shrill cry echoes through the empty night, followed by a muffled shout and gurgling, then nothing.

Yingxing takes off running again in what he hopes is the correct direction. The softness of the sand slows his movements, but he picks up his feet and runs as fast as his body will allow him. As he approaches the tides, he can vaguely make out the shape of what can only be Dan Feng braced atop the rocky outcrop where the two of them had been spending their nights. The moon is only a sliver in the sky tonight, so it is hard to make out much of Dan Feng’s features, but the bright smear of red across his pale skin is unmistakable.

Please, let Dan Feng be okay, Yingxing prays, begging for any of the gods above to hear him, as he dives into the water to swim out to Dan Feng. Please, please, please…

When Yingxing pulls himself onto the rock, his hands meet viscous, slippery blood, and he nearly slips back down into the watery depths if not for a clawed hand hauling him back upward.

“Yingxing.” Dan Feng bares his teeth and gestures to a large lump on the rock; Yingxing has never noticed before tonight, but his canines are razor sharp. “What is the meaning of this?”

Now no longer out of breath or in danger of slipping back into the ocean, Yingxing takes a closer look at the strange mass. Once his vision completely adjusts to the darkness, Yingxing nearly topples off the rock and back into the waves.

It’s Taoran. The unmoving, lifeless, bleeding body slumped over the rock is Taoran.

“Did he hurt you?” Yingxing asks, tearing his eyes away from the steadily paling corpse and grabbing Dan Feng’s arms. “I’m so sorry. I was too late…”

Dan Feng relaxes in Yingxing’s arms, his ear fins drooping slightly. “He did not get the chance,” Dan Feng replies, resting one hand on the side of Yingxing’s neck. His skin is more slippery and damp than usual; Yingxing does not need more light to guess that there is likely still some of Taoran’s blood coating his palms. “As soon as I realized the human standing on this rock was not you, I bashed his head in.”

Dan Feng’s gaze flickers down to the side, and he tilts his head in curiosity. “I have never seen a human die before. I did not realize that sometimes, even if their soul has already left their bodies, that their limbs might remain twitching. I broke his arms and legs, just in case.”

Hearing Dan Feng talk so casually and lightly about murdering Taoran should scare Yingxing. Instead, Yingxing is filled with immense relief at the knowledge that Dan Feng has managed to evade capture and is more than capable of defending himself.

“I am so glad you’re okay,” Yingxing says, more for himself than for Dan Feng, and pulls Dan Feng into a tight embrace.

Dan Feng goes stiff in Yingxing’s arms momentarily before quickly melting into the hold, his other arm coming up to wind around Yingxing’s neck. Yingxing nuzzles his face into the juncture between Dan Feng’s neck and his shoulder, his nose brushing gently against the flapping gills there. Dan Feng shivers, his arms tightening around Yingxing’s neck.

Yingxing does not know how long they stay there, sitting on the bloodied outcrop, simply enjoying holding and being held. But the smell of iron and early decomposition begins to become unbearable, so Yingxing reluctantly pulls away.

“I will do my best to explain away the circumstances of his death.” Yingxing reaches upward to run his fingers along the coral-esque horns protruding from Dan Feng’s temples. Dan Feng trembles beneath his touch. “You must go and hide. Don’t return to the shore.”

“For how many days should I stay away?” Dan Feng asks, his eyes fluttering shut. Even with how little light shines from the moon tonight, Dan Feng is a vision to behold.

Yingxing’s heart clenches.

Dan Feng is the most beautiful person Yingxing has ever had the privilege of losing.

“You can never return,” Yingxing says, and Dan Feng’s eyes shoot open.

“What?” Dan Feng’s ear fins flare out, and his pupils shorten to slits. It’s the most threatening Yingxing has ever seen Dan Feng look.

Yingxing cups the curve of Dan Feng’s cheek. “The villagers… They’ll hunt you, just like they hunted your ancestors. It’s not safe for you to come out of the ocean anymore, A-Feng.”

The term of endearment is new between them. Dan Feng’s ear fins droop briefly before flaring out again.

“Surely, this one human death is not enough to—”

“He was the leader of my village,” Yingxing says, shaking his head. “I do not like him, and I do not mourn him. But the rest of my village will; and even if they don’t, the bloody state of his body will prompt an investigation into his death.”

“Then let his corpse sink to the bottom of the ocean!” Dan Feng cries, his voice on the verge of cracking. “Why must they find out what happened?”

Yingxing would love to just let Taoran’s body slip into the unforgiving jaws of the ocean’s abyss, let his foul existence be washed away by the relentless waves. But the guards Taoran assigned to patrolling the village at night surely saw him walking around the village, and they definitely watched as Taoran escorted Yingxing back to his home.

As soon as Yingxing returns to the village, he will be interrogated. At least, if he can bring Taoran’s body back, he will look less guilty, for a killer is unlikely to want to carry evidence of their crimes.

Sparkling tears spill down Dan Feng’s cheeks, but he says nothing. Like Yingxing, he has realized the impossible predicament they are in. If Dan Feng left Taoran alive, then he would have run to the village to summon his guards and capture Dan Feng, perhaps before Dan Feng could escape. With Taoran dead, Dan Feng at least has time now to escape, but he will never be able to see Yingxing again.

“I said that you could never return to the shore again, not that you would never see me again. I’ll find you again, one day, in another sea, along another shoreline.” Yingxing presses his thumb against Dan Feng’s plush bottom lip. Dan Feng does not blush — Yingxing is unsure if mermaids ever evolved the ability to — but the way the bottom half of his tail swishes back on forth in the water betrays his emotions.

Dan Feng’s breath is cold against Yingxing’s mouth. Yingxing has barely any awareness left to wonder if mermaids developed the ability to breathe through their nostrils and mouth in order to survive out of the water, before Dan Feng’s lips press fully against his own.

As human as Dan Feng appears from his hips upward, his lips do not feel like any that Yingxing has ever kissed. They are soft, yes, but the silkiness is not completely identical to that of human skin, and the sharp points of his canines poke against Yingxing’s bottom lip. His tongue, too, is slightly too cold and slightly too long as it explores the cavern of Yingxing’s mouth and runs against Yingxing’s own, shorter tongue. 

But those details only remind Yingxing that he is so, incredibly lucky to have had the chance to hold Dan Feng in his arms at all.

Dan Feng is the first one to pull away, this time.

“Another sea, another shoreline,” Dan Feng says, both plea and prayer all at once. “Promise?”

“I promise.”

Before Yingxing can do something stupid, like pull Dan Feng back in for another kiss, Dan Feng’s hands fall away from his face and he slips beneath the water.

Yingxing tries to resist watching Dan Feng go. But he is only human, so he watches Dan Feng’s tail for as long as he can until the iridescence is no longer visible through the crashing of the waves.

Just a few feet from him on the rock, Taoran’s body is completely cold, his broken limbs splayed out and his face contorted in an eternal expression of agony. Thankfully, the corpse is now stiff, making it easier for Yingxing to hang onto it while he swims to shore.

Yingxing can only hope now that he will be able buy Dan Feng enough time to go far, far away.

Some promises, Yingxing knows, are meant to only be kept in spirit.

Dan Feng is about a mile out from his and Yingxing’s outcrop when he feels a strange tugging in his chest.

Normally, Dan Feng would have been much farther from shore. But, even with how quickly he left Yingxing earlier, Dan Feng couldn’t help but swim slowly, out of a misguided want to hear Yingxing call for him, tell him that it was okay, that he could stay in the Lunarescent Depths that had been his home for so long.

The tug in his chest is not Yingxing, Dan Feng knows.

Still, it is the pull of someone who has ingested one of his scales, and Dan Feng knows only one person who has.

Dan Feng does not know why, but he is being summoned. It is not binding, and Dan Feng can ignore the tug in his chest easily.

But the person Yingxing cared enough to nearly die for wants to see him, and he cannot deny Yingxing — or Yingxing’s loved ones — anything.

About halfway to the rocky outcrop, there is a stretch of the shoreline hidden by tall trees and thick shrubbery. Dan Feng does not think any humans in the village are aware it exists, but a small stream runs through the dense forest and feeds its water into the ocean there, creating a small, shadowed area where Dan Feng senses the owner of his missing scale is waiting for him. The stream is too shallow for Dan Feng to swim through, but he gets as close as he can before he hoists himself onto the land.

There, just as he suspected, stands a woman.

Baiheng.

When Yingxing told stories of his friends, he often left out their physical descriptors, preferring to focus on their personality traits in ensuring Dan Feng could distinguish between them. Yingxing spoke of three people the most, so Dan Feng memorized their names quickly, and he started to picture Baiheng with the same froth-white and night-dark hair and dusk-horizon eyes as Yingxing, since he fondly liked to refer to her as his sister.

Baiheng looks nothing like Dan Feng expected her to, but he knows that she is the one who was cured through his scale, so he is certain that she is who stands before him.

“Baiheng,” Dan Feng says.

If Baiheng is shocked that Dan Feng knows her name, she does not show it. Instead, she collapses to her knees and presses her forehead down onto the ground in a deep bow.

Startled, Dan Feng freezes. What is he to do? He may be a prince, and he may be aware of human social customs like bowing to their authorities and their deities, but he does not know what he is supposed to do when a woman he has never met before falls to her feet before him.

“I apologize, for I do not know your name,” Baiheng says, her face still pressed to the ground, “but I know that you saved my life.”

Dan Feng shifts uncomfortably on his tail, the dirt of the ground smearing against his scales. “Well, I—”

“So, I know I have no right to ask favors of you,” Baiheng interrupts, her voice wavering as she lifts her head. Tears, dirty and dark, smear across her face. “But please, please, save Yingxing, too.”

Dan Feng has never felt colder in his entire life. “Explain.”

Baiheng does. Having rid herself of the tears plaguing her, Baiheng tells Dan Feng in a calmer voice of how she woke up to the sound of overlapping shouts and thunderous footsteps. Of how she hurried out of her home to see the villagers storming the townhall, of the anguished cries that rose up through the walls, of the accusations that started flying. Of the suspicions that had been raised within the village for a long time, of the glimpses the townsfolk had seen of Yingxing diving into the waters every few nights. Of how she and several other villagers tried their best to sway the minds of the mob but had been chased out of the meeting.

Of the greed and the envy that never seemed to change, no matter how many generations of humans passed on and came into being.

Baiheng speaks hurriedly, very aware of the limited time they have to speak, but Dan Feng does not miss a single detail.

“They’re going to kill Yingxing,” Baiheng says, steady and sure, not speculation but fact. “But before then, they want him to betray you. They want him to show them where you are, so that they may harvest your scales and flesh for themselves. Then, once they’ve caught you, they’ll kill him and throw his lifeless body into the forest to be eaten by the wolves.”

“Yingxing would never,” Dan Feng says.

“I know,” Baiheng replies. Another fact, another thing she believes fully to be true. “But if he does not betray you, eventually, they will grow tired. And they will kill him still.”

Baiheng turns her face away. She is still kneeling on the ground, but she is no longer bowing to him, and Dan Feng watches in fascination as her hands clench into the fabric of her robes right above her knees.

“If you cannot save him, then we will do our best,” Baiheng says finally, her voice resolute. “Again, I do not know what you can do. I understand that you are confined to the ocean, and that if you are seen by the villagers, they will kill you, too. But if you have any idea of how we can save Yingxing…”

Dan Feng does have an idea. It’s more than an idea; it’s a conviction, a need that overtakes the very hollow of his bones.

Dan Feng will save Yingxing, or he will die trying.

“The cliffside.” Dan Feng points through the forest toward the direction of the cliff face that he has swam by countless times. The jut of rock overlooks a stretch of ocean far too deep for humans to explore on their own, and it is far enough away from the beach’s shoreline and the village’s pier farther down the coast that, even using a boat, it would take at least an hour or more to reach.

Dan Feng does not need an hour. If Yingxing can make it to the cliffside, then Dan Feng will only need minutes.

“Make sure Yingxing gets to the cliffside,” Dan Feng says again, “and I will save him.”

Dan Feng expects Baiheng to ask him why, but all she does is nod. Her eyes, though not the exact shade of Yingxing’s, shine with the same conviction. “I will get him there.”

As Baiheng turns back, ready to return to the village and relay Dan Feng’s message to her lover, Dan Feng thinks to himself that it would have been nice if only he had been allowed to spend time with Yingxing’s friends.

One day, when it is safe once more, Dan Feng promises himself, swimming as fast as his tail will allow out of the forested stretch of river, we will return home.

When Yingxing sees Jingliu amidst the mob of people chasing him through the village, he first feels relief.

He knows that she will be unable to hide him. He wouldn’t dare ask her for that. But if she can just buy him enough time to run…

“The Scalegorge Cliffside!” Jingliu’s voice rises above the clamor of the crowd. “Chase him there! He’ll have nowhere to run there; he’ll have nowhere to escape!”

Nobody can tell who in the throng of people has yelled the suggestion, but everyone takes to it instantly. Suddenly, Yingxing is forced to change course, as the wild mob of people are now hellbent on cornering him on the Scalegorge Cliffside.

Yingxing is unsure what to make of Jingliu’s cry. He refuses to believe that she has joined the bandwagon of people calling for his capture for the crime of killing Taoran or the group who seek to force him into luring out Dan Feng, but she pushes her way to the front of the crowd and is the closest to catching up to him.

Lungs burning. Head spinning. Heart aching. Yingxing does not know how long he has been running, but he does know that he will soon reach his limit.

The end of the cliffside approaches quickly, far more quickly than Yingxing realized, and he is forced to stop lest he topple over to his death.

Panting, Yingxing turns around. Yingxing guesses that there is a little less than half of the villagers surrounding him, familiar faces he has seen every day of his life snarling at him with fury in their stances and greed in their eyes. Maybe some of them are truly upset that Taoran is dead, but for many of them who have chased him here, forced him to the very edge, they wish to torture him until they can get their hands on a treasure that the village long ago chased out of their own waters.

At the very least, the sweet grannies and his other regular customers are not among the throng of people calling for his punishment. It is still not time for many to wake up, though; by the time the sun fully rises, the entire village will have heard countless retellings of the tale, each one more outlandish and embellished than the last.

Jingliu steps forward, flanked by a few of the men Taoran hired as village guards. “Any last words, Yingxing?”

Last words? Yingxing thought that they were trying to capture him so they could torture information about Dan Feng out of him. Are they planning to simply kill him now?

Yingxing stays silent.

Jingliu sighs and shakes her head. When she looks up, she widens her eyes and juts her chin forward, so subtly that Yingxing would have thought he only imagined it if not for the deliberate way she places her hand over her heart and curls it into a fist.

Yingxing’s mind races.

Jingliu’s hand over her heart. Jingliu’s heart, Jingliu’s love. Baiheng.

Jingliu using her face to gesture behind Yingxing. Behind Yingxing. Behind Yingxing is the edge of the cliff. And beyond the edge of the cliff is…

Yingxing allows himself to offer her a small nod as he inches backward. Jingliu makes no outward sign that she has seen it, but he trusts that she understands anyway.

“Tell us where the mermaid is, and nobody gets hurt,” one of the guards to Jingliu’s left growls.

“Exactly. Don’t make this harder on yourself,” another guard adds on, raising his hand cannon to take aim at Yingxing’s chest. “We’ll pardon you for Taoran’s death if you just tell us where you’re hiding the mermaid.”

“Go to hell,” Yingxing spits, because even as he’s on the verge of death it seems that his capacity for eloquence still has not failed him.

The voices of the villagers rise up in one cacophonous clamor, each person shouting a different thing, each person fighting to be heard over another.

Jingliu, standing still as the crowd begins to engulf her, looks Yingxing in the eyes and mouths: “Goodbye, Yingxing.”

Yingxing does not say it back, but he smiles, the shape of it barely there, before he turns around, crosses the scant few inches between himself and the end, and leaps off the cliff’s edge.

The Lunarescent Depths, the locals say, have never been very forgiving.

And the locals themselves are even less so.

Jing Yuan sighs and leans forward on his chair as he watches the two men walk on the road that passes in front of his house. After the incident from thirty years ago, Jing Yuan moved farther from the village proper and closer to Baiheng and Jingliu’s house on the outskirts of town, so it is strange to see visitors come this way. Even though Jing Yuan is not friendly with everyone in the village and prefers to keep to himself, has preferred to keep to himself since his villagers betrayed their own, he still knows who is a local and who is not.

And these two men are certainly unfamiliar.

Jing Yuan’s knees ache as he forces herself to stand. Aging has not been particularly rough on him — Jingliu would scold him if he complained, since she is years older than he — but his body still gives him plenty of reminders that he is no longer as young and agile as he once was, especially on days like today where the sun is hidden behind a layer of gray clouds and dense fog rolls in from the oceanside. Once he is steady on his feet, Jing Yuan hurries to his front door and slides it open.

Thankfully, he is not too late. The men are standing still on the road, facing away from his house and looking at something in the horizon.

“Young men!” Jing Yuan calls, waving at them as he walks out of his home toward them with what he hopes is a welcoming, but neutral, smile. 

The two of them turn around. Even having seen the back of his head, Jing Yuan feels startled at seeing just how cropped the one on the left's hair is; even knowing that short styles have come into fashion in the cities, it still comes as a surprise to Jing Yuan that anyone would willingly keep their hair so short knowing the history of it. The short-haired man’s eyes are a stormy gray, not the same hue as the clouds that hang above their heads but the sort of gray that reminds Jing Yuan of forged steel.

When the man next to him turns around, something in the back of Jing Yuan’s mind tugs at his memories. The low arch of his brows, the deep set of his eyes — something about those features feel familiar to Jing Yuan, but he has never before seen anyone with red-gold eyes, and the bottom half of his face is completely obscured by a covering of thick, black cloth. Jing Yuan has seen some of the forestry workers and glass smiths wear similar coverings, but he has never seen someone wear it casually. The man’s hair, at least, is kept long, though its midnight hue fades into something closer to maroon at the ends. Jing Yuan, too, has heard of various dyes formulated to stick to one’s hair, but none of the merchants coming into the village have brought any to trade or sell, so Jing Yuan has not yet seen it himself.

Both of them appear to be somewhere in their twenties or thirties, so they are undoubtedly younger than him, and they wear simple robes, the style of them a touch outdated — but for all Jing Yuan knows, perhaps the young people living in the city enjoy wearing clothes cut in more nostalgic styles. And though their clothes are slightly worn, both the men carry themselves with the self-assured air of aristocrats.

“Are you two new to the village?” Jing Yuan asks, hoping he has not been staring at the two of them for too long.

The one with cropped-short hair answers. “We are just passing through.”

His voice is melodic and soothing, not too low and not too high. It is a voice that lends itself well to songs and poetry. 

“Please, be careful here.” Jing Yuan glances around to make sure nobody is around. He does not have many neighbors, not anymore, but old habits die hard and ancient villages have eyes and ears where no others can see. “And if you decide to visit the ocean, please, be careful there, too.”

These two men are the first visitors in a long time that Jing Yuan has bothered to warn, and he hopes that his efforts are not wasted.

Jing Yuan does not know if the legends of times past are still being shared, but in the years following Yingxing’s disappearance, the village was teeming with the hopeful and greedy alike. The rumors of a mermaid had reached far and wide, it seemed, and those seeking cures for the ailments of their loved ones and those wanting to pad their coffers swarmed the village in search of clues.

Jing Yuan tried to stop many of them from forfeiting their lives at first; he might not have liked seeing those opportunistic visitors stomp through the village, especially as Baiheng, Jingliu, and he still wore mourning whites in remembrance of Yingxing and the mermaid who saved Baiheng’s life, but he liked seeing their drowned bodies being carried out of the water even less. Still, as the number of opportunistic visitors increased to nearly unmanageable levels, Jing Yuan stopped bothering.

Eventually, the sharp increase in visitors declined. But still, every year, without fail, a few fresh faces still show up in the village to try their hands at finding something that would never be theirs.

The taller of the two, the one wearing a face covering, steps closer. “Did you lose someone to that ocean?”

His voice is terribly, terribly familiar.

But Jing Yuan has long since stopped believing in miracles. 

Jing Yuan shakes his head. “I lost a dear friend of mine to the village, years ago,” he says. His voice wavers, only just slightly. Had Yingxing been there to hear Jing Yuan call him a “dear friend,” Jing Yuan knows that Yingxing would have given him the teasing of a lifetime. 

The pain of losing Yingxing still aches like a bruise, but it is no longer a gaping wound. Not hearing news of either Yingxing or the mermaid in the years following his disappearance had hurt, but it filled Jing Yuan with hope, too: the hope that they escaped together.

“As for the ocean…” Jing Yuan looks out into the horizon, toward where he knows the fog has likely enveloped the entirety of the sandy shores. “Whatever you are searching for there, it is perhaps better if it is left forever unfound.”

The taller man steps up to Jing Yuan and claps a firm hand on his shoulder. Normally, Jing Yuan would have stepped away from anyone who dared touch him like so away, scolded them with a thin-lipped smile for such impropriety, but Jing Yuan knows abruptly that the man that stands before him is someone who deserves to look at him with such warmth.

Miracles, then, perhaps still exist. 

“We will be careful,” he says, his hand slipping off of his shoulder, and tears spring to Jing Yuan’s eyes. “Thank you.”

The short-haired man dips his head in a small bow. “Thank you.”

Before Jing Yuan can say anything else, the two of them turn around, their backs quickly fading away as they walk further down the road.

For all that the ocean takes, takes, and takes, Jing Yuan knows that it has the incredible ability to give back what was once lost, too.

Without a single glance backward, the man and the mermaid return into the ocean’s encroaching fog together.