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The ceremonial royal-blue military tunic was, in Cheng Xiaoshi’s expert opinion, a tailored torture device.
The braided gold cords across his chest pulled tightly against his ribs, the polished silver shoulder spaulders dug into his collarbones every time he shifted his weight, and the tiny gold-and-red velvet crown sat at a precarious angle in his messy black ponytail. He had spent three agonizing hours standing in the center of the Grand Council Chamber, staring at forty silk-mounted portraits of noble heirs arrayed along the mahogany table like merchandise in a high-end market stall.
At the head of the table, Lord Liu Xiao turned a page in an immaculate leather-bound ledger. He did not look up, nor did he raise his voice. He simply adjusted the sleeve of his dark robe and let the silence stretch until the council ministers began shifting uncomfortably in their seats.
“The daughter of the Grand Chancellor commands fifteen war frigates in the eastern straits,” Liu Xiao said evenly, lifting his celadon teacup. “The heir to the Southern Bay offers unfettered access to the pearl fisheries. The council has reviewed twenty-four formal marriage petitions this month alone, Your Highness. We are simply asking you to sign one.”
Xiaoshi looked at the rows of portraits, then at Liu Xiao’s calm, unmoving face. The air in the chamber felt thick and stale, smelling of candle wax, old paper, and calculated ambitions. He felt a profound, bone-deep exhaustion settle across his shoulders—a fatigue that had been steadily rotting inside his chest for two years since his parents died.
“And if I refuse?” Xiaoshi asked, his voice unexpectedly quiet.
“Then you will continue refusing until someone else makes the choice for you,” Liu Xiao replied, taking a slow sip of tea before meeting his gaze with a faint, polite smile that never reached his eyes. “You have occupied the prince's quarters for two years without taking a single decisive policy action. An empty throne invites civil unrest. You will select a consort before the autumn solstice, or the regency will select one for you.”
Xiaoshi let out a dry, bitter laugh.
“Maybe that's what should happen,” Xiaoshi murmured.
The chamber went dead silent. Even the scribes stopped dipping their quills.
Liu Xiao’s teacup paused midway to its saucer. For a fraction of a second, his carefully practiced composure flickered with genuine surprise. “What did you say?”
“You heard me,” Xiaoshi said, leaning back against the edge of the table, his arms crossed over the gilded cords of his chest. His gaze drifted slowly across the portraits lining the walls.
“You want the throne, Liu Xiao. The council trusts your ledgers more than they trust my judgment. You understand politics, you know how to make the nobles fall in line, and you know how to turn every argument into an advantage. You know how to handle all of this. I never did. I hate court games. I hate smiling at people I don't trust.”
His eyes settled on the portraits again.
“If you're so convinced you're better suited to rule, why are we pretending I have to win?”
It was the honest, raw confession of a young man who had spent two years losing a succession war he had never asked to fight.
Beside the nearest marble pillar, Xia Fei lowered his head, his hands clenching tightly against his sword belt. As Xiaoshi’s personal royal guard, he knew better than anyone the crushing weight the young prince carried behind closed doors.
From the archway, Captain Vein let out a low, rough snort, spinning a heavy combat dagger in his calloused hand. “If the prince is giving up the crown, then stop wasting time. Let him walk away and give him the freedom he wants. We don't need a wedding to run an empire.”
Liu Xiao set his teacup down with a soft, delicate chime that cut through the room. His sharp, dark eyes fixed entirely on Xiaoshi, studying the slumped shoulders and the hollow defeat in the young prince's posture.
A slow smile touched the council head's lips, though it carried none of the satisfaction Xiaoshi might have expected.
“A crown is not a mantle you may casually discard on a whim, Xiaoshi,” Liu Xiao murmured smoothly. “The law requires a lawful pretext. If you wish to yield your birthright, you must do so under imperial statute.”
Xiaoshi looked up, catching the faint, intrigued glimmer in Liu Xiao’s eyes. A spark of old, stubborn pride flared faintly in his chest.
“The Sovereign Pilgrimage,” Xiaoshi said.
Liu Xiao raised a brow. “You remembered that old statute?”
“An heir may postpone all council and marital obligations if he undertakes a solitary voyage to retrieve a founding relic,” Xiaoshi countered, his voice steadying. “I am claiming the rite. I will sail south to the uncharted reefs of the Sapphire Archipelago and bring back the Heart of the Sea before the solstice. If I fail, the throne is yours. You can sign whatever treaties you want, and I will walk away for good.”
Vein stopped spinning his blade, letting out an approving whistle. “The Sapphire Archipelago? Half our naval cutters won't even cross those reefs. The currents will chew a light hull to splinters.”
“Then Liu Xiao gets his crown three months early,” Xiaoshi shot back.
Liu Xiao watched him for several seconds, his smile widening into genuine, amused fascination. “A fair wager, Your Highness. Three months. Retrieve the relic of the archipelago, or surrender your claim at the solstice altar.”
Two hours after midnight, Xia Fei met Xiaoshi at the secluded lower watergate beneath the fortress cliffs. A sleek, single-masted cutter skiff bobbed against the wet stone steps, packed with fresh water casks, dried rations, and navigational charts.
Xia Fei handed him a heavy wool cloak, looking at the young prince's tired face with quiet, brotherly empathy. “You really ready to give it all up, huh?”
Xiaoshi tied the cloak around his neck, checking the skiff's tiller with experiencwd, steady hands. In the palace, he felt useless; out here, feeling the salt wind against his skin, his hands knew exactly what to do.
“I don't belong in that room, Xia Fei. If Liu Xiao wants the throne so badly, let him drown in his own paperwork. I just want three months of quiet before it's over.”
Xia Fei gave his shoulder a warm, supportive squeeze. “Keep the wind at your stern. I'll make sure nobody comes looking until your time is up.”
Xiaoshi nodded, cast off the line, and steered the skiff into the open dark, leaving the suffocating palace lights behind.
* * *
The voyage south took fourteen days of harsh squalls and navigating blind through razor-sharp limestone channels. The imperial archives had documented the outer archipelago as uncharted, unclaimed territory—ancient scrolls spoke of merman clans that had guarded the southern reefs for generations, though centuries of expanding human trade had gradually reduced them to sailors' superstitions.
When the skiff finally glided beneath the colossal karst archway into the heart of the Sapphire Archipelago, the violent ocean swells died away into breathtaking stillness.
The inner lagoon was a secluded bowl of turquoise water surrounded by towering limestone cliffs draped in hanging vines and wild white orchids. The water was so clear that Xiaoshi could see lavender coral shelves and starfish thirty feet below his keel. He pulled the oars inside, letting the boat drift into the sunlit shallows, and slumped against the wooden thwart.
He pulled off the little velvet crown, tossed it near his boots, and unbuttoned his collar with an exhausted, relieved sigh. For the first time in two years, the air smelled like salt and orchids instead of palace ink.
Then, twenty feet away near a flat volcanic rock, the water broke with a quiet, deliberate ripple.
Xiaoshi reached instinctively for his rapier, sitting upright. Resting on the warm black stone was a creature with spiky, snow-white hair that fell across a pale, severe face. Translucent, spiny fin-ears twitched slightly along the sides of his head. He wore an open-collared shirt of ruffled sea-silk that clung damply to his chest, a dark blue choker with a glowing sapphire at his throat, and loose strands of pearls resting against his collarbones.
From the waist down, a high-waisted navy corset laced with silver cords tapered into a massive, shimmering tail of midnight-blue scales that drifted lazily through the shallows. In one slender, webbed hand, the merman was idly turning an iridescent, spiral-carved nautilus shell against the sunlight before casually setting it down upon the flat stone.
The guy was ridiculously pretty.
Annoyingly pretty.
He looked like one of those ancient celestial spirits from temple paintings, except this particular spirit seemed considerably more interested in getting rid of Xiaoshi than blessing him.
A normal prince might have backed away.
A normal prince might have called for the guards.
Cheng Xiaoshi, unfortunately, had never been particularly good at doing the normal thing.
He didn't draw his sword. For several seconds, Xiaoshi could only stare, his mind struggling to reconcile the living figure before him with the stiff, painted faces that had filled the council chamber that morning. There was something almost unreal about seeing someone sitting so casually in the middle of a place no human court had ever claimed, turning a nautilus shell over in his hand as though Xiaoshi's arrival were nothing more than an interruption to an otherwise ordinary afternoon.
“...Hi?”
The merman's dark eyes lifted to him. They narrowed slightly as they took in the stranger standing awkwardly at the edge of his boat, windblown and salt-stained, with a ridiculous little crown already abandoned beside his boots. He did not look impressed. For a moment, his expression was so thoroughly unimpressed that Xiaoshi wondered if he'd somehow managed to offend him simply by showing up.
“Get out.”
The answer was so immediate and so completely devoid of ceremony that Xiaoshi almost laughed. In the capital, even a servant would have addressed him with some variation of Your Highness. Every conversation came wrapped in titles, careful manners, or the kind of politeness that usually meant someone wanted something from him. Yet, this stranger had looked straight at him and seen nothing worth accommodating.
“I just got here,” Xiaoshi protested, leaning an elbow against the gunwale. “I sailed two weeks through open squalls to find this reef.”
“Then sail two weeks back.”
The merman's tone remained perfectly even as he folded his arms. “Your kind brings nothing but noise and rotting timber into these waters. Leave before I send that little boat of yours to the bottom.”
Xiaoshi stared at him for a beat before a familiar stubbornness took over. He folded his arms as well, settling more comfortably against the side of the boat.
“I'm Crown Prince Cheng Xiaoshi. People usually show at least a little bit of politeness.”
That finally earned him a reaction. The merman's gaze drifted down to the tiny gold crown lying crookedly between Xiaoshi's boots, then traveled slowly back up to his face. His eyes lingered on the damp, disheveled state of the royal tunic, as if he were evaluating a particularly unimpressive piece of cargo.
“You look like an idiot in a fancy coat.”
Xiaoshi's mouth fell open.
“Excuse me?”
There was no time to recover his dignity. The merman flicked his tail against the surface, sending a sheet of seawater over the side of the rock and directly across Xiaoshi's chest. Cold brine soaked through the royal-blue tunic in an instant, splashing across the floorboards of the skiff.
For a moment, Xiaoshi simply sat there dripping.
He wiped the water from his face and looked down at the state of his clothes. The gold cords were plastered against his chest, one sleeve was completely soaked, and a small puddle was already forming around his boots.
When he looked back toward the rock, the merman was gone.
Only a few widening ripples disturbed the turquoise water.
Xiaoshi should have been annoyed. He probably should have been insulted. Instead, a laugh escaped him, quiet at first before growing into a helpless grin.
It had been two years since anyone had spoken to him like that.
And, strangely enough, he didn't hate it.
He pushed the wet hair out of his eyes and glanced toward the empty rock once more.
“Right,” he mutered, reaching for the oars. “I'm definitely coming back tomorrow.”
* * *
True to his word, Xiaoshi came back every day after that meeting.
He would tie his skiff to the same limestone outcropping, check his charts, and settle into the boat, ready with another story to tell. At first, he would call for the merman, only to be met with silence. He kept coming anyway, even when he began to wonder if the stranger had simply decided he wasn't worth the trouble. But after a few mornings, Xiaoshi noticed something strange. The merman was always there; he simply preferred to stay out of sight, lingering beneath the shadowed kelp beds and surfacing only when he felt like it.
Xiaoshi talked regardless.
He complained about royal etiquette classes, about council ministers who could spend an entire afternoon arguing over the price of grain without actually deciding anything, and about Xia Fei's inexplicable talent for burning the morning rations. Once, after running out of things to complain about, he spent nearly an hour describing an ugly marble statue in the eastern courtyard.
“You're still there, aren't you?” he called eventually.
There was a brief silence beneath the water before a pale face surfaced just far enough for a pair of dark eyes to appear over the edge of the skiff.
“Unfortunately.”
Xiaoshi grinned. “I knew it.”
He leaned his chin against his forearm on the gunwale, looking down at the pale reflection beneath the clear turquoise water. “...So that was the deal, by the way. Why I'm out here. Sail south, survive three months, and bring back some mythical founding relic called the Heart of the Sea. Hand it over to the council as proof of the Sovereign Pilgrimage, and then I'm officially free. No crowns, no marriage petitions, no Liu Xiao.”
The merman floated a few feet away, his webbed fingers idly brushing against the iridescent nautilus pendant resting at his throat before he let out a faint, cynical scoff.
“Heart of the Sea,” the merman muttered softly, his dark eyes looking up at Xiaoshi. “Humans have an annoying habit of giving dramatic names to things that do not belong to them.”
“Hey, don't look at me, ancient council scribes came up with it!” Xiaoshi chuckled, tossing a pebble into the shallows. “Besides, I don't even care if the damn thing exists. Three months of salt air without court politics is reward enough for me.”
The merman gave him a long, unreadable look before slipping beneath the surface again.
It became a familiar sort of exchange. Xiaoshi talked; the merman pretended not to listen. Sometimes he vanished before the story ended, and sometimes he lingered near the boat long enough to offer a dry comment before retreating into the cool shadows of the kelp. Neither of them seemed particularly interested in acknowledging that the visits had become an unbreakable routine.
By the time Xiaoshi arrived one morning carrying a small woven basket of mountain plums, the merman no longer bothered hiding when he heard the skiff approaching.
Xiaoshi noticed, but said nothing.
Instead, he placed the basket on the flat volcanic rock between them and sat back on the gunwale. The plums had been gathered from the island's interior that morning, still cool from the shade. He picked one up and rolled it between his fingers while waiting for the merman to decide whether he was interested.
The merman's gaze settled on the fruit almost immediately, lingering there just long enough for Xiaoshi to catch him at it.
“You want it.”
“No.”
“You've been staring at it.”
“I was looking at the basket.”
Xiaoshi glanced down at the woven basket between them, then back at him with a grin. “That's where the plum is.”
The merman gave him a flat look, but after a moment he reached up from the water and took the fruit anyway. “Did anyone ever tell you that you’re noisy?”
Xiaoshi leaned back against the wooden bench, clearly pleased with himself. “I think you're the only one who dares to say that to my face.”
The merman bit into the plum and considered it with far more seriousness than the fruit deserved. “It's a little sour.”
“These were picked two hours ago.”
“That doesn't make them sweeter.”
Xiaoshi laughed. “You know, for someone who keeps telling me to leave, you have a surprising number of opinions about my food.”
The merman ignored him and reached for another plum, but Xiaoshi caught the fruit first, closing his fingers around it before he could take it.
“You see, I don't share with strangers.”
The merman's brows drew together slightly. “You've been coming here every morning for weeks.”
“And you're still a stranger.” Xiaoshi turned the plum between his fingers, a small smile tugging at his mouth. “You already know my name. I think it's only fair I get yours.”
The merman was quiet for a moment, his gaze dropping briefly to the plum in Xiaoshi's hand. Then he sighed.
“Lu Guang.”
Xiaoshi's smile widened as he held the fruit out to him. “See? Now that's fair.”
Lu Guang took the plum with a look that suggested he wasn't entirely convinced. “You're annoying.”
“Sure, Lu Guang.”
“Don't get ahead of yourself.”
Xiaoshi laughed and settled back against the bench. “I'll give you time.”
Lu Guang shook his head and took another bite of his plum, but he didn't disappear beneath the water.
After that, Xiaoshi stopped wondering whether Lu Guang would be there when he arrived. He simply came to expect him.
Little by little, the rest of the lagoon became just as familiar. Without quite noticing when it started, Xiaoshi began leaving his heavy boots beside the skiff rather than carrying them ashore. The silver armor disappeared soon after, followed by the ridiculous little crown he had once insisted on wearing even when no one was there to see it. By the time the days grew warmer, he spent more afternoons in the water than on the boat, swimming through the shallows while Lu Guang drifted beside him.
* * *
The shift occurred in the sixth week, following a sudden, violent squall that battered the outer archipelago.
When Xiaoshi rowed into the lagoon the morning after the storm, the sunlit rock was bare. He waited for nearly an hour, but the water remained unbroken, and a cold, hollow weight settled in his chest. He tied the boat to the nearest outcropping and waded through the shallow channels toward the shadowed sea caverns beneath the northern cliff, calling Lu Guang's name into the dark.
A faint, strained gasp answered him from behind a dense curtain of hanging kelp.
Xiaoshi pushed through the cold water and climbed onto a narrow stone shelf inside the cavern. Lu Guang was slumped against the wet limestone wall, his face pale, his breathing ragged and uneven. Xiaoshi's breath caught when he saw his arm.
A tangled mess of heavy, rusted brass drift-trawler wire was wrapped tightly around Lu Guang's left forearm, the kind of discarded deep-sea netting merchant ships sometimes left behind. Its corroded barbs had cut deep into the delicate webbed flesh between his wrist and knuckles, and dark violet blood had already begun to pool in the rock below. The skin around the wound was swollen and flushed an unhealthy shade, the rust reacting badly against the merman's flesh.
Lu Guang tried to pull his arm closer to himself, but the movement ended in a sharp hiss of pain.
“It's fine,” he muttered. “Just surface rust. The tide will wash it out.”
“The hell it will.”
Xiaoshi crouched beside him, reaching for the tangled wire before Lu Guang could pull away again. Lu Guang caught his wrist.
“Don't.”
Xiaoshi looked at him. “Why?”
“Human rust.” Lu Guang's breathing came unevenly. “It poisons merman blood.”
Xiaoshi glanced at the wire, then back at Lu Guang's face. “Then I'll be careful.”
He drew his side dagger and shifted closer, settling beside Lu Guang on the narrow ledge. There was barely enough room between the stone wall and the water for both of them, so Xiaoshi braced himself against the rock and guided Lu Guang's uninjured hand onto his shoulder.
“Hold on.”
Lu Guang hesitated, but his fingers eventually curled into the fabric of Xiaoshi's tunic.
Xiaoshi worked the blade beneath the first loop of wire. He cut through it slowly, easing each rusted barb away from the torn flesh rather than pulling it free all at once. Lu Guang shuddered with every movement, his grip tightening whenever the blade caught, and when the pain became too much, his forehead came to rest against Xiaoshi's shoulder.
Xiaoshi didn't say anything. He simply kept one arm around Lu Guang's back to steady him while his other hand continued working until the final piece of wire finally clattered against the stone.
“There,” Xiaoshi murmured. “That's the worst of it.”
Lu Guang let out a shaky breath. “You sound very confident.”
“I have no idea what I'm doing.”
That earned him the faintest breath of amusement before Lu Guang's expression tightened again.
Xiaoshi reached for the freshwater canteen at his belt. “This is going to sting.”
“I know.”
He poured the clean spring water carefully over the wound, washing away the rust and blood. Lu Guang hissed through his teeth, his claws tightening against Xiaoshi's shoulder as his body tensed.
Xiaoshi stayed where he was, letting Lu Guang lean against him until the worst of the burning had passed.
“Better?”
After a moment, Lu Guang nodded.
Xiaoshi tore a strip of clean linen from the inside of his royal sash and began wrapping the wound. His fingers were careful and unhurried, tightening the bandage just enough to hold. When he finished, he kept one hand around Lu Guang's wrist for another moment, making sure the trembling had eased before finally letting go.
“There,” Xiaoshi said quietly. “It's clean. The bleeding's stopped.”
Lu Guang slowly opened his eyes. He looked down at the torn royal linen bound securely around his arm, then up at Xiaoshi. The prince was kneeling in the murky water, his expensive military tunic smeared with rust and sea silt, his dark hair plastered to his forehead, his hands steady and gentle despite the mess around them.
In centuries of life beneath the surface, Lu Guang had known humans mostly as creatures of iron, nets, and insatiable greed. They took from the sea and called it conquest. Yet here was a human kneeling beside him, using part of his own clothing to bind a stranger's wound without hesitation, never once treating Lu Guang as something to fear.
Lu Guang looked down at the bandage, then back at Xiaoshi. “You're not afraid?”
“Of what?”
His gaze dropped to his own bloodied hand, the sharp claws, and the tail curled awkwardly across the narrow ledge. “Me.”
Xiaoshi stared at him for a moment before a grin slowly spread across his face. “Isn't it a little late to ask me that now?”
“You're strange,” Lu Guang murmured, his gaze lingering on him. “I don't think I can understand you.”
Xiaoshi stared at him for a moment before amusement tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Took you six weeks to realize that?”
Lu Guang gave him a flat look. “You're impossible.”
“Maybe.” Xiaoshi's smile softened. “Guess you'll have to keep figuring me out.”
For a moment, Lu Guang simply watched him. Then his uninjured hand rose slowly, his cool fingers brushing against Xiaoshi's cheek as they caught a stray drop of seawater beneath his eye. Xiaoshi went still at the touch, but he didn't pull away, letting Lu Guang's thumb linger there for a moment before his hand finally fell back to his side.
“You're still annoying, though.”
Xiaoshi smiled. “Sure. Whatever you say.”
Lu Guang shook his head, but this time there was a small smile at the corner of his mouth. “Thank you.”
Xiaoshi's smile widened. “Anytime.”
* * *
Once Lu Guang’s arm had healed, the quiet routine between them began to change.
Whenever the morning winds were rough, Lu Guang would swim alongside Xiaoshi's skiff, guiding the wooden keel safely through the hidden coral shallows until they cleared the jagged barrier reef. He showed Xiaoshi hidden grottos where wild sweet sea grapes grew along low overhangs, nudging the best clusters toward the boat with the tip of his tail.
Xiaoshi had stopped counting the days he spent in the lagoon. When he walked along the island shoreline at dawn, he found himself instinctively picking the ripest plums, already wondering which ones Lu Guang would pretend not to like. Whenever he looked toward the water, he was already searching for white hair above the surface.
It was becoming a habit.
That was probably a problem.
Yet as their intimacy deepened, Xiaoshi began to understand what the empire looked like from the other side of the water.
Listening to Lu Guang speak of the outer trenches—of the encroaching human whaling fleets, the drift nets that suffocated coral beds, and the ruthless trawlers that cleared entire reefs for profit—Xiaoshi began to see the empire through different eyes. The kingdom he had thought of merely as an annoying cage of etiquette was a massive machine whose decisions reached far beyond palace walls.
If Liu Xiao took the throne, the merchant guilds would be granted unrestricted naval expansion and Vein would be unleashed with four war brigades to build fortresses along the southern straits, dredging the reefs with iron chains.
He had spent months believing that walking away from the throne was a harmless choice—that Liu Xiao was simply better at ruling, and that letting him have the crown would free everyone.
But now Xiaoshi could see what that choice would actually mean.
If Xiaoshi surrendered, Lu Guang and this entire lagoon would eventually be destroyed by the very empire Xiaoshi had abandoned.
Then, as the third month neared its end, the ocean began to change.
Thin plumes of grey smoke appeared on the distant southern horizon, and sea gulls began circling in tight, nervous flocks high above the karst peaks. Lu Guang started spending more time gazing out toward the open sea, his fin-ears twitching toward the deep, unnatural cadence of distant water.
One evening, as the setting sun painted the lagoon in bruised shades of amber and violet, Xiaoshi sat on the gunwale of his skiff, his bare feet dipping into the water while Lu Guang rested his forearms against the wooden hull.
“The autumn solstice is in three days,” Lu Guang said quietly, watching the small ripples between them. “That means your three months are almost over.”
Xiaoshi looked down at the water. “You know, when I left the capital, I told Liu Xiao he could have the throne. I told myself I was useless, that I wasn't cut out to be prince, and that letting him take it would make everything easier.”
Lu Guang looked up at him, listening without interrupting.
“I spent three months thinking I could leave everything behind and finally be free,” Xiaoshi continued. “I thought I could just stay here, swim in the shallows, and forget the palace ever existed. But I was wrong.”
He reached out, his fingers brushing against Lu Guang’s cool knuckles. “If I walk away now, Liu Xiao gets the throne. He will send Vein's warships to dredge these reefs. He will sign trade treaties that let merchant fleets drag iron nets through every channel in this archipelago. He will destroy this entire place, Lu Guang. And I won't be able to stop him.”
Lu Guang looked down at their hands, his dark eyes softening with a quiet, bitter resignation. “You cannot fight an entire empire by yourself, Xiaoshi. These waters were here long before your kingdom, and we will survive whatever comes next. You are a prince of the land. Go back to your people before they drag you back in chains.”
“No,” Xiaoshi said firmly, leaning closer until their eyes locked. “I mean—yes, I have to go. But I'm not running away this time. And I'm not going back to be their obedient little puppet either.”
Lu Guang frowned slightly. “What are you trying to say?”
“I'm saying I don't want to choose between you and the kingdom,” Xiaoshi said, his dark eyes burning with the fierce, stubborn intensity that Lu Guang had come to know so well. “What if I don't want their empire the way they built it? If that dry castle is what's keeping us apart, I'd rather just drown the whole damn kingdom to the bottom of the sea so the water comes straight up to my bedroom window. That way you can swim inside whenever you want.”
Lu Guang froze.
A deep, vivid flush surged across Lu Guang’s pale cheeks, turning the tips of his translucent fin-ears bright crimson. Overwhelmed by the raw, absurd sincerity of the declaration, Lu Guang dropped his forehead against his crossed arms on the boat's edge with a muffled, desperate groan. “Cheng Xiaoshi... you are genuinely the most reckless, unhinged disaster of a prince in human history.”
Xiaoshi grinned softly, his hand resting gently against the back of Lu Guang's neck. “Maybe I don't have to be the perfect prince, Lu Guang. I just have to be better than the man who would hurt the people I'm supposed to protect.”
* * *
The three days passed with the quiet inevitability of an outgoing tide.
On the evening of the autumn solstice, the lagoon was bathed in deep indigo shadows and the fading amber light of dusk. Xiaoshi sat at the edge of his skiff, his packed travel satchel resting beside his boots, his gaze fixed on the calm water where Lu Guang floated alongside the hull.
The quiet between them was gently broken by a low, resonant chime echoing from the outer sea—the deep, familiar toll of The Golden Osprey’s naval bell cutting through the evening mist.
Through the limestone archway, the warm amber glow of ship lanterns flickered against the darkening horizon. The three months had officially expired, and the imperial flagship had arrived on schedule, dropping anchor at the outer reef’s edge.
Lu Guang’s fin-ears twitched slightly toward the sound. He looked toward the distant lantern light, his dark eyes calm, though an unmistakable stillness settled over his shoulders.
“Your ship is here,” Lu Guang said softly.
Xiaoshi looked out toward the golden glow reflecting across the outer swells. For the first time in his life, the sight of his kingdom’s crest did not fill him with the urge to run.
He turned back to the water, taking Lu Guang’s cool, webbed hands in his own. “I will be back, Lu Guang.”
Lu Guang’s fingers tightened faintly around his, his dark eyes clouded with an old, quiet skepticism. “Humans make easy promises when they want something, Xiaoshi.”
“Then don't believe my words,” Xiaoshi said, holding his gaze with fierce, unshakable certainty. “Watch what I do instead. I’m going back to the capital, I’m taking that throne from Liu Xiao, and I’m tearing up every contract they tried to force on me. When I sign my first decree as ruler, it will be to seal off this entire archipelago—no warships, no iron nets, and no human fleets. Ever.”
Lu Guang searched his face in silence, the cool evening breeze stirring the white strands of hair across his brow. There was no teasing grin in Xiaoshi’s expression, no trace of the exhausted, defeated prince who had washed up in this lagoon three months ago—only steady, unyielding resolve.
The tense line of Lu Guang's shoulders slowly dropped, the corners of his mouth softening into the faintest, rarest smile Xiaoshi had ever seen on him.
“The ocean has plenty of patience, Cheng Xiaoshi,” Lu Guang murmured softly. He reached up, his cool fingers curling around the nape of Xiaoshi’s neck, drawing him gently downward. “Just don't be late. If the plums on your next boat are sour, I'm staying underwater.”
“I'll bring the sweetest ones from the capital,” Xiaoshi whispered against his lips.
Xiaoshi leaned in, closing the distance between them.
The kiss was quiet, tender, and unhurried—tasting of sea salt and clean rain. Xiaoshi’s fingers tangled gently into Lu Guang’s soft white hair while Lu Guang held him close, their foreheads resting together as the tide rose against the boat.
When they parted, their foreheads lingered together in the cool night air, both of them breathing in the quiet scent of rain and sea salt.
Slowly, Lu Guang reached up to the dark sapphire choker at his throat, unfastening the delicate silver chain that held the iridescent, spiral-carved nautilus shell. The relic caught the pale moonlight, glowing with a soft, pulsing azure light.
He took Xiaoshi’s hand, pressing the cool shell into his open palm.
Xiaoshi looked down at the glowing shell, his breath catching. His fingers hesitated as he tried to push it back.
“No,” Xiaoshi said softly, looking up into Lu Guang’s eyes with clear, unyielding resolve. “I’m not taking this, Lu Guang. I’m not bringing a sacred piece of your home to a council chamber just to win an argument with Liu Xiao. I’m claiming the throne with my own voice, not by taking something from the sea.”
Lu Guang didn't take the shell back. Instead, his webbed fingers closed firmly over Xiaoshi’s, curling Xiaoshi’s hand into a fist around the glowing nautilus until their knuckles pressed together.
“You are not taking it,” Lu Guang murmured, his voice low, steady, and unexpectedly tender. “I am lending it to you.”
Xiaoshi looked at him, startled.
“If you will not use it as proof for your council, then keep it,” Lu Guang murmured, holding Xiaoshi’s gaze in the dark. “Think of it as something entrusted to you. When the palace walls feel too suffocating, look at it and remember that there is still water waiting for you here.”
Lu Guang’s gaze softened.
“Bring it back to me, Cheng Xiaoshi.”
Xiaoshi felt the cool, pulsing weight of the shell in his palm, and beneath it, the warmth of Lu Guang’s skin. The knot of fear that had lived in his chest for two years finally dissolved into complete, unshakable certainty.
“I will,” Xiaoshi whispered, curling his fingers tightly around the relic. “Three months.”
“Three months,” Lu Guang agreed.
* * *
An hour later, Xiaoshi rowed his skiff out through the limestone archway into the outer bay, pulling alongside the towering hull of The Golden Osprey.
Cargo netting was thrown over the side, and Xiaoshi hauled himself up onto the quarterdeck. His blue uniform was weathered by sun and salt, his silver armor left behind in the boat, and his gold crown long gone, but he stood with a calm, grounded posture that silenced the watching sailors.
Xia Fei stepped forward, looking at Xiaoshi’s relaxed posture, sun-bronzed skin, and bare head before a wide, knowing smile broke across his features.
“Looks like you finally found what you were looking for,” Xia Fei said warmly, clapping Xiaoshi’s shoulder with deep, brotherly pride.
“Yeah,” Xiaoshi smiled, his voice quiet and sure. “I did.”
Near the ship’s cannons, Captain Vein leaned against the bulwark, evaluating Xiaoshi’s steady stance. Vein let out a low, rough grunt, sheathing his combat blade with a nod of rare respect. “Hmph. Seems the sea knocked the royal nonsense out of you after all.”
Under the shade of his oiled silk umbrella, Lord Liu Xiao observed the scene with quiet, measured attention. His sharp, calculative gaze drifted over Xiaoshi, noting the absence of hesitation, then lowered to the glowing nautilus shell resting in the prince’s hand.
The polite smile on Liu Xiao’s lips shifted almost imperceptibly.
“Welcome back, Your Highness,” Liu Xiao said smoothly, inclining his head in genuine fascination. “It seems the archipelago yielded its treasure after all.”
“It did,” Xiaoshi said, his voice carrying across the deck with clear, sovereign authority. “Set sail for the capital. We have an empire to reform.”
As the warship turned into the wind, Xiaoshi walked to the stern railing, looking back toward the misty limestone peaks of the lagoon.
Through the crashing swells, a single flash of midnight-sapphire scales crested the water before slipping quietly into the dark.
Xiaoshi reached into his pocket, feeling the cool, smooth curve of the nautilus shell against his fingers.
He had set sail across the ocean in search of a legendary treasure just to escape the suffocating walls of his birthright. But looking out across the open sea, Xiaoshi found himself thinking of the warm volcanic rock, white hair catching the sunlight, and a pair of dark eyes waiting for him beneath the cliffs.
He hadn't found gold, jewels, or power.
He had found somewhere to return to—and for the first time in his life, Cheng Xiaoshi was not running away.
He was simply clearing the path back home.