Chapter 10: The Son of the Merman

Sunlight poured into the tranquil depths of the sea, as if refracted and analyzed through a prism, painting the rocks, plants, shells, and corals below with the sun's rainbow hues.

Everything remained unchanged, save for a newly built temple standing alone, within which a rough, indistinct idol watched over the silence.

This was where the dream began.

Once, Quanxian wandered endlessly in this place where dreams first took root. But in recent years, perhaps angered by fruitless prayers, Quanxian ceased to visit, and the temple slowly fell into desolation.

Now, as he looked back, the scenery remained, yet he himself was no longer young.

All the myriad thoughts had faded into memory. No matter how exalted his status, he could not command time to halt.

"Do you know where this is?"

Standing before the temple, Quanxian sighed deeply and suddenly spoke, addressing his two sons.

"Father, this is the temple, the place where we worship the First God. It is where you received the First God's favor and gained the power of the giant shark," his eldest son Quanxi replied eagerly, his greenish-black tail fin swaying as if struggling to contain his excitement.

"Brother speaks truly," said his second son Quanan, not rushing to answer but instead echoing Quanxi's words. Unlike his brother, Quanan was composed and steady, seeming almost more like the elder.

Looking at these two children, so different in temperament, Quanxian could not help but exhale deeply, speaking with a hint of envy, "You are both wonderful. Do you know? Sometimes I envy you—you possess youthful bodies and relentless courage."

"You are the rising sun, while I am the dusk of evening."

Upon hearing this, Quanxi immediately replied with earnestness, "If you wish it, Father, I will pray to the First God and offer my life so that you may return to youth!"

Quanan paused, then bowed respectfully to Quanxian, saying, "Father, the world holds not only the sun, but also the rising bright moon. Though it cannot rival the sun, the moon still lights the path forward in darkness."

Quanxian shook his head and smiled, saying nothing.

His feet pressed gently into the soft seabed, the sand comfortable beneath him—a sensation he had never known while he still possessed a tail fin.

The merfolk were well aware of the sun and moon. Though they lived beneath the waves, Quanxian had spent fifty years at the First God's side and naturally learned the basics: units of time, units of distance. The merfolk had specialists who surfaced to measure time.

The bright moon?

He smiled at the thought.

The moon was smaller than the sun, and its light could never illuminate the whole day as the sun did. After dusk came darkness.

Though Quanxian had always favored his lively eldest son, he knew Quanxi was not suited to inherit his throne. Quanxi was spirited, influenced greatly by his father, and prone to solving problems with force. Moreover, his mother's clan could offer him little support. To place the crown upon Quanxi’s head would be forcing too much.

Yet... Quanxian dearly wished for his eldest son to be king. Despite his many flaws and shortcomings, he was the son Quanxian loved most.

As for his second son... though steady and mature, Quanxian disliked him greatly. Perhaps it was because his mother was too domineering, or perhaps for other reasons. Dislike was simply dislike, with no clear cause.

Quanxian wrestled with these feelings, which brought him to the temple to seek guidance.

He wanted the First God to make the decision for him.

Of course, if he met the First God, he would also seek a thread of hope for divinity.

He stood before the idol, gazing quietly. Though he knew the idol would likely not respond, he clung to a sliver of hope.

From sunrise to dusk, Quanxian lingered there all day, receiving nothing from the First God.

He grew disappointed; new wrinkles deepened on his face, and he seemed to age in an instant.

His body trembled for a moment, and then he suddenly felt dizzy, blood escaping his lips and dissolving into the water.

Sometimes, placing hope in the unknown is not wise.

"Father..."

"Father!"

His sons cried out in unison, hurrying forward to support him, their eyes filled with worry.

"Help me... back to the palace..."

Exhausting the last of his strength, Quanxian spoke these final words and then lost consciousness.

...

In the blink of an eye, five days passed.

During these five days, Quanxian's condition deteriorated; his lackluster aura made it seem as if this king who had ruled the merfolk court for two centuries could pass away at any moment.

Decades ago, Quanxian was confident he might live another eight hundred years and become the second god.

Now, in the royal bedchamber, Quanxian lay resting with his eyes closed.

His chamber differed from others; since he shed his tail fin for legs, his habits had changed entirely. Compared to the merfolk, he was now more like a human.

Quanxian now feared the dark, dreading that one careless moment might plunge him into eternal night.

The palace was ablaze with light; one bright pearl after another was placed throughout, illuminating every inch, leaving no shadow.

Within, his two sons, concubines, and trusted royals gathered, forsaking all else to vigil for five days and nights, praying ceaselessly for Quanxian.

Whether their prayers were sincere or whether they simply awaited his last breath, no one could say.

At this moment, Liangyuan stood not far from the bedchamber, watching the merfolk king he himself had cultivated.

Liangyuan now existed in a phantom state—if he wished, none could see him.

But as this was their final meeting, how could he not visit the king he had so carefully trained?

"Hoo~"

Quanxian lay on the bed, breathing deeply, his breath frail. The weeping and wailing around him irritated him; he wanted to drive them away but lacked the strength.

Eventually, he grew accustomed to their cries and abandoned the thought, letting them be.

Suddenly, in the corner of his eye, he glimpsed a figure. His pupils contracted sharply, and his whole body began to tremble.

He knew this figure all too well.

For fifty years, he had followed this figure across oceans and mountains; the lands he now ruled were but a fraction of those they had traversed together.

His lips quivered, his body shook, and using all his strength, he barely managed to utter two words:

"First God..."