Chapter 13: Unfinished Business

The birth of writing signified that the merfolk had taken another great stride forward in their development. One character after another was created, and King Quan’an placed immense importance on this progress. He even broke with tradition by appointing two common merfolk, outside of the royal family, as “masters of script,” entrusting them to record and manage the written language alongside the royals.

Quan’an held the conviction that, for the history of the merfolk to endure forever, justice must prevail. He himself was skilled in inventing characters and carving them, and whenever leisure allowed, he devoted himself to the creation of new scripts.

The process of inventing a written language was vexing and fraught with difficulties. Every aspect needed careful consideration—whether a character could be easily memorized by merfolk, how simple it was to write, and if it could be made even more concise.

For a full century, Quan’an promoted this endeavor. The formation of a script required countless iterations and refinements. To most merfolk, written characters were far more difficult to comprehend than pictorial murals. The thirty-six murals engraved around the royal court were more beloved by the people. Depicting the divine ordination of the former kings up to the enthronement of King An, the murals, though primitive, seemed vivid and lifelike in the eyes of the merfolk, brimming with vitality and drama.

Even those merfolk slaves once numbed by the torments of the former king could not help but show pride as they passed by the royal court, as if sharing in its honor and disgrace, a deep sense of identity blooming within them.

This was not servility, but because King An had offered the slaves a path to ascend. Any slave who could swiftly master the merfolk script could be promoted to commoner, and commoners in turn might become officials.

The royal court of the merfolk was flourishing. Under the sea, there was no want for food or drink, nor were there any enemies to fear. The giant sea monsters dwelled mostly in the deep trenches, rarely venturing into the near or middle seas.

Life in the royal court was improving. Yet the eldest son of the late king, Quanxi—who, in the past, had nearly inherited the throne—locked himself away, staring at the radiant pearl before him, gripped by a strange and consuming frenzy.

In his childhood, he had witnessed his father’s obsession with the pearl, even swallowing it in an attempt to grow legs and become a god. Now, Quanxi desired to do the same.

He did not fear death, nor did he yearn for divinity. He only wished to prove that the former king had not been deluded in his later years, that his actions were not in vain. He wanted to finish what his father had started. He wanted to set foot on land, to carve out a vast territory for the merfolk!

He also wished to prove that he was no less than his younger brother—that he, Quanxi, was worthy of being king.

“Prince Quanxi, all is ready,” came a voice beside him. It was an elderly merwoman, her face deeply wrinkled, who spoke with a sycophantic smile: “According to the lore passed down in our clan, with the addition of a three-hundred-year sea spring flower, five-hundred-year black ice iron, a thousand-year whale’s flesh, and a ten-thousand-year pearl, a merfolk may shed their tailfin.”

“The former king took only the ten-thousand-year pearl, without the necessary accompaniments, and so he failed, dying before his time.”

This old merwoman before Quanxi was already over five hundred years old. Though the average merfolk lived to five centuries, there were always exceptions who surpassed that, living into their fifth or sixth century. She was one such outlier.

She hailed from the Whitefin Tribe, which had been destroyed two centuries ago by the former merfolk king, marking the last tribe to fall before the royal court’s supremacy. The Whitefin Tribe, numbering in the tens of thousands, had developed a well-ordered system, clear divisions of labor, and the beginnings of a matriarchal society—just one step away from developing their own language and script. But they could not compare with the royal court, blessed by fate. After their defeat, the Whitefins swiftly integrated, developing even faster than the Redfins and Blackfins—perhaps due to innate intelligence.

The old woman at Quanxi’s side had once held one of the highest ranks among the Whitefins. Exceptionally shrewd, she had blended in with the common folk as the royal court’s army approached, willingly becoming a captive and never revealing her identity. Only after the former king’s death, over a century ago, did she begin to move quietly, eventually aligning herself with Quanxi, intending to leverage the power of the former king’s eldest son to regain her former status.

Listening to her, Quanxi nodded, though inwardly remained vigilant. He fixed her with a cold gaze and said, “It was a Whitefin who once urged my father to swallow the pearl. I do not know your connection to that individual, but let me warn you: if anything happens to me, your tribe’s standing will plummet, and all your kin will be executed!”

“King An is merciful, but he is not without a king’s wrath.”

Faced with Quanxi’s warning and icy stare, the old woman betrayed no emotion. She took a deep breath, pressed her forehead to the cold ground, and said, “Please rest assured, Your Highness. All has been foreseen. If anything should go awry, I and all my kin are prepared to meet our deaths.”

“Your lives cannot compare to mine!” Quanxi snapped, yet still followed the old woman’s instructions, combining the ingredients as she had prescribed.

“Your Highness, the materials must be ground together,” she reminded him.

At these words, Quanxi flew into a rage. He seized the old woman by the throat, his eyes blazing. “Are you trying to make a fool of me? We are under the sea—water is everywhere! If I grind them, won’t they scatter into the water at once? How can they possibly be combined?”

“Do not be angry, Your Highness.” Though the old woman struggled to breathe, she managed to keep her tone cheerful. “It cannot be done underwater. You must go… to the surface. After using it, swallow the mixture, and you will grow legs, ready to walk upon the land.”

Hearing her, Quanxi slowly calmed, released his grip, and after a moment’s thought, nodded. “You are right. I will go now.”

With that, Quanxi gathered the materials and began to ascend toward the surface. The old Whitefin followed behind, eager to see what might transpire.

Around the royal court, many merfolk guards patrolled, but as the late king’s eldest son, Quanxi was held in the highest esteem. No one dared stop him or question his actions, and so his ascent went unimpeded.

Breaking the surface, Quanxi squinted against the sunlight in the sky above—a sensation utterly unlike that of the deep sea.

He drew a deep breath and set about grinding the ingredients. Time passed slowly. After half an hour, all the materials had been reduced to powder.

Staring at the powder collected in a shell, Quanxi hesitated. Was he truly to swallow this white dust, in pursuit of those so-called legs?

His expression darkened. The evening sky was especially beautiful, but it was only the sun’s final brilliance of the day.

Looking upon the dusk, Quanxi remembered his father.

At that thought, he hesitated no longer. He raised the shell and poured all the white powder into his mouth.

To finish what my father began, to follow in his path!

The unfinished dream of the former king—I shall see it done!