The waves crashed onto the shore, frothing into white foam.
On a remote stretch of beach, Wen Yu walked barefoot along the sand. In his right hand, he held several strands of seaweed strung with dozens of snow-white fish. Each fish shimmered faintly with a soft blue glow, hinting at their extraordinary value.
These fish could only be found in the deep sea. Coincidentally, they were Lance's favorite.
Even for Wen Yu, it had taken great effort to catch them. He intended to bring them back to Lance.
Lance had to eat these fish. Wen Yu was worried he wouldn't build a nest otherwise.
He wondered briefly how Carl and Lance were getting along.
Just as that thought crossed his mind, his communicator chimed.
Wen Yu frowned, shifting the fish to his other hand before turning on the device.
The screen lit up with a text message:
[Lance is cooking by herself. So cute. Look at this.]
Below it was a video.
Raising an eyebrow, Wen Yu tapped the video. A live stream opened, clearly recorded by Carl.
The scene was set in the kitchen.
That alone wasn't remarkable, but what caught the eye was the white mermaid standing at the counter, carefully dicing carrots with a kitchen knife held awkwardly in his webbed claws.
Lance clearly wasn't familiar with the process. He hesitated before each slice, repositioning the knife each time.
Whenever the knife hit the cutting board with a loud thunk, Lance flinched and his tail curled.
He worked slowly, but his serious expression made it endearing—as if he were conducting a high-stakes experiment rather than making soup. Watching him was unexpectedly entertaining.
Wen Yu stared at the screen in silence.
Was that really his little fish, cooking by himself?
It wasn't hard to figure out the reason.
Lance had woken up hungry. When he went downstairs for food, he found Carl completely absorbed in a game, ignoring everything else.
Faced with a choice between starving or eating Carl's notoriously terrible fish soup, Lance had decided to take matters into his own hands.
He had snuck into the kitchen while Carl was distracted.
Eventually, Carl finished his game and noticed sounds coming from the kitchen. Curious, he got up and walked over—only to find Lance awkwardly handling the fish.
They both froze, staring at each other.
Lance looked like he might just stab Carl on the spot with the kitchen knife.
Carl, remarkably calm, grabbed his communicator to record the moment.
The moment Lance saw Carl raise his hand, he looked ready to bolt.
In the ensuing tug-of-war, Lance finally agreed to let Carl keep the communicator on as a silent recorder, as long as he didn't interact with it. With that compromise, Lance reluctantly stayed to finish cooking.
Both sides reached a fragile truce.
Lance was satisfied he'd taken control of the situation. Carl was thrilled to have captured such an adorably weird moment on video.
Truly, a win-win.
Back in the present, Wen Yu paused on the beach to keep watching. The video was still streaming, and he was curious: could Lance actually make something edible?
Later in the footage, Lance carefully placed the small pot of fish soup into cold water to cool. Carl took advantage of Lance's distraction, sneakily dipping in a spoon to taste it.
His expression said it all.
The fish soup wasn't just edible—it was delicious.
Wen Yu, still standing barefoot on the sand, felt a pang of jealousy.
Sure, Lance had once caught a fish for him, but catching a fish and cooking soup were very different. He'd never received such treatment.
The video continued.
Suddenly, Lance leaned into the camera. The next second, the screen was engulfed by a webbed claw.
Then: flowers. Then Carl's startled yelp. The image jolted, and suddenly Lance's face filled the screen.
Startled, Wen Yu instinctively leaned back—then burst out laughing.
Why had his little fish suddenly hijacked Carl's communicator?
In the video, Lance looked seriously into the screen, seemingly unaware that he was being streamed live. Behind him, the background was pitch black.
Wen Yu knew that look. Lance was up to no good.
The video shook again. Carl's voice grew louder, and then the stream abruptly ended, with Lance making a disgusted face at the camera.
Wen Yu squinted at the final frame, replaying it several times before noticing a small corner of black fabric in the background.
That fabric…
It was from the sheet in his own bedroom.
Lance had hidden in his room?
And he'd taken Carl's communicator with him?
Wen Yu let out a sigh and rubbed his temple.
He had a feeling Lance was about to try something outrageous again.
...
Indeed, Lance was now hiding under Wen Yu's bed, fiddling with Carl's communicator while Carl ran around looking for him.
Originally, Lance had intended to trick Carl into dismantling the device himself so Lance could break it—forcing Carl to use the computer instead. That way, Lance could try to email himself out.
But things had taken an unexpected turn. Somehow, Lance had swiped Carl's communicator by… cooking?
Carl really was too trusting.
Lance had tried to escape after grabbing it, but Carl—reverting to his soldier instincts—had cornered him upstairs. Eventually, Lance ducked into Wen Yu's room and hid under the bed.
Now, in the dark, Lance tapped wildly at the communicator, trying to mess with it.
Outside, Carl hadn't forgotten to bring his bowl. After a few more bites of the soup, he called out seriously:
"Lance, come out. You can't use my communicator."
He knelt beside the bed and peered under—only to be smacked in the face by a white tail.
Carl: "..."
Inside, Lance noticed Carl getting serious and panicked. He began frantically poking at the device.
The communicator was like an upgraded mobile phone. It had a password lock, categorized apps, and a projected interface instead of a screen.
Unfortunately, the security was solid. Private files and apps required Carl's fingerprint or face to unlock. Lance couldn't access them.
No wonder Carl wasn't too worried.
Still, Lance continued exploring.
Carl's communicator had three main pages: Work, Entertainment, and Other.
Lance didn't dare touch the Work section. But the Entertainment page…
He clicked through it. Shopping apps. Food delivery. All kinds of tempting options.
Lance grinned.
With a few jabs of his webbed claw, he deleted the entire Entertainment page.
Ding-dong.
Every app vanished.
Carl, still watching from outside, heard the soft chime and gasped when he saw the change in the display.
"What did you delete?!"
Panicking, Carl tried to grab Lance's tail.
"Come out! If you don't, I'll spank you!"
Lance, startled by Carl's tone, leapt out from the other side of the bed—only to tear the bedsheet as his fin caught on the fabric.
Both froze.
Carl strode over, reclaiming his communicator.
"You're in big trouble."
Lance blinked.
It's just a sheet. Wen Yu is rich. What's the big deal?
"If only it were that simple," Carl muttered. "Our boss is… particular. He hates when people mess with his stuff."
Lance felt a flicker of guilt and removed the last of the torn sheet from his tail.
"This is real silk. Probably worth over ten thousand."
Carl exaggerated deliberately for effect.
"How are you going to pay for that?"
And then he noticed his Entertainment page was gone.
Was Lance targeting him?
(Of course he was.)
Lance thought about it, then patted Carl on the shoulder with a guilty expression.
Carl, surprised by the first voluntary physical contact, lit up.
"Need help?"
Lance nodded.
"Alright!" Carl grinned. "But you have to listen to me. No more messing around."
Lance tilted his head, then nodded again.
Carl beamed. "Only one solution, then."
"I'll buy a new sheet exactly the same and replace it before the boss notices."
Lance gave him a thumbs-up.
"But in return…"
Carl's eyes gleamed.
"You let me hug you."
Lance: "..."
He stared at Carl, then sighed.
Silly boy, he thought. You think I've fallen into your trap—but it's you who walked into mine.
He feigned reluctance, stepped forward, and hugged Carl.
Carl, thrilled, pulled him close, fingers brushing through Lance's long silver hair. He thought he could even smell the sea.
For the first time, fairy tales felt real.
After a while, Lance pulled away.
Carl didn't mind. He looked entirely satisfied.
Lance patted the torn sheet again.
"Oh right, we need to fix this."
Carl scratched his head and walked to the computer. He placed the communicator into a small box next to it.
Lance's eyes widened. He rushed to Carl's side, watching closely.
"I hope the boss doesn't mind... he shouldn't be so petty," Carl muttered, noticing Lance hovering nearby.
"Understand all this?" he asked.
Lance rolled his eyes and plopped down beside him, ready to observe everything.
Carl didn't think much of it. Lance was curious, that was all.
He opened a shopping site.
Lance stared at the screen.
Carl logged into his account and searched for black silk sheets.
One person and one mermaid stared at the sea of black silk bed sets filling the screen, both wearing identical dazed expressions.
After a few seconds, they turned simultaneously to glance at the torn sheet behind them.
Another few seconds passed before Carl turned back first. He patted Lansi on the shoulder, adopting an expression of solemn responsibility.
"You pick it. Even if you get it wrong, the boss would never blame you."
Lansi twitched slightly.
Great. He was getting thrown under the bus.
After what felt like forever, the two finally settled on a three-piece set that they could both grudgingly accept.
Carl moaned about his salary while reluctantly placing the order.
Once it was done, he sighed dramatically and reached for the power button to shut down the computer.
But unexpectedly, Lansi pressed down on Carl's hand.
"What are you doing?" Carl asked, caught off guard.
Lansi pointed at the computer screen, looking intrigued.
At the same time, his stomach gave a loud gurgle.
Carl blinked, then burst out laughing.
After all that chaos, he thought Lansi wasn't even hungry.
"Alright," Carl said, ruffling Lansi's hair. "How about I show you a TV series? Just for today. I'll go make you some fish soup."
Lansi nodded eagerly.
"Then pick the one you like," Carl said, gesturing toward the posters lined up on the screen. He was genuinely curious what Lansi would choose.
Lansi glanced over the options and tapped randomly. He ended up selecting one of the most infamous dramas of the year—
"Harem Concubine Biography."
Carl: "…"
Still reeling, Carl set up the show and went downstairs to heat up the soup.
Meanwhile, Lansi pretended to watch the drama with great interest.
But the moment Carl left, Lansi minimized the window playing The Concubine Can't Do It and frantically opened a search engine. He began typing how to send a courier.
Less than ten seconds later, a chat window suddenly popped up.
A contact with a rose icon sent a message:
[Carl? Are you using the computer?]
The question had a strange tone. It seemed unusual to be using a computer instead of a communicator. Like someone using a landline in an age of smartphones.
Lansi hesitated. There was no name, but judging by the rose icon, he had a hunch who it was. He decided to bluff:
[Shopping.]
There was a long pause from the other side before another message appeared:
[Are you really Carl?]
Seriously? That sensitive?
Yep. It had to be Rose. Only Rose could have such finely tuned radar.
Thinking of Rose's past indulgence toward him, Lansi typed carefully:
[Do you know how to send a courier to the sea? A port is fine too.]
There was another pause. A long string of typing appeared, then vanished. After a moment, a new message came through:
[I do. Do you need help?]
[I want to send something over there. Can I send it directly?]
[You can, if you mark it as "top secret."]
Lansi quickly replied:
[But wouldn't that need someone to guarantee and sign for it? Can you do that?]
Then he bit his lip.
Finally, he just typed what was on his mind:
[Are you Rose?]
A few seconds passed, and the reply came:
[You really are Lansi.]
Lansi let out a dry laugh, thinking fast. Before he could reply, another message appeared:
[Carl's on duty tomorrow. He won't go to the villa. I'll send a courier to pick up the package. Sound good?]
[Yes.]
Lansi's eyes lit up. He hesitated for a second, unsure if he should explain more. Would Rose help him if he knew the truth?
Before he could say anything else, another message arrived:
[I know you want to send yourself back.]
The rose icon remained still for a second. Then more text appeared:
[Well... that's great.]
The last two words felt oddly lost, like someone struggling to find something to say and giving up.
But Lansi didn't overthink it. He replied quickly:
[Muah.]
Then he closed the chat window and maximized the drama again, pretending to be thoroughly entertained.
…
Wen Yu stared at his communicator. The corners of his lips twitched upward before his expression darkened.
If you looked closely, you'd see that Wen Yu's own avatar was the red rose.
It was assigned randomly by the system, and Wen Yu had never bothered to change it. He never imagined it would come in handy like this.
The computer in the villa's bedroom was synced to his communication device. If he wanted, he could see everything happening on that screen in real time.
And today, he'd witnessed Lansi frantically researching how to send a courier.
It sounded ridiculous at first. But thinking it through, it wasn't so far-fetched.
For example, he could contact a black market courier.
They didn't care what you sent. As long as you had money, they'd deliver anything—up to and including a nuclear bomb.
Another way, as he had told Lansi, was through a guarantor.
In this post-war world, scientists and military officers often mailed bizarre items. Regulations only applied to ordinary people. As long as someone powerful vouched for it, the courier wouldn't check the contents at all.
If the rose really was Rose, then he might actually stake his career on this and help Lansi return to the sea.
"Unbelievable," Wen Yu muttered.
He turned off his communicator and looked out the window of the military vehicle.
They were passing through the slums near the living quarters.
Rows of crumbling houses blurred past. People stood along the roadside, watching the army convoy with expressions ranging from dull to quietly envious.
They were all human.
But the difference between the humans barely surviving at the bottom and the drunken elite at the top was enormous.
This was something Wen Yu could never quite understand.
The ocean had its own harsh rules, survival of the fittest. You fought with your body and won with your strength.
But here, human society decided a person's fate the moment they were born. It was truly bizarre.
"Colonel Wen Yu, Dr. Muran from Doom Lab is requesting a report from you after the mission," said the young soldier driving the car, sneaking glances at Wen Yu through the rearview mirror.
"So…" the soldier hesitated. "Shall I take you there?"
"To the military district," Wen Yu replied lazily. "If those fish aren't dealt with soon, they'll be spoiled."
"But... it's Dr. Mougin…"
"Hmm?"
"Understood!"
The soldier jolted upright, both hands gripping the wheel as he obediently drove toward Wen Yu's residence.