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Maomao adjusted the straps of her satchel and stepped back, surveying her neat rows of jars and bundles. Everything had its place—her small apothecary was orderly, the kind of order that calms the mind even when it’s racing.

Only days had passed since she left her hometown, parting from her father with a fleeting bye—never a final goodbye. Now, in this unfamiliar town, she had settled into her new home as its apothecary. The place lay under the dominion of the local lord, though Maomao could only hope their paths—and those of his wives—would never cross.

After finishing her arrangements, she retrieved her purse from her coat pocket. “Enough to last a week,” she murmured, tucking it back and lifting the latch on the door. The narrow, sunlit street greeted her, quiet and almost empty. The air carried a faint scent of herbs and smoke—familiar, comforting. Market stalls were beginning to stir in the distance, fabrics fluttering, voices rising in early morning calls.

She stepped into the hum of the growing crowd, weaving carefully past merchants and townsfolk. A girl stumbled in her path, hands flying to steady a small bundle pressed to her chest. Light brown hair, parted neatly and tied into two braided buns, framed a startled face. Stray wisps brushed her temples, catching the sunlight as her wide eyes flicked toward Maomao with alarm and apology. Her lips pressed together, holding back words she hadn’t yet found.

“Ah—I’m so sorry!” the girl exclaimed, bowing quickly. Her movement was hurried but precise, habitual almost. Maomao noticed the bundle of herbs cradled in her arms, stems bent from the tight grip.

“It’s alright,” Maomao said, letting the words fall steady. Her eyes lingered on the herbs for only a moment before returning to the girl. Some things were better left unspoken.

Before either could move further, a passerby brushed against the girl, sending the bundle scattering across the cobblestones. Feet trampled over them without pause, the crowd giving hardly a glance.

“No—no, no!” the girl cried, her face draining of color. “Those were for Lady Lihua!”

The name seemed to steal the air from her lungs. Her hands hovered helplessly over the ruined herbs before pressing them to her chest, as if holding herself together.
Maomao’s eyes followed the man until he vanished into the crowd. Calling him out would do more harm than good. She knelt beside the scattered herbs, brushing each stem off with deliberate care. Despite herself, curiosity stirred—what was this girl doing with herbs like these? They weren’t the kind that grew on the sidewalks.

“What did you need the herbs for?” Maomao asked quietly.

The girl looked dazed, voice trembling. “It was for Lady Lihua… what do I do now?” Tears slipped down her cheeks as she turned to Maomao.

“First, calm yourself,” Maomao said, guiding her away from the swelling crowd. “Lady Lihua… as in one of the lord’s wives?”

The girl nodded, pressing her hands to her face in a futile attempt to stop the tears. “What do I do now?” she repeated, voice breaking.

Maomao’s gaze lingered on the trampled herbs. They had been of fine quality—beyond what a servant’s wages could buy. She didn’t know much about Lady Lihua, but a mistake like this would not be forgiven lightly.

“Come on,” Maomao said. Her voice held no hesitation. The girl scrambled after her, skirts catching on her knees.
Inside the small kitchen, Maomao learned the girl’s name: Xiaolan. A servant of the lord’s household, tasked with procuring herbs for Lady Lihua’s children, who had recently fallen ill. At the mention of the children, Xiaolan’s eyes brimmed with tears.

Maomao moved quietly, retrieving a clay teapot and two worn cups. She rinsed the pot with hot water, letting the steam rise in thin spirals. Each movement was careful, deliberate—measured, the same way she approached herbs and remedies. She measured the tea leaves with gentle fingers, inhaling their faint, earthy scent before pouring over hot water and watching them unfurl.
When she slid a cup to Xiaolan, warmth radiated through the girl’s trembling hands. “Did you see the children?” Maomao asked softly.

“No, not really,” Xiaolan murmured, eyes fixed on the swirling tea. “But I heard they’ve lost weight, vomiting… eating strange things. That’s why I was sent for herbs.”

Maomao sipped the bitter brew, letting it sharpen her thoughts. The children’s symptoms sounded familiar, though she could not yet tell what had caused them. Their weight loss, frequent vomiting, and strange eating habits were clues, but of what, she wasn’t sure.

“Did you see what they ate or if anything was given to them?” she asked carefully.

Xiaolan shook her head, eyes fixed on the tea. “I… I don’t know. I only brought the herbs. I didn’t touch the children, and I wasn’t allowed near the ladies’ rooms.”
Maomao’s fingers brushed the rim of her cup, tracing its rim in thought. She could not treat the children directly, and she had no desire to step into the household herself. But she could prepare something safe, something that would guide those in charge without putting herself at risk.

Maomao’s fingers hovered over the paper, brush poised. She wrote quickly, deliberately, tying each note to a small flower when finished.

Xiaolan peered at the bundle of flowers. “What… what is it?” she asked, voice trembling.
Maomao gave a small, steady shake of her head. “You don’t need to know.”

The girl hesitated, gripping the flowers. “Will this… keep me out of trouble?”

“I cannot promise,” Maomao admitted. “But it is better than going empty-handed.”

The days fell into a quiet rhythm. Maomao moved through her work with careful precision—measuring herbs, brewing remedies, listening to the soft coughs and murmurs of those who came to her door. It reminded her of the work she had done under her father, though here she felt a different kind of tether. Faces became familiar: the mother who always brought her son in for fevers, the husband who watched over his newborn daughter with gentle worry.

A sharp knock at the door made Maomao’s hands still mid-task. She straightened, eyes frowning for a moment, and the bright, familiar voice of Xiaolan carried through the hallway.

“Doctor! Doctor!!”
The sound was urgent, almost bursting with excitement, and it pulled her gaze to the door. She hesitated, caught between caution and curiosity. Whatever news Xiaolan brought, it clearly could not wait.

Xiaolan threw herself at Maomao in a sudden, tight hug. The scent of herbs and laundry hit first—a familiar blend, the same one that had clung to the market air that day. Maomao stiffened, uncertain how to respond to arms that weren’t hers. She stumbled back slightly, struggling to keep her balance.
“I’m not a doctor,” she murmured, pressing a gentle hand against Xiaolan’s shoulder to ease the embrace.

“They’re okay! The children—they’re fine!” Xiaolan’s eyes sparkled, relief spilling over. “Your notes worked!”
Maomao inclined her head slightly, letting the words settle. “I see.” But Xiaolan’s restless movements, the way she wrung her hands, told Maomao that wasn’t the full story.

“Anything else?” Maomao prompted, voice calm but firm.
Xiaolan let out an awkward, nervous chuckle. “The lord… has requested you,” she admitted, barely above a whisper.
Maomao froze for a heartbeat, letting the words land.

“…What did you say to him?” she asked evenly, eyes fixed on the girl.

“Nothing bad! Only good!” Xiaolan hurried to clarify, her words tumbling out. “I told him about the doctor who saved the children’s lives… and he wants to meet you!”

A familiar ache began at Maomao’s temples. She could already feel the headache coming.

The hall was colder than Maomao expected. Stone floors, polished smooth enough to catch the faintest shimmer of her reflection, stretched ahead toward a dais where the lord waited.

She knelt, palms flat against her knees, letting her posture speak of respect while keeping herself distant. Nearby, two wives watched silently, and if she looked closely, she could see gratitude flickering in their eyes. Maomao didn’t know how many he had, and she didn’t need to. A child lay in silk folds, tiny hands curled around the fabric, healthy now. The sight loosened something in her chest she didn’t have a name for.

“Maomao, was it?” The lord’s voice carried easily through the chamber—smooth, practiced. “A servant told me you were the one who saved my children’s lives.”

“Yes, my lord,” she replied, careful not to overstate her role. “Though it was more a lucky guess than skill.”
A low chuckle rumbled from him. “And modest, too.” His tone was pleasant, but his gaze lingered, assessing, weighing. Maomao kept her eyes fixed on the floorboards, avoiding it.

“There is a tale here, of a creature called a siren,” he began. Then, louder, he laughed. “Some even say my lineage came from the creature.”

Maomao’s mind flicked through possibilities, trying to gauge where this was heading, but she said nothing, only nodded.

“Medicine made from a siren’s scalp is said to bring miracles,” the lord continued. “I am not demanding that you produce it, but I would have you attempt it. My people will provide a seaside dwelling—enough to work there for a season.”

Maomao kept her posture straight, hands clasped lightly before her, calm on the outside though her mind churned.
“Understood,” she said, voice steady.

Maomao stood before the house the lord had set aside for her, eyes tracing the jagged cliffs that framed the coast. The sea stretched wide and merciless, waves lashing at the rocks with steady, unyielding force. She could not tell if the creature she sought even existed, only the tales her father had whispered: of beauty that beguiled, of allure that ensnared, of violence that stained like ink.

Still, it was only a single season. Afterward, she would return to the town, and this would be nothing more than a story she had lived.

“Will that be all, Maomao?” Xiaolan’s voice called from the path. She had volunteered to help Maomao settle in, a mix of guilt and loyalty apparent in every word.

“Yes. Thank you, Xiaolan,” Maomao replied, inclining her head.

The brown-haired girl lingered, worry written plainly across her face. “Maomao… I’m really sorry about what happened. I’ll visit you, so you won’t be lonely!” Her words tumbled out almost too quickly, as if afraid Maomao might refuse.

Maomao merely nodded, turning her gaze to the relentless waves. One season here, she thought. Not bad. Perfect solitude, time to dedicate herself entirely to her studies.

That night, sleep refused her. It had been three days since she arrived. The lord’s instructions were minimal—report every fourteen days, otherwise free to work as she pleased. Maomao had filled her time with experiments, cataloging sea plants, testing tinctures, and examining minerals along the jagged shore.

Eventually, the restlessness became too much. She slipped into her outer robe, tying it with careful, practiced knots, leaving her hair loose. The moon hung high, silver and severe, casting light across the jagged coastline. The seashore was harsh: rocks that scraped at her boots, sand coarse enough to hurt her feet, waves hammering against stone. Perfect.

Her eyes caught the dark mouth of a cave. A streak of red marked the stones—blood. Fresh, Maomao realized. Normally, she would have turned away. Blood always heralded danger. But something gleamed against the stone. A scale.

She froze, breath catching. Drawings of oceanic creatures flashed in her mind. This was unmistakably one of theirs. Maomao approached the cave, careful not to make a sound. If the scale was real, it could be used in countless discoveries. She would not let the chance slip by.

Inside, a pool of water glimmered in the dim moonlight. Its surface was tinged with red. Maomao paused, noting the stillness and calculating the safest approach. Then, movement.

Long, dark-purple hair surfaced, spreading across the water in undulating strands. Maomao narrowed her eyes. From the depths rose a pale face, eyes like polished jade beneath heavy lashes. At first, she thought it was a woman, a vision so exquisite it seemed unreal. But as the form emerged fully, the truth settled over her—the siren was male.

Blood seeped from beneath the water, near the base of a magnificent tail. Maomao’s eyes flicked to the injuries: the tip of the fin cruelly severed, another wound gaping further up the tail. Judging by the streaks in the water and along the stone, it had been bleeding for some time.

Without hesitation, Maomao tore strips from her own clothes, pressing them against the wounds to slow the bleeding. The siren made no resistance, barely reacting—likely too weak from blood loss.

She ran back to her cottage for a needle and salves, heart steady, mind calculating. She hoped her needles would pierce the creature’s scales just fine. Returning, she set to work: cleaning, stitching, applying remedies with precise, careful hands. The creature groaned softly but did not resist, the faint pulse beneath her fingers steadying as the blood slowed.

When the procedure ended, the siren seemed to have passed out, the wounds staunched. Maomao allowed herself a moment to study the still form, the rise and fall of his chest. The severed fin could wait; tonight, the danger was averted. She collected the scales he had left behind, gleaming in the dim light, subtle patterns tracing across them like miniature maps.

The night passed in careful examination. Maomao poured over the scales, comparing shapes, noting color shifts, absorbed entirely in her work. When dawn touched the horizon, she tied her hair into its usual bun, changing out of her torn clothes with a small sigh. Her thoughts returned to the siren—surely he had not gone far. With the tail damaged, escape would be slow.

Stepping back toward the cave, she found it empty. No blood, no scales, no trace of him. She bent closer to inspect, frowning slightly. That is, until the water erupted around her.

A tail wrapped around her, sinuous, unyielding, dragging her downward into shadow. The world above vanished—air, light, the sharp scent of salt—all swallowed by the cold, unrelenting embrace of the cave. Maomao thrashed, kicked, but the grip held firm, drawing her into the glittering depths.

Starlike glimmers of scales rippled in the water, cold seeping into her bones. Just as consciousness began to slip, the siren halted, his eyes lingering on her clothes—still pressed against his wound. And then, as abruptly as it had seized her, she was flung free, gasping, coughing, spitting out saltwater.

The siren lingered in the water, watching, silent and inscrutable. Not even a week, and already, Maomao thought, this.

The siren had started giving her scales. Not a gift Maomao had ever asked for, but after the incident he pressed them into her hands anyway—stripped down to the base of his tail, each glimmering piece offered with a look she doesn’t know how to decipher it yet.

That only meant more material to study—a good thing, in Maomao’s book. Another step closer to the miracle lord mentioned.

As the siren had started handing her more scales after the morning’s incident. Guilt, perhaps? She wondered idly if his tears would turn into pearls. That was for later. For now, she would observe. With his fin still swerved, he wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon.

Sleep wouldn’t come just yet—her thoughts were entirely on the siren. Rising from her desk, where she had been studying medicinal texts and examining the scales, Maomao stretched and blew out the candle. The moonlight spilling through the window was enough; the seashore bathed in silver, soft and still.

Every living creature needed sustenance, and the siren was no exception. Being a sea creature, she guessed he would enjoy some kind of fish. Glancing around the cottage, she remembered the supplies the lord had sent. Deliveries were scheduled weekly, and it had been four days—soon, someone would come.

She stepped into the storage room and, as expected, found a fish waiting. She packed three, judging it enough for now, then rose and readied herself to leave the cottage.

Walking past the jagged rocks that dotted the seashore, Maomao spotted the cave. She was still wary after the morning’s incident, but the chance to study him up close was too tempting to resist.

She stepped into the cave and found the siren perched on the stone, upper body exposed while his tail lingered beneath the water. When his eyes met hers, he didn’t move—just studied her, every muscle coiled with careful restraint.

Maomao knelt and unpacked her bag, retrieving the three fish. At the sight, the siren tensed, a faint shift in his posture betraying him. She placed the fish before him and stepped back. A slight pink hue crept across his pale skin. The light caught it softly, tracing the curve of his cheekbones and the slope of his shoulders, lending a warmth that seemed almost borrowed from the moonlit water around him.

He must have been truly hungry, Maomao thought, as the siren lifted a fish to his mouth with deliberate grace. His teeth were sharp, like a shark’s—perhaps the tales of sirens devouring sailors weren’t entirely fiction. She found herself imagining the beautiful creature before her, not with flushed skin and shy eyes, but with deadly intent.

Perhaps he was shy about being watched while eating. Maomao averted her gaze, letting her eyes drift elsewhere, giving him a small measure of privacy as he carefully took the fish to his mouth.

“Jinshi,” the siren said after finishing the first fish and reaching for the second. His voice—it was beautiful, soft and smooth, carrying a timbre that could easily lure sailors to their doom. She imagined his voice as a song—soft, exquisite, and fatal, able to ensnare anyone who heard it. It seemed the old stories of sirens definitely had some truth woven into them after all.

“Maomao,” she replied, her voice flat. She hoped that by revealing her name, she hadn’t granted the siren any power over her.

The siren—no Jinshi reached for the third fish with the same deliberate care, eyes flicking to hers only occasionally, as if checking the space between them without breaking the rhythm of his meal. Maomao stayed still, hands folded loosely in her lap, letting the silence stretch. The cave smelled faintly of salt and wet stone, and the faint moonlight made the scales at the edge of the water shimmer like spilled ink.

She wondered how she could study him and mend his severed fin. She remembered reading a story about a dragon and a boy—a tale from a faraway land, where mountains scraped the sky and rivers ran like molten silver, where dragons existed. In it, the dragon’s tail had been damaged, but the boy, with skilled hands and careful craft, recreated the missing part, enabling the dragon to fly again.

When the last fish was gone, Jinshi lowered his head slightly, water dripping from his hair, tail coiled beneath him. There was no hurry in his movements, no sudden motion that might startle. Maomao shook herself from her thoughts and turned, heading back towards her cottage.

With the gentle chirping of birds drifting through the morning air, Maomao stirred from her sleep. She sat up slowly, stretching her arms above her head as the first light of dawn spilled across the cottage floor, painting the room in soft gold. She tied her hair into its usual bun, smoothing the loose strands carefully, and adjusted her robes until they lay just so—comfortable, yet neat.

She washed her face with cool water, the faint scent of salt carried from the seashore drifting through the open window. Folding her bedding neatly, she moved to the small table in the corner. Today, breakfast was simple: a bowl of millet porridge, a few pickled vegetables, and a cup of warm tea. She ate slowly, savoring each bite, letting her mind wander to the siren in the cave. Creature of myth, yet impossibly real—she could hardly believe he existed, and yet the scales in her hands proved it. The prospect of studying him, of recording his movements and perhaps even understanding his injuries, filled her with quiet excitement.

Finishing her meal, Maomao gathered her notebook and writing implements, tucking them carefully into her bag along with a small bundle of fish for Jinshi. She sat for a moment, letting the soft light of morning spill over the room, and then rose, ready to continue her observations.

Stepping into the cave, Maomao found the stone empty—Jinshi was nowhere in sight, presumably lingering deep beneath the water. The thought sent a shiver down her spine, tinged with an unsettling sense of deja vu.

Maomao unpacked her bag, arranging the fish for Jinshi. As she bent to set them down, the siren emerged from the water, his presence smooth and fluid. He held something in his hands, and a faint flush crept across his pale cheeks at the sight of the fish. This time Maomao concludes that yesterday’s offering hadn’t satisfied him—he was still hungry.

Stepping closer, she saw him open his palms—and there they were: pearls. Perfect, luminous, and unmistakably formed from tears. So it was true—Jinshi’s tears could indeed turn into pearls. What next? That his voice lure sailors to their deaths, as the old stories warned?

Now that she had a proper moment to observe him, the purple-haired siren revealed a beauty that was almost cruel in its elegance. The sunlight caught in the glaze of his wet hair, highlighting the smooth sweep of his shoulders and the faint curve of his jaw. There was impatience in his eyes, a frown forming—a sigh from him could make kingdoms go to war. His palms remained outstretched, holding the gift as if waiting for her to take it.

Maomao understood. The pearls were for her. She placed the fish on the stone and opened her hands, imagining how Jinshi’s tears, under the glow of moonlight, had hardened into these perfect drops.

As Maomao accepted the gift, Jinshi seemed pleased with himself before he retrieved the fish for himself.

The pearls were flawless, each one replicating the shape of a teardrop with exquisite symmetry. Maomao carefully tucked them into her inner pocket, the faint weight of them a reminder of the strange, living myth now intertwined with her days.

Maomao’s eyes lingered on Jinshi’s tail—the smooth gradient of purple, shifting like polished amethyst, fading into the delicate lavender of the tip. The severed fin at the end tugged at her thoughts, a reminder of the work she intended to do. She retrieved her notebook, and spoke aloud.

“Would you mind showing your tail to me?”

At her words, Jinshi’s cheeks flamed a deep pink. He opened his mouth as if to reply, but no sound came. After a brief pause, he lowered his gaze and, almost reluctantly, laid his tail across the stone for her to examine.

Maomao’s eyes traced the delicate, damaged fin as she sketched it carefully in her notebook. She wasn’t drawing for beauty or style—just accuracy. Her sketches were plain, precise, each line meant to record exactly what she saw. As her pencil moved, Jinshi inched closer, curiosity in his eyes, trying to glimpse the contents of her notebook. Maomao, however, seemed utterly absorbed, her gaze fixed on the tail and her notebook.

Gears turned in her mind, forming ideas on how to mend Jinshi’s tail. While he could swim short distances without issue, the severed fin would make bursts of speed difficult. Even a creature as formidable as a siren must face threats. Maomao’s thoughts drifted to other legendary sea monsters—like the kraken from the northern seas, described in the stories from far away land. If such creatures existed, she reasoned, Jinshi could not afford to be slow.

Snapping out of her thoughts, she looked up to find Jinshi staring at her. She sighed, rising to her feet—deciding that today’s observations were enough—until Jinshi held her arms back and said,

“Will you stay for a moment?”

If someone caught not his voice but only his face, they might swear Jinshi was a woman.

Maomao’s eyes drifted down to the siren, damp hair clinging to his shoulders, water streaming from his waist after the sudden movement that he made to reach for Maomao.

Maomao said nothing, settling onto the stone floor beside the water. At that, Jinshi relaxed, resting his weight on one arm, his gaze drifting lazily over her. From this angle, he could see her clearly, while she faced the cave entrance, both of them watching the outside world.

Slowly, his tail emerged from the water, curling around Maomao’s torso with surprising gentleness—an unspoken apology lingering in the soft pressure. The tail was long, stretching nearly seven feet, its purple gradient shimmering faintly in the sunlight. To think this is the same one had nearly dragged her to the bottom of the pool.

Both of them remained still for a long while, the cave filled with complete silence. Maomao’s mind wandered to the task ahead—repairing Jinshi’s tail. The lord’s people would arrive in a few days; she could request the materials then, and they would bring them on their next visit.

Maomao looked up at Jinshi, and in response, the siren turned his eyes toward her.

It’s about time the lord’s people would bring the supplies. In the meantime, Maomao had spent the days observing Jinshi. Occasionally, he offered her pearls and scales. Naturally, she did not neglect studying them—the scales seemed to wither after a few days, a trait Maomao suspected was a way for sirens to erase proof of their existence.

During the other hours, she focused on repairing his tail. Jinshi had begun speaking with her more frequently, as he did now.

“I was caught in the storm—how inconvenient,” he sighed. “The sea here is filled with sharp rocks, and I got injured while being tossed by the waves.”

Maomao wondered if there was some reason he wouldn’t recover in the sea unless—no she wasn’t certain.

As if reading her thoughts, Jinshi spoke.

“There are people chasing me. I got separated from my own in the storm.”

That answered Maomao’s question.

“Now I’m just waiting for my fin to heal,” Jinshi sighed once more.

“Heal?” Maomao echoed, the word slipping from her lips before she could stop it.

“Yes, heal.” Jinshi lifted his tail from the water and gave it a deliberate shake, as if to emphasize his point.

No wonder Jinshi never seemed worried—the fin could heal on its own. Maomao exhaled, her eyes lingering on the damaged tail.

“That’s good,” she replies, though a sigh escaped her lips. But then, a spark lit in her mind. If she could uncover how Jinshi’s severed fin could regenerate, perhaps she could apply the same knowledge to humans. Perhaps lost limbs could grow anew. Perhaps—new medical breakthrough was near.

Jinshi, on the other hand, seemed to take that sigh as something else entirely.

“It won’t be that soon,” he said quickly, almost too quickly. “I’ll be here for a while.”

Maomao only nodded, already drafting questions in her mind about his regeneration. But the siren looked increasingly worried, he slumped forward, his hand circling gently around her waist.

“I’ll stay as long as I can. I promise,” he murmured, almost as if trying to reassure himself as much as her.

“You—” Maomao began, but the words stuck. She exhaled instead, choosing silence, and turned her attention back to the apothecary book lent from the lord.

With the lord’s people finally arriving, Xiaolan was among them. The girl’s anxious expression made it clear she had been worried about Maomao.

“Maomao, how have you been managing?” Xiaolan asked, her voice soft with concern. “I promised I’d visit often, but the seashore is so far from the town…” She let out a small, helpless sigh.

Maomao nodded, remembering what she had heard about this stretch of coast. Back when the town was first settling, the sea had been wild—storms frequent, the waves treacherous. It was no wonder people had avoided the shoreline. Over time, the storms lessened, and the once-feared tsunamis became almost a memory.

The townspeople had chosen to stay inland, away from the shore despite the water source. Maomao supposed it hardly mattered—there was a reliable underground supply of water now, so proximity to the sea was unnecessary.

The rest of the servants who had come with Xiaolan were nearly finished stocking the storage when she spoke up.

“Before I forget, the ladies asked me to deliver these to you, Maomao!”

She held out a set of exquisite hairpins. Maomao’s first thought was of their likely high value in the markets, a fleeting plan to sell them forming before Xiaolan continued.

“These are their family symbols. Here!” Xiaolan pointed at the delicate emblems engraved on the hairpins.

Ah. Maomao understood. By giving her these hairpins, the ladies were offering her a form of welcome—not just to the town, but to the home they had left behind. Selling them now was out of the question.

If the hairpins somehow found their way back to the ladies, Maomao could get into trouble. She simply nodded to Xiaolan and carefully put the hairpins away.

“Maomao, let’s spend the afternoon together. Not the whole afternoon—just a few hours. The trip back to town takes a while,” Xiaolan suggested eagerly.

“You don’t need to feel guilty,” Maomao replied, her voice even, trying to reassure the girl.

“No, that’s not it!” Xiaolan shook her head. “Then let’s at least play a few games together. The others can wait, right?”

The men gave their approval—promising to wait—, with the condition that it wouldn’t take too long. With that, Maomao and Xiaolan settled on the bed, the latter already pulling out a deck of cards.

Playing cards was a common pastime in this region, familiar enough to ease the atmosphere. As Xiaolan shuffled, her eyes flicked up to Maomao, curiosity brimming.

“Have you ever seen the sirens?” she asked at last, lowering her voice to a whisper as though the sea might overhear. “No one truly has. But in the stories… they’re monsters. They sing until sailors forget themselves, steering their ships straight into the rocks. Their eyes glow in the dark, sharp as knives, and their nails are said to peel the skin off anyone who dares touch them. They don’t just drown you—they tear you apart, piece by piece, and drag you into the deep.”

“At least that’s what the townspeople say,” Xiaolan added, fanning out her cards with a flick. She set one down, then leaned closer as if sharing a secret.

“They say the reason the seashore used to have so many storms… was because of sirens. When they’re restless, the sea grows wild. And when they’re hungry—” she lowered her voice, almost scared someone might spy on them, “—people vanish. Fishermen, travelers, even whole boats, gone without a trace.”

Her voice softened at the end, almost as if she regretted speaking the words aloud. “That’s just what the old ladies say, anyway.”

Maomao thought back to Jinshi. Could he really be the kind of creature the townspeople feared? He had said others were pursuing him—perhaps it was they who carried the guilt of those stories.

The two girls played five rounds of cards. Four ended in Maomao’s victories, and the one Xiaolan won was because Maomao had let her. When the game finally wound down, they exchanged their goodbyes. Xiaolan promised, with a hopeful smile, that she would bring something more entertaining on her next visit.

Maomao waved her off and turned her thoughts toward food. When absorbed in her studies, she often forgot to eat; back home, her father had always been the one to remind her of such things. Now, she had to ensure on her own that she was properly fed.

She supposed she would bring more than just three fish to Jinshi next time, considering how he always lights up when he sees them.

She rinsed a handful of millet, letting it soak briefly before setting it over the fire. While it simmered, she chopped a few pickled vegetables, their tangy scent mingling with the earthy aroma of the cooking grain. Once ready, she ladled the warm millet into a bowl, topping it with the vegetables.

After finishing her dinner, Maomao cleaned the bowl and utensils, then packed the fish for Jinshi. Stepping outside, she paused, watching the sun sink slowly into the horizon, as if the sea itself were swallowing the light. The sky bled shades of amber and rose, reflecting faintly on the waves.
Her studies on the medicine had barely progressed today. She let her gaze drift over the darkening waters, thinking of Jinshi. If only she could unravel the secret of his regeneration—how his fin healed itself, how life returned to what seemed broken—perhaps she could advance the medical field by years.

Her fingers pressed the fish carefully into her bag, securing them with precise folds. The breeze from the sea tousled her hair as she stepped outside from the cottage, eyes drifting to the cave.

She made her way toward the cave, night settling around her like a soft cloak. The sun had dipped below the horizon, leaving the sea in shadow. Jagged rocks scraped her path, their edges glinting faintly in the moon light. Then something caught her eyes—

scales

—scattered across the sand.

A pink scale tinged with blue, a dark purple one with a whisper of sea green, and amber streaked with violet. It couldn’t be Jinshi’s—the remaining scales he’d left were all withered, and their colors wrong. Yet all these led straight into the cave.

Maomao runs to the cave, thought lingering in her mind, perhaps these are from ones who were pursuing Jinshi.

Maomao dashed toward the cave, thoughts racing—perhaps these scales belonged to those pursuing Jinshi.

Inside, she catches her breath, and sets eyes at the sight of the pool to see three figures circling him.

Her sudden arrival drew their attention. One, with eyes the color of sea green, turned to her and smirked.

“You smell of the sea, dear girl, you smell like one of us” she said.

Another, with purple hair reminiscent of Jinshi’s, smiled faintly at Maomao, while the third remained impassive, her gaze fixed and unreadable.

Jinshi appeared unfazed, even almost enjoying the scene.

“Maomao, these are my sisters,” he began. “The one who spoke is Meimei, the purple-haired one is Pairin, and the other is Joka.”

Siblings, huh? They certainly shared the same beauty. These must be the ones Jinshi had mentioned being separated from.

And what did Meimei mean earlier, that she smelled of the sea? Perhaps it came from spending time close to Jinshi, Maomao reasoned.

“Sisters, she is my… umm—” Jinshi’s face flamed as he stammered, but Maomao didn’t pay him any attention, her gaze fixed on the new sirens.

Before Jinshi could finish, Maomao interrupted, saying,

“Pardon my intrusion I did not mean to startle you. I’m nursing Jinshi back to health.”

Jinshi looks at her, and mumbles something about that would work too.

The two sisters drifted like liquid shadows to the edge of the pool, their movements weaving through the moonlight.

“Pleased to meet you, Maomao,” Pairin said, her hand lifting in a graceful wave. She inhaled the air with a pause. “Ah… might you have fish? Our hunger has grown long in the currents, after swimming to find our little brother.”

Meimei’s purple hair fanned across the water, catching moonlight like spilled ink. Her eyes flicked to Jinshi, a faint, playful curl of her lips betraying a secret amusement.

“Fish? Yes, I have.” Maomao set her bag down, reaching for the offering, when Jinshi’s voice cut through the quiet like a startled wave.

“No!!! Maomao, don’t give fish to anyone but me. Sisters!!” His tone trembled on the edge of a whine, sharp and plaintive.

Pairin and Meimei lingered at the water’s edge, their laughter curling through the cave like playful currents, while Joka remained still, eyes steady and unreadable.

“Now that we’ve glimpsed your safety, little brother,” Pairin murmured, her hand brushing his head in a ripple of reassurance, “we’ll vanish back to the deep and sweep away every trace that leads to you. Recover well, as the tides demand.”

Joka’s voice rose:
“Spend your time with the human as much as possible now”

At her words, the sisters’ gazes softened, and the cave seemed to hold its breath.

“Stay safe,” they whispered in unison, then waddled out of the water, flopping across the rocks before diving back into the sea with a splash.

Jinshi sank back into the water, clearly affected by Joka’s words.

Maomao approached him.
“The lord’s people brought supplies today. We have plenty of fish now.”

She set the fish on the stone.

Jinshi surfaced again, eyes narrowing, almost in pouting manner, but sirens don’t pout.

“Maomao, promise me you won’t give fish to anyone else but me.”

“What if someone else is really hungry?” Maomao countered.

“No! Let them starve. Don’t give them any fish!”

“Why this little…” Maomao thought, frowning.

“Alright,” she said instead, “I won’t feed fish to anyone else—even if they were starving.”

The siren’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction. He scooped up the fish from the stone and began eating, each bite punctuated by a quiet, pleased hum.

Nearly two weeks have passed since she settled by the seashore. In that time, Jinshi’s wounds have almost fully closed. However, she has a suspicion that he deliberately slowed his recovery from what she has observed. His true healing is far swifter than he lets on.

A sudden splash, soft and deliberate, broke the stillness of the water and drew Maomao out of her thoughts.

“How long will you remain here?” Jinshi asked, his eyes fixed on her as he lingered in the shallows, waiting for her reply.

“For one season,” Maomao replied, her gaze shifting from her notebook to Jinshi. Writing while keeping the siren company had quietly become part of her daily rhythm.

“One season, hm?” The purple-haired siren propped his chin on his wrist.

The supplies from the lord arrived today. As Xiaolan promised before, she brought a jianzi with her. The two of them played for a while on the shore, the jianzi bouncing between them until their legs grew tired.

When it was time for them to leave, Maomao gathered the notes she had written so far. She sent them with Xiaolan, though she made sure not to mention Jinshi directly. Only the records of the scales, the progress with tinctures, and her thoughts on the medicine were included.

As usual, with the storage full Maomao packed some fish and walked to the cave, to Jinshi.

When she entered, Jinshi was not visible. Strange. Normally he sensed her steps and rose from the water before she could call.

She set the fish on the stone, waited a moment, then turned to leave.

She shouldn’t pry too much.

The next morning, as part of her routine, Maomao went up to the cave first thing.

Upon entering, she saw the fish she had left yesterday still lay on the stone, untouched. That bothered her. Had something happened?

She stepped closer to the water and peered down. No subtle movement. No shadow. No glint of scales under sunlight. Nothing.

Jinshi was gone.

The sea had a way of swallowing sound.

When Maomao first arrived at the seaside estate, the waves had been restless, thrashing against the rocks as though demanding something back. By the end of her stay, they had quieted — the surface smooth, unbothered, deceptive.

She wasn’t sure if that was comfort or punishment.

For weeks, she worked as ordered. She studied the saline herbs, their reactions, their possible connections to the lord’s “siren miracle.” Every night she made neat records, sealed them carefully, and avoided the part of the shore where the roocks glimmered purple under moonlight.

She told herself it was for her own safety.

She told herself she had already done enough.

Both were lies she wore comfortably.

When the season ended, she returned to the capital. The lord summoned her briefly — formal thanks, promises of further work, the usual empty politeness of power.

“You’ve done well,” he said. “Your observations will be valuable for our research.”

“Yes, my lord,” Maomao replied. Her tone was measured, her gaze lowered. She spoke of her methods, her notes, and her results — never of the creature who had shown her the sea’s secret heartbeat.

He didn’t need to know that part.

No one did.

The days fell back into rhythm. Herbs to sort, neighbors to treat, Xiaolan to scold for overwatering the basil again.

Life returned to its quiet patterns, as though nothing had ever changed.

Except sometimes, at dusk, when the sky turned the same muted violet as his scales, Maomao found herself staring little more.

It was a day like any other.

The apothecary hummed with low conversation and the clink of glass. Maomao moved through it all with calm efficiency — measuring, mixing, labeling. Her customers seemed livelier than usual, whispering between themselves, laughter fluttering like moths against the still air. She didn’t ask why. People often brought their own weather with them.

When the last of them left, Xiaolan slipped through the door, cheeks flushed.

“Maomao!” she chirped, brushing snowflakes from her sleeves. “You’ve been cooped up all day, haven’t you?”

“I’ve been working,” Maomao said without looking up.

“Well, stop working for once and come outside! Everyone’s talking about him!”

Maomao paused mid-scribble. “Him?”

“There’s someone in town — a traveler. Everyone’s talking about him. They say he’s… well, beautiful.” Xiaolan’s grin was conspiratorial. “Come on, don’t you want to see?”

“I have tinctures steeping,” Maomao said dryly.

Xiaolan sighed, defeated. “Fine, fine. See you later then. Don’t forget to eat.”

When the door closed behind her, the quiet returned. Dusk bled slowly through the shutters. The smell of dried ginseng and crushed mint hung in the air. Maomao wiped down her counter, sorted the coins from the day’s sales, and reached to close the door.

It slid open first.

For a moment, she thought the fading light was playing tricks on her. The man standing there looked carved from seafoam and sunlight — familiar in a way that stopped her breath.

Jinshi.

But he was standing.

Her hand froze on the latch. “…You have legs,” she said flatly.

He smiled, eyes softening. “I traded my sisters’ hair for them.”

She blinked. “…That’s absurd.”

“I know,” he said, laughing softly. “Terrible joke.”

She eyes him carefully. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“And yet,” he said, stepping inside, “here I am.”

The lamplight caught on his hair, now dry, but still long. For a moment, he looked almost human — almost.

“Why?” she asked quietly.

He blushed softly, gaze steady. “To come back to my wife.”

Her brows rose. “Your what?”

“I thought that’s what humans call it. Or is it a bride? Then my bride!” He seems oddly proud of himself.

Gears turning inside Maomao’s brain, she places her hands on her forehead as in exasperation, and understanding.

When she set a cup of tea before him, her hand brushed his — by accident, she told herself.

He didn’t let go right away.

“Maomao,” he murmured, “I told you I’d come back.”
Outside, the night wind stirred through the city streets, carrying a faint scent of salt from nowhere near the coast.

It lingered just long enough to make her wonder if the sea had finally followed her home.

.

The sea had already come to her.