“The Ten Fairy-Tales of Hua Yong” – The Mermaid (Sneak Attack): Sheng Shaoyou is forced to accept a soaking-wet kiss.
Hua Yong slipped out of the storage bay with ease. Following the lingering trace of Sheng Shaoyou’s pheromones, he tracked the land leader all the way to his residence—and on the way he commandeered an abandoned children’s scooter for transport.
A small thundercloud floated over his head the whole time; violet-blue lightning powered the electric scooter, making the trip much easier.
Sheng Shaoyou’s mansion lay in the suburbs as well, not far from the bay. The nighttime streets were quiet. From a researcher’s locker Hua Yong had taken a pale-blue uniform jacket; for the lower half he had pulled on a pink woven feed-sack he’d found in the logistics area.
He tied the sack’s mouth around his waist with a shoelace, then trimmed the bottom to fit using the sharp edge of his own tail—something that would probably make the clownfish faint again if they ever learned their king used his tail as dress shears.
The ensemble was outrageous, yet the wearer’s God-favoured face made even a midnight ride on a kid’s scooter look elegant, as though he were cruising an international runway.
That night Sheng Shaoyou—rarely plagued by insomnia—could not sleep. Whenever he closed his eyes he saw the tank, saw the mermaid suspended in its center: tail wounded and bleeding, trembling under high voltage, yet still smiling at him.
With a face that fragile and lovely he must be an Omega, Sheng Shaoyou thought while tossing restlessly. Each thought of the mermaid left him with an indescribable feeling.
In the army he was famed for his detachment; cold reason and perfect composure had earned him the republic’s highest decorations before he was thirty. Both pedigree and prowess marked him as an impeccable successor, far surpassing the pampered second-generation of Aimerikan.
As a boy he had brushed against death several times—nearly drowned on a seaside holiday with his father and new stepmother, later ambushed on the battlefield and left with a head wound that cost him many warm memories. Since then he had grown frigid and hard, yet the public still adored the leader’s only legitimate son, secretly calling him their “Little Prince.”
Unable to sleep, he sat up, switched on the lamp, and read. The books at his bedside were either reference works or diaries. Ever since the injury he had feared forgetting something vital, so he had revived the habit of journaling and kept all his old diaries by the bed. A dozen entries stood out—they recorded, in veiled words, his first and only love:
He saved me in the sea, in mortal danger. The instant I opened my eyes I thought I saw a god. No one should be this beautiful. The way he looked at me made me afraid I wasn’t good enough; I hadn’t even figured out how to talk to him.
His body is cool, like seawater before sunrise. Pale skin, dark bright eyes; the damp warmth of him against my chest set my heart pounding. I think I like him—because no one could dislike him. He’s too beautiful.
Today I finally smelled his pheromones: a floral scent as light as a dream. I can’t tell which flower, and I should have studied botany with Mother. But no garden could grow a scent so moving.
I asked him to leave with me, to escape these waters together. He said the time wasn’t right—that when I was older we would meet again. I thought it an excuse, but then he bent and kissed me. My mind turned to mush; I remember only that he smelled wonderful and his lips were very soft. Afterwards he said you should close your eyes when kissing, then asked, “Do you like me?” I nodded. He smiled: “Good child, you’re not lying.” Child? He looked far younger than I.
Reading the pages he had memorised a thousand times brought a soft smile to his lips—until the faint rumble of wheels on the terrace wiped it away.
He slid from the bed, hand finding the pistol by reflex; a round clicked into the chamber as he backed behind the curtains.
The brazen intruder was bizarre and clumsy: standing on a children’s scooter, trying to roll over pebbles and flowerbeds. The wheels jammed; with a soft tsk he hopped off—and Sheng Shaoyou caught a spill of violet lightning from under a skirt-like hem.
How did an idiot like this get past the guards and the security grid?
The intruder ambled forward in a halo of blue-violet sparks, making no sound at all. Sheng Shaoyou’s gaze sharpened; he fired without hesitation.
The bullet missed. Hua Yong’s fin brushed the ground and he slid aside effortlessly—having mastered upright movement on land in mere minutes, the world’s first fish to walk erect. Sheng Shaoyou never expected anyone to dodge that shot. As he prepared to fire again, a hand gently pressed his wrist.
“Mr. Sheng, it’s fine if you don’t remember me, but shooting the moment we meet—how cruel.”
The soft voice sounded right at his ear; someone embraced him from behind, and goose-bumps raced up his arms. The scooter fool had vanished; now lips hovered by his ear, chest pressed to his back. The faint vibration of speech chilled his spine—on a battlefield he would already be dead.
He wrenched free, turned, gun raised—but violet lightning flared. His hand went numb, the pistol flew up, spun once, and was caught neatly by the opponent.
“So heartless.”
Sheng Shaoyou jerked his gaze up—and into a pair of dark, smiling, beautiful eyes.
An instant later a great force seized him, flinging him onto the bed. He managed to prop himself halfway up, but a hand clamped his throat, cool fingers threaded his hair, and soft lips sealed over his.
After years without so much as hand-holding, Sheng Shaoyou was forced into a damp, lingering kiss by the gorgeous youth who should have been locked in an exhibition tank.