Bai Chunian did not know how long he had been unconscious. When he awoke, he found himself in a dim, wild forest, lying by a stream, his upper body half-naked, clothes piled beside him.
He touched his body, fingertips lingering over the name Lan Bo had carved into his lower abdomen—a scar thinly etched over his hard, firm muscles, a mark of possessive claim.
He remembered sweating profusely, yet now his body felt clean, as if freshly bathed. All he could recall from the dream was someone gently licking his cheeks, earlobes, and hair, a calming pheromone always present, never leaving his side.
Bai Chunian sat up and surveyed the area. The merman lay in the stream not far away, flat on the pebbles.
The surrounding land was barren, except for the spot where Lan Bo rested—a small oasis teeming with plants and flowers. Cold-blue and fiery-red butterflies fluttered through his hair.
Lan Bo lay in the shallow stream, water barely reaching his wrists, letting it wash over his body and cleanse the bloodstains. His injuries were severe—some patches of exposed flesh had yet to heal, and the fallen scales had not yet regrown to cover the wounds.
Bai Chunian’s knees weakened. He struggled to stand, picked up his clothes from the ground, and limped toward Lan Bo, crouching to inspect his injuries.
Parts of Lan Bo’s body were coated in a layer of glass-like substance. From the wound patterns, it should have covered a larger area, but most of it had been torn off, leaving only fragments. Removing it was painful, as the glass-like material had condensed from his skin under the effect of annihilation. It was connected to flesh, and tearing it off often required breaks, but leaving it would continue to corrode the body.
Bai Chunian looked at his own hands, then apologetically crouched beside Lan Bo. He scooped water and poured it over the shallow, unreachable wounds, carefully removing the remaining shards.
“I’m sorry… I lost control and hurt you.” Bai Chunian traced over Lan Bo’s battered skin, releasing the highest concentration of calming pheromones. Wherever his hands touched, the flesh rapidly regenerated.
Lan Bo closed his eyes, his brow smoothing, the pain easing slightly.
“You know… I dreamed of you,” Bai Chunian whispered, hands covering his contorted face in anguish. “In my dream, you held me… I was so small, so dependent on you.”
“After leaving the nurturing base, I threw myself into learning everything human—culture, habits. From the moment I received the first mission from the President, I’ve never failed. I fear mistakes, fear losing everything I hold… now, I fear even you will abandon me.”
“How could that be?”
Lan Bo lay in the stream, raising a hand to shield his eyes from the light, smiling gently as he opened them, his voice rich and tender: “Even if everyone else rejects you, I will not. Don’t take the King’s promise lightly, Xiao Bai—I’m always sincere.”
Bai Chunian froze, setting down the water, eyes hesitating on Lan Bo. “You… speak so fluently…”
Lan Bo planted his hands on the pebbles beneath the water, slowly rising from the stream barely covering his feet. The evening sunlight glinted off his tail, casting gold and blue hues across the water.
“My intake is full.” Lan Bo washed his hands in the stream and gently shook them dry.
His movements had shed the awkwardness of the nurturing phase; each gesture was not only poised and composed but radiated a divine, noble aura born of experience and survival. Even his maturity differed from the artificially accelerated state achieved with AC stimulants—this was true maturity.
“You tore my bandages apart and kept trying to draw something from my chest, remember?” Lan Bo adjusted the wraps over his upper body, faint kiss marks visible through the gaps. “It hurt… too bad I have nothing for you to consume.”
Bai Chunian stiffened, lips pressing together, face burning hot. Accustomed to interacting with the awkward, juvenile fish before, now, half-naked before Lan Bo, he felt an inexplicable shame. Hastily, he put on his clothes, as if proximity alone could sully Lan Bo’s fragrant presence.
“After you fell asleep, you kept clinging to me, biting and gnawing… if it weren’t for seeing your pitiful tears, I wouldn’t have even removed your shirt,” Lan Bo noticed his hesitation. He lifted a hand to rub Bai Chunian’s hair, indulgently smiling: “I spoil you too much.”
Bai Chunian felt he had found support. His legs gave way, he knelt, clutching Lan Bo tightly, eyelids reddened. His voice choked as he whispered into Lan Bo’s ear: “What do I do? I’ve always commanded, always been asked what to do… but now? What should I do? Where should I go?”
Devotees often poured all their confusion into their faith—he was no exception.
“The little ones who died before me… I saw them as children, not yet grown. Did they die because of me? I never wanted to hurt anyone, yet panic arose because of me… am I unworthy of living?”
“This is my first mission failure. I’ve never failed… what should I do? I’m too afraid to go back.”
“Baby, you didn’t do anything wrong,” Lan Bo wiped Bai Chunian’s eyes. “Desecrating life is the sin.”
Lan Bo lightly patted his back. Deep down, he wanted to tell Bai Chunian that he could take him back to the Caribbean Sea—but only if he abandoned everything here. Leaving now would mark him as a fugitive among the experimentals, never to return.
He knew Bai Chunian couldn’t bear to part with his students, friends, subordinates, colleagues, or the one president he trusted most. Even if one day they left this land, expulsion would likely be the only outcome.
So he would stay with him until that day came. Compared to Lan Bo, the King’s formalities didn’t matter that much.
“My little darling… how should I comfort you?” Lan Bo cupped his face, leaning close and murmuring seductively, “Come, let’s kiss.”
Seeking solace, Bai Chunian pressed his lips to Lan Bo’s in a fervent, tangled kiss. Lan Bo let him writhe atop him, indulging him fully.
Only when their lips parted, a string of saliva linking them, did Bai Chunian notice Domino perched atop a nearby treetop, resting his chin on his hands, swaying his antennae, and scribbling a passionate scene into his notebook.
Bai Chunian moved slightly away and whispered, “Why didn’t you warn me someone was nearby?”
Lan Bo brushed his lips with his ring finger. “That butterfly omega has been following you. I just wanted him to see you being kissed by me. Now you can explain why he carries your scent.”
“You’ve met him before,” Bai Chunian said. “Domino—the writer we encountered at the triangular prism house.”
“Oh…” Lan Bo nonchalantly licked his fingers. “Good, otherwise I might have… well, I’m an omega, but I’m not just for show.”
Lan Bo’s usual philosophy: as long as he overwhelms every rival, his backyard remains calm.
Bai Chunian quickly covered his mouth.
Domino fluttered down, landing before them with virtual wings, squatting on his knees. He squinted at Lan Bo, seeking recognition: “Luckily I arrived in time. Otherwise, it would’ve been terrible. The emissary is a ninth-level mature body—at this stage, just a little stimulation could push him straight into the deterioration phase, uncontrollable, devouring everything. My Butterfly Illusion saved him.”
Lan Bo nodded and opened his palm.
Domino’s red butterfly landed excitedly on Lan Bo’s fingertip. Its wings, originally gold and red and non-luminous, now shimmered with a magical blue glow under the dusk. The soft azure light traced the wing patterns, and Domino beamed, waving his antennae haphazardly. “Oh my, how embarrassing… thank you, King.”
Bai Chunian frowned slightly; the butterfly seemed a bit obsequious—but he understood. Not everyone could receive the blessing of a sea tribe leader.
“By the way… how did you grow to maturity?” Bai Chunian asked, lingering doubts unresolved. “Did you eat something? Or… did I do something while unconscious?”
Lan Bo pinched his cheek gently. “No, little darling. You were very obedient while sleeping—you were just ready.”
Lan Bo subtly hid one hand behind his back, crushing the last remaining crimson glass orb.