Lan Bo tilted his head slightly to look at him. Bai Chunian had lowered his head and was licking his shoulder, the barbed surface of his tongue brushing over the exposed skin between the bandage gaps, like the faint graze of a shark passing by—slightly painful.
The alpha was quickly no longer satisfied with the shoulder, a place not intimate enough, and moved on to lick his jaw and cheek, clingy like a domesticated big cat.
The coat draped over Bai Chunian’s shoulders had fallen somewhere; he was wearing only a black tank top.
Lan Bo lowered his gaze, staring at his arms—not overly exaggerated, yet so well-shaped they stirred an involuntary response. His skin carried a cool, pale tone, so areas rich with blood vessels often flushed red, especially around the eyelids and knuckles.
Lan Bo counted the marks on his body—the blue fish-pattern tattoos covering half his neck, chest, and shoulders; his own name, written awkwardly along the side of Bai Chunian’s lower abdomen; the fragment of rib and piece of heart hanging from his ear. Bai Chunian’s entire body was marked with traces left by him, each carrying a faint scent of white thorn-rose pheromones.
“There’s still something missing here,” Lan Bo said, holding his forearm.
“What’s missing?” Bai Chunian opened his palm toward him without any guard.
Lan Bo extended his sharp nails and smoothly carved a line of merfolk script into the inner side of his forearm.
The carving was fluid—different from the ones made during the incubation phase or under the influence of AC stimulants. The grooves glowed faint blue. The wound healed quickly, but the color remained.
“What does it mean?” It still hurt a little. Bai Chunian bit his lip, revealing the tip of a canine tooth.
Lan Bo pointed to each word and translated, “Lan Bo’s little cat.”
“Why not write ‘siren’?”
“All leaders of the sea clan are called ‘siren.’ Only I’m called Lan Bo. I’m special.”
“I like it.” Bai Chunian clenched his fist, the muscles in his forearm flexing with the motion. “It suits a super fierce alpha like me.”
“But ‘Lan Bo’ was actually taken from that French poet’s name.” Bai Chunian grabbed Lan Bo’s hand and guided his nail to draw a small, thumb-sized blue manta ray doodle at the beginning of the text. He blew on it lightly. “Now it’s special enough.”
“Mm.” Lan Bo lowered his head, gently rubbing the tiny drawing with his fingertip, admiring it absentmindedly.
He heard Bai Chunian call his name. The moment he looked up, his lips were caught.
The cabin’s soundproofing was poor; from the room, they could hear Lu Yan and the others talking next door. Lan Bo was suddenly pushed back against the wall with a dull thud. The conversation next door immediately fell silent—likely trying to figure out what was happening on their side.
The kiss was light and slow. Bai Chunian held his lower lip, sucking gently, then licking at his sharp teeth, eyes closed as he savored it.
They said that the one who closed their eyes during a kiss loved more, so Lan Bo closed his eyes as well.
Bai Chunian kissed along his jaw and down his neck, his agile tongue hooking at the bandage wrapped there.
The bandage around Lan Bo’s neck loosened, revealing a strip of skin below his throat. It looked slightly different from the last time Bai Chunian had seen him without bandages—there was a vertical line of small blue cross-shaped marks at his throat, arranged in a straight line: four full crosses, and a fifth that was only half, like a slash.
“What’s this?” Bai Chunian paused, reaching out to touch Lan Bo’s slender neck. “It wasn’t there last time I saw you.”
Lan Bo raised his hand, his sharp nail resting beside the final slash. He drew a short line in the opposite direction, turning it into a fifth blue cross.
“I just made it yesterday.” Tilting his neck up, he pointed at the marks beneath his Adam’s apple. “The number of times we’ve kissed.” He had gradually started wanting to do things to please Xiao Bai too, even if it didn’t quite suit his status.
Bai Chunian fell silent, gently tracing the neat vertical row of small crosses, his fingertips trembling.
“I like this. I really like this.” Suddenly excited, Bai Chunian pressed him down, licking at the crosses on his neck, his delight bordering on frenzy. “You’re too cool.”
The nights at sea were cold, and the room carried a damp chill. Lan Bo’s body temperature remained low; after staying close to him for a while, small goosebumps rose along the alpha’s skin.
Lan Bo had experienced warmth before—when migrating through the warm currents of the Atlantic, his whole body would relax—but even that temperature was still low for Xiao Bai. If only he could make him feel warm when they embraced.
Bai Chunian buried his face into the hollow of his neck, breathing him in, nuzzling against him, clearly unconcerned with the cold emanating from his body.
Too adorable. Looking down at him curled up against himself, Lan Bo felt that a queen didn’t need to be particularly virtuous—whatever he wanted should simply be given to him.
“Is there anything you want?” Lan Bo stroked his hair. “I’ll get it for you.”
With his eyes closed, Bai Chunian answered half-jokingly, “If killing weren’t illegal, I’d want the world’s population cut in half.”
“You can, of course. We’ll do it tomorrow.”
“Ah, no thanks.” Bai Chunian immediately backed off. “I was just venting in my head. I can’t actually do that.”
Lan Bo looked disappointed. “Alright.”
“You’ve never done that either, have you?”
“I don’t do it because you wouldn’t like it—not because I wouldn’t.” Lan Bo adjusted the curled edge of the bandage over his left eye. “Otherwise, for this alone, I could kill them a hundred times.”
“Hey, now—how can such a cute little omega talk about killing all the time?” Bai Chunian cupped his face and kneaded it, then planted a loud kiss on his forehead.
“I need to find out what they’re using those cloned copies of me for.”
Lan Bo frowned. “You’re scheming again, aren’t you?”
“Come on, it’s agent work—how can you call it scheming?” Bai Chunian sat cross-legged leisurely, holding both fists out in front of Lan Bo. “Pick one. There’s something good inside.”
“Something good.” Lan Bo studied both hands seriously, trying to find clues in the gaps, before hesitantly choosing the left.
Bai Chunian opened his hand. A soft pink lion paw pad appeared in his palm.
“Randi.” Lan Bo stared straight at it, then suddenly lowered his head and pressed his face into it, inhaling.
In the next room, Bi Lanxing leaned by the window, gazing out at the deck. Vines grew from his fingers, weaving into a gently swaying hammock where Lu Yan lay curled up asleep, covered with Bi Lanxing’s coat.
After checking whether Xiao Xun had any other bone injuries, Han Xingqian turned and noticed the scythe Bai Chunian had left lying on the floor.
It looked solid on the surface, but when he extended a pencil and lightly tapped the handle, the seemingly hard exterior rippled like water.
He pulled the pencil back—nothing had stuck to it. He tried gripping the long handle and lifting it slightly, only to find his fingers passed through the interior as if through liquid.
The next moment, the long scythe abruptly dissolved into a pool of blood on the ground, then quickly evaporated without leaving a trace.
“A weapon not composed of any metal material,” Han Xingqian wrote in his notebook. “Usable jointly by two glands in a control relationship. Extremely powerful.”
After completing the mission, they returned to Aphid City. Lu Yan, Bi Lanxing, and Xiao Xun went back to Aphid Island’s special training base to continue their training. With nothing much to do and no desire to go out, Lan Bo stayed home watching television. After entering the maturation phase, he could understand more programs, and life on land became far more interesting.
Jinlüchong’s mummy and gun were sent together to the Alliance Medical Association, where a specialized research team of experts began analyzing both the mummy and the gland embedded in the weapon’s magazine.
Jinlüchong’s silk had preservative properties. Until a proper testing plan was finalized, the experts did not dare to rashly peel away the outer cocoon.
Han Xingqian had also been staying up late these past few days researching data. That morning, he brewed a cup of coffee to stay alert.
Someone pushed the door open without knocking. Han Xingqian was leaning back in his chair, rubbing his brow. Seeing Bai Chunian walk in, he asked, “Did you submit your report?”
Bai Chunian had his hands in his pockets. “Yeah. I wrote stacks of draft paper, then typed it all into the computer word by word—over thirty thousand words.”
“Good. Once everything’s compiled, it should be distributed to our Medical Association first.” Han Xingqian tidied up his cluttered desk, then glanced at him. “You’re wearing a short-sleeve T-shirt in this weather. Aren’t you cold?”
“Not at all. We young people run hot.” Bai Chunian leaned closer. “Hey, Brother Han, want me to teach you a phrase in merfolk language?”
Han Xingqian thought he had found some new lead through an unconventional angle and perked up to listen carefully.
Bai Chunian extended his forearm, showing him the line of merfolk script tattooed on the inside, pointing at each word as he translated.
Then he was promptly thrown out of the consultation room.