RAM Chapter 11

 After finally settling down and with Hai San’er eating his meal, Lu Xie thought he might fix something for himself too. But just as he stepped into the kitchen, he heard Hai San’er calling his name like a haunting wail.

“Lu Xie—”

Was this fish doing it on purpose? The way he dragged his tone so long, it almost sounded like his brain had been waterlogged from years in the sea, leaving even his speech to ripple with imaginary waves.

Lu Xie clicked his tongue, suppressing his irritation as he walked out to see what was happening. Hai San’er pointed at the TV screen with an aggrieved expression. The moment Lu Xie appeared, he began to complain, “It’s different.”

“What’s different?”

Hai San’er couldn’t explain properly and simply stressed, “It’s not like the one I watched before.”

Lu Xie almost lost his temper, but when his gaze fell on the glaring bump on Hai San’er’s forehead, he reluctantly held back. Sighing, he moved closer to take a look.

True enough, it was different. The Little Mermaid had multiple versions, and this wasn’t the one that had aired on the kids’ channel last time. But the plot was practically the same—wasn’t it good enough to just make do? Given the current times, with war everywhere and food being hard to come by, Lu Xie thought he’d already done plenty by managing to get this disc.

“It’s the same story, just different actors,” Lu Xie explained.

“I don’t want it,” Hai San’er insisted stubbornly. “I want the one from before.”

“It’s all the same. The plot doesn’t change. Look, this one and that one are no different. They’re both just cartoons—both fake.”

Hai San’er didn’t understand such distinctions. In his mind, what aired on TV was real, whether it was live-action or animated. He couldn’t comprehend the concept of acting, he just believed this one was fake while the previous one was real.

He pouted, his teary eyes fixed on Lu Xie. No matter how much Lu Xie tried to reason with him, Hai San’er refused to say a word.

Lu Xie’s fiery temper was being tested. A bounty hunter turned preschool teacher—was this his life now?

Before he could explode, Hai San’er suddenly paled and collapsed onto the recliner. His eyes fluttered, and tears began to stream down his cheeks again. In a soft, tearful voice, he said, “Lu Xie, my head hurts.”

A moment ago, all his focus had been on the cartoon, but now, triggered by his disappointment and the lump on his head, the pain surged back into his awareness.

“I want to go back to the sea.” Hai San’er grew increasingly despondent. First, his belongings had been stolen. Then, he’d been injured. And now, even his favorite cartoon wasn’t right. Everything felt unbearable.

Seeing Hai San’er’s pallor, Lu Xie grew worried. Carefully, he asked, “Can your head wound even handle being in water?”

This question landed squarely in Lu Xie’s blind spot. Humans knew that water exposure could lead to infections in open wounds. But what about fish? A wounded fish couldn’t just be pulled out of the water and left to heal on dry land—it’d die long before that. But Hai San’er wasn’t just any fish; he was a merman who could walk on two legs.

If water caused an infection on his head, would it affect his already questionable intelligence? Would his already limited brainpower diminish further, depreciating him even more?

As a human, Lu Xie didn’t have the answers. And expecting Hai San’er—a fish—to know seemed equally futile.

“I don’t know,” Hai San’er murmured weakly. “I just feel awful… I want to go back to the sea.”

Lu Xie couldn’t take the risk. If Hai San’er fainted in the water and something happened to him, how was Lu Xie supposed to find a fish in the vast ocean?

“What if your head gets infected in the water? Do you absolutely need to go back to the sea?”

Normally, Hai San’er could stay on land for extended periods. But with his injured head, his instincts as a sea creature made him yearn for the familiar safety of the deep.

“How about I get you some water?” Lu Xie suggested, racking his brain for a solution. He thought of ornamental fish kept in tanks—when they got hurt, you could add some anti-inflammatory medication to the water. “I’ll find you a bigger tank. Once your head heals, you can go back to the sea.”

Hai San’er, reassured by Lu Xie’s protective attitude, nodded without much thought.

But accommodating him posed a new challenge. Hai San’er wasn’t some tiny ornamental fish; his size demanded a much larger container.

As Lu Xie struggled to figure this out, he suddenly remembered the abandoned glass tank on the roof. It had been collecting junk, but it was just the right size. Plus, being on the rooftop, it wouldn’t attract unwanted attention.

Pulling up the roller door, Lu Xie turned to Hai San’er. “Follow me upstairs.”

Hai San’er looked up at him weakly. Unable to bear his pitiful state, Lu Xie bent down and carried him in his arms. “There’s a tank on the roof. You’ll fit perfectly there.”

Hai San’er cooperated, wrapping his arms around Lu Xie’s neck and leaning softly against his shoulder.

Normally so rowdy, the fish had gone quiet. Lu Xie couldn’t help muttering, “For someone your size, you can’t even put up a fight?”

What a waste of such a big frame.

“I don’t know how to fight,” Hai San’er replied softly.

“You don’t know how to fight? How do you survive in the sea, then?”

Hai San’er had a headache and didn’t dare to speak too loudly, his voice much softer than usual. “I don’t fight with fish in the sea. I even persuade other fish not to fight.”

“You’re a gold-medal pacifist under the sea now?”

On the rooftop, Lu Xie placed Hai San’er on a stool. The small, rundown building had two stories and a rooftop terrace. As Lu Xie had predicted, the rooftop had a great view, but it was impossible to see what was happening up there from below.

“I don’t like fighting. Isn’t it better if everyone gets along as friends?” Hai San’er understood that conflicts over territory and resources were a natural law for both animals and humans. But in the sea, he always wished for harmony. Whenever he could mediate, he did his best, striving to fulfill the requests of every sea creature.

The rooftop was cluttered with too much junk, so Lu Xie didn’t waste time. He started clearing out unnecessary items to make space for the fish tank.

“Friends?” Lu Xie didn’t even look up, letting out a derisive laugh. Anywhere there’s life, there’s conflict over interests. And with conflict, how could there be true friends? “You’ve got that much influence? Every fish listens to you? What exactly do you do underwater? Aren’t you an ocean cleaner? Since when did you become an official?”

Lu Xie’s tone was dripping with sarcasm, but Hai San’er didn’t pick up on it. He earnestly answered Lu Xie’s questions.

“Hmm, besides cleaning the ocean, I also mediate disputes, rescue fish, and even save people.”

He could do what regular fish could, and he could do what regular fish couldn’t.

Lu Xie made sure no one was below before tossing unwanted items off the terrace. He planned to clean up downstairs later. Turning back, he continued, “No other mermaids down there? Why are you doing everything yourself?”

“No.”

Lu Xie, who had been busy working, paused at this unexpected answer. He’d always thought mermaids were social creatures, at least in fairy tales.

“Then who do you talk to?”

“Fish, of course.”

“Fish can talk?”

“Of course.” Every lifeform had its unique language, and the fish under the sea were no exception. But a shadow crossed Hai San’er’s face. “But their memory is terrible. When I talk to them, they often forget what we were discussing, or even who I am.”

It sounded ridiculous but carried a palpable loneliness. A mermaid in the dark, silent ocean, remembering others while they forgot him. No wonder Hai San’er kept running to the surface. No wonder this dignified mermaid spent his days cleaning the ocean, mediating disputes, and rescuing others.

A thought suddenly struck Lu Xie, one he hadn’t considered before. “Why are you the only one who can grow legs and transform? Because you’re a mermaid?”

“Because we mated.”

Hai San’er always managed to say such private things with an innocent, straightforward expression.

Lu Xie’s vision darkened. He pointed at Hai San’er, gritting his teeth. “How many times do I have to tell you? Don’t bring that up again, and don’t say those words!”

The lighthearted conversation abruptly ended. Lu Xie finally cleared space for the fish tank, angrily scrubbing its walls in silence, trying to distract himself and banish all thoughts about “mating.”

That incident with Hai San’er was a strange and delicate memory. Having done that with a fish was bizarre enough, and to make it worse, he had been the passive party. He desperately wanted to forget it, but Hai San’er kept bringing it up.

Only by selling off this shameless fish could he escape the constant reminders of having once done something so absurd.

Hai San’er, however, was unwilling. Why couldn’t he talk about it? It was clearly a beautiful thing—bringing new life into the world, full of hope. He was utterly oblivious to Lu Xie’s irritation.

“Not only did we mate, but we also have a baobao.” Hai San’er pulled out a pearl from somewhere. “Look, hasn’t it gotten even prettier?”

Hai San’er had a knack for saying exactly the wrong thing at the wrong time. Lu Xie threw the rag he was holding into the fish tank and turned, ready to explode. But the sight of the pearl stopped him short.

Smooth and lustrous, with a brilliant sheen—was this the same ugly, low-quality pearl from before?

Hesitating, Lu Xie took the pearl from Hai San’er’s hand. If it was of this quality, it could actually fetch a good price. He glanced at Hai San’er again. Was this fish more useful than he’d initially thought?

If he…

Wait.

Something wasn’t adding up. The more Lu Xie thought about it, the more it didn’t make sense. If Hai San’er was the only mermaid under the sea, how did he come to exist? How did his species reproduce? Could he really give birth to baby mermaids?