So-called illegitimate child

Ji Ningzhao was not visiting Chi Zhaoxi for the first time, so after Chi Zhaoxi dropped her off at the entrance, she settled naturally onto the small stool made especially for her from seashells, waiting for Chi Zhaoxi inside the cave.

A magical array shielded the cave from seawater, and as Chi Zhaoxi stepped inside, her snow-white fish tail transformed instantly into a gauzy skirt that clung to her legs. Jellyfish lamps illuminated the cavern, casting a pale silver glow on Chi Zhaoxi’s hair, which shimmered softly, adorned with oversized pearls and coral hairpieces.

The ears of the merfolk were sharper than those of humans, and when they shifted into human form, their gills would morph into transparent, pointed, fishbone-like ornaments at the tips of their ears. Compared to Ji Ningzhao’s reserved demeanor—like a white camellia—Chi Zhaoxi was utterly a blooming rose: her beauty was fierce, unapologetic, and almost aggressive.

With dragons and ancient monsters gone—either vanished into the world or withdrawn into their own secluded realms—the merfolk, now united under a single ruler, dominated the Seven Seas. As their king, Chi Zhaoxi had every reason to display her looks without reservation; she was indeed the apex predator here.

Ji Ningzhao’s first encounter with the Special Division was, in fact, because of Chi Zhaoxi. At that time, Chi Zhaoxi was full of hostility, seemingly hunting specific targets in the sea with deliberate intent, causing chaos. Hangzhou even urgently borrowed personnel from Jing City, but it was futile.

The merfolk had no naturally born kings; only those who endured the agony of skinning and scale removal could claim the title, and even then, the success rate was merely thirty percent. It had been centuries since the last king emerged. Once a new king was born, the scattered tribes would unite by default. With no dragons left, Chi Zhaoxi was indisputably the ruler of the Seven Seas.

Ultimately, Ji Ningzhao stepped forward of her own accord. To be honest, she didn’t want to expose herself to the Special Division at first. But with Chi Zhaoxi bordering on madness, if Ji Ningzhao hadn’t intervened, the city she had painstakingly chosen as her home—Hangzhou—would likely have been destroyed.

They had met through conflict, and in the end, the Special Division granted Chi Zhaoxi what she wanted, and Chi Zhaoxi, in turn, kept her promise to guard these waters.

Although Chi Zhaoxi occasionally surfaced to play pranks in pursuit of something she wanted, it hardly mattered. Compared to the troubles she solved while guarding this region for the Special Division, whatever she desired was trivial in their eyes.

“What are you thinking about? There’s a strange scent on you,” Chi Zhaoxi leaned closer to Ji Ningzhao, sniffing her, sensing a familiar pressure that clung to Ji Ningzhao.

No sooner had Chi Zhaoxi spoken than the little dragon wriggled out from Ji Ningzhao’s sleeve, settling on her shoulder and locking eyes with Chi Zhaoxi in a cold stare.

Having learned to use a smartphone and surf the internet, Chi Zhaoxi had devoured countless melodramatic novels and TV series. Spotting this little dragon, which exuded the same aura that once intimidated her from Ji Ningzhao, she gasped in shock.

“Is this the illegitimate child your heartless ex-husband left you?!”

Luckily, the little dragon was merely a split soul of Ying Zhongyun, temporarily incapable of understanding such convoluted words. Had Ying Zhongyun himself been present, hearing this string of phrases—all his emotional sore spots—he would likely faint from rage.

Ji Ningzhao frowned, tossed her package to Chi Zhaoxi, and said, “You really ought to stop reading those strange things. It’s just a fragment of his soul.”

Chi Zhaoxi eagerly tore open the package, revealing a new game console.

Yes, this was the small price the Special Division paid for Chi Zhaoxi’s guardianship of the seas: the latest game console and cartridges.

Having lived on the seabed all her life, suffering much to become king, Chi Zhaoxi—the Queen of the Seven Seas—had become a digital addict.

She hurriedly powered up the console, humming, “Honestly, why tie yourself to a single tree? There are plenty of good men in the world. You’re so wonderful—those who like you could line up from here to the Abyss.”

Ji Ningzhao had no interest in discussing Ying Zhongyun with Chi Zhaoxi. Too much had transpired between them, things not for outsiders to know. Besides...

Ji Ningzhao glanced at Chi Zhaoxi. Merfolk, like dragons, loved things dazzling and rare; everything Chi Zhaoxi wore was a treasure from the ocean. Only her right wrist, as she deftly inserted the game cartridge, bore a small silver fish strung on a red thread, its arc catching the faint light of the jellyfish lamp.

A silver fish, no bigger than a fingernail, looked utterly ordinary amid Chi Zhaoxi’s pearls and gems. Yet it was the only ornament on her right wrist, and after all these years, the red thread hadn’t faded—a testament to its cherished status.

Though few understood the bond between Ji Ningzhao and Chi Zhaoxi, Ji Ningzhao knew that, in some ways, their personalities were quite alike.

They were both steadfast and sentimental.

But Ji Ningzhao had no intention of bringing up the past that Chi Zhaoxi kept hidden. She changed the subject, “I brought you a new game console. Playing games with Zhong Yanbei is fine, but stop betting on nonsense with him. You’ve nearly filled a box with the mer-silk you lost to him, haven’t you?”

Last time Zhong Yanbei visited, Ji Ningzhao saw the mer-silk he used as a blindfold and instantly knew Chi Zhaoxi had lost to him again.

The game music had already begun, and Chi Zhaoxi replied nonchalantly, “What does it matter? It’s not as if I have to weave it myself.”

Every merfolk, regardless of gender, could weave mer-silk, though there were exceptions—like Chi Zhaoxi.

Fortunately, as their king, she never needed to weave it herself, and no one questioned her.

Chi Zhaoxi disliked Ji Ningzhao’s husband, whom she had never met except through legends—or, strictly speaking, not even a husband, just an ex. But she rather liked Zhong Yanbei, nominally that someone’s cousin.

At least, when it came to gaming, they were great partners.

After a while, Chi Zhaoxi set aside the console, pushed the little dragon aside, and sprawled across Ji Ningzhao’s shoulder. “Liebi, stay with me a few more days. I’ll introduce you to some beautiful kin—how about it?”

Liebi was merfolk language—roughly meaning “treasure” in human terms. Chi Zhaoxi preferred it over calling Ji Ningzhao “Zhao Zhao.”

Displaced, the little dragon let out a sharp, indignant cry. Ji Ningzhao stroked its head to soothe it, and replied with helpless amusement, “I’ll stay with you for a few days, but matchmaking isn’t necessary.”