Chapter 37: The Terrifying Aquarium (End)

Chapter 37: The Terrifying Aquarium (End)

Guan Shan shook his head again. What possible connection could he have with a hapless mermaid? Even though this mermaid, due to its overwhelming resentment, had become the de facto ruler of this ghostly domain, its power surpassing the Red-Clothed level and reaching the quasi-Ghost King tier.

After devouring those men in white coats, the quasi-Ghost King made another breakthrough. The four merged into one, becoming a sovereign capable of ruling a domain.

But the gap between monarch and divinity is even greater than that between human and ant.

"Then why do the children look so much like that mermaid?"

Though Tan Yue didn’t voice the question outright, his clear amber eyes laid bare the question.

Guan Shan remained calm. "Humans have a saying: 'Like nourishes like.' Eat too much, and you start to resemble it."

Tan Yue gave him a wounded look. "I may be an art student, but I aced my literature classes too. 'Like nourishes like' doesn’t mean that."

Eating too much pig’s head wouldn’t turn you into a pig’s head. Imagine someone who loves duck heads suddenly growing a duck’s head—how horrifying would that be?

Mutations don’t follow that logic. He felt like he was being fed a line and wasn’t happy about it.

"So, do you think I cheated on you and had children with that mermaid?"

Tan Yue quickly shook his head. "Of course not!" He still firmly believed in their relationship and trusted Guan Shan’s words—that he was his first love.

It was just that their children looked like someone else, as if they were babysitting someone else’s kids, which made him feel inexplicably sour inside.

"I was just thinking… maybe there’s been some mistake. The kids don’t look like either of us. Maybe you really are related to that mermaid—like a nephew resembling his uncle."

"Actually, these aren’t our children." Guan Shan let slip the bombshell, startling Tan Yue so much his eyes widened.

A flurry of chaotic thoughts flashed through his mind: Secret heirs! Baby swaps!

Tan Yue quickly shook his head, as if trying to shake off the absurd thoughts.

What was he thinking? The children weren’t born in a hospital, and Guan Shan had been watching over them the whole time—there were a thousand of them, after all.

Tan Yue glanced at the little mermaids—no, they should be called full-sized mermaids now.

Though the children had grown in size, in his heart, they were still just-hatched babies.

Afraid the children might feel hurt—and also reassuring himself—Tan Yue said, "How are they not our children? I remember when they were born, they looked just like us!"

That’s right. From yesterday when the little mermaids were born until this morning, they still resembled them. It was only after the thousand little mermaids merged into four that they suddenly stopped looking alike.

People say a child’s looks change overnight. Mermaids probably aren’t much different. Besides, pretty faces blur together—it’s not unusual for children not to resemble their parents.

The deity said,

"Huh?! *Three* parents? Like *Dolly the sheep*?"

Tan Yue sulked. "Guan Shan, why would you clone someone else’s children?"

He hadn’t even wanted children in the first place. The appearance of the little mermaids had been like a bolt from the blue—more of a shock than a delight.

Though now the children had gone from a thousand carbon-copy kids to four, and it didn’t seem like he’d have to put in much effort to raise them—not exactly a handful—the thought that they weren’t really theirs gnawed at him.

"Children aren’t kittens or puppies; you can't just haphazardly bring them into the world. Not that there’s anything wrong with kittens or puppies—after all, we can't have kittens or puppies—but when you have kids, you’ve got to step up."

"Are you scolding me?"

The Deity looked at Tan Yue. His expression seemed calm, but the churning seawater outside gave away the turmoil inside.

Tan Yue shook his head. "I’m just saying I’m upset and why."

"You mean everything to me. I hope I mean the same to you. Next time, before making any major decisions, can you discuss it with me first?"

Those clear amber eyes, radiating fragility, remained fixed on him, looking heartbreakingly fragile.

The storm finally settled into calm. The apology the Deity thought he could never voice slipped out: "It won’t happen again."

Guan Shan patted Tan Yue’s head, smoothing his hair. "If it upsets you, it won’t happen again."

He couldn’t say he was conducting a human observation experiment—that’d sound heartless and leave him feeling insecure. He didn’t seem to like making the other sad. Since none of this would be remembered anyway, some things were better left unsaid.

Though unable to reveal his true intentions, the Deity still offered Tan Yue a partial explanation: "It was originally a soul fragment lingering in the aquarium. The children born are vessels carrying our blood, but the souls within belong to that dead mermaid."

Science couldn’t just bend nature’s rules. The reason those freaky creatures existed was because the experts had found a special binding agent—the blood of that mermaid.

How’d the mermaid control so many creatures during the blast? Because those creatures contained its blood.

The explosion scattered the mermaid’s body and shattered its soul. Guan Shan wanted out—to be free, which required transferring the mantle of power.

This mermaid would have made an excellent new guardian, but it was already dead and prone to losing control.

Tan Yue caught on fast: "So, you mean the little mermaids are empty shells made from our blood and flesh, which is why they looked so much like us when they were young. Then the dead mermaid provided the souls, and under their influence, the little mermaids started resembling it."

Guan Shan nodded. "You could say that."

Tan Yue found this explanation unscientific, but the existence of mermaids itself went against everything he knew about science. He also believed souls existed in this world—it was just that human science hadn’t yet advanced enough to explore the realm of souls.

"What about them now…?"

The Deity seemed to read his mind. "They don’t need your care anymore. They can fend for themselves. Don’t sweat it."

"You said they’re still our children in a way. How could I not care?"

Though their time together had been brief, bonds had formed. He couldn’t just stop caring.

Tan Yue watched the mermaids swimming around, his dark mood lifting a little. "It’s like it got a second chance. The movie wrapped up nicely."

He asked Guan Shan, "Do the children have names? Should we give them new ones?"

Guan Shan nodded. "Cinnabar No. 1, No. 2, No. 3, No. 4."

"Cinnabar—that’s the mermaid’s name? Which characters? 'Morning' as in dawn, and 'sand' as in the beach?"

With the ocean, sand, and sky, the name fit.

"It’s the poisonous cinnabar, also known as vermilion."

Guan Shan added, "Its scales were red."

The name was nothing like what Tan Yue had imagined. His first thought had been of clear waters and white sand, a beautiful scene. But since the mermaid already had a name, he found a way to praise it anyway: "Cinnabar is a wonderful thing too. The white moonlight and the cinnabar mole—cinnabar is beautiful, inherently toxic yet sharp. Used well, it’s also medicinal. The name’s perfect for it."

The mermaid pressed against the glass clearly heard these words, her eyes shining brightly as she looked at Tan Yue and the others: "Papa! Papa!"

Despite the similar appearance, the resurrected Chensha felt entirely different to Tan Yue from the despairing mermaid in the movie.

Touching through cold glass was ultimately not the same as touching with one's own hands.

Tan Yue turned to Guan Shan again: "Can I touch them?"

After all, the children were "born" by his wife—he didn't seem to have contributed much—so of course, he needed to seek his dear wife's opinion.

Guan Shan relented under his eager gaze: "Just a handshake—nothing more."

No touching anywhere else—no hugs, no kisses. Even if they were their "children," it wasn't allowed.

The glass was opened, and Tan Yue carefully shook hands with Chensha No. 1, while the other three pushed forward, clamoring for handshakes too.

The children longed for hugs and kisses, but under Mama's withering glare, they didn’t dare cross the line.

"Guan Shan, come shake hands too."

"No." Guan Shan refused coldly. Tan Yue worried the children would be disappointed, but instead, they all swiftly retreated back into the water.

Several other senior staff members of the aquarium reappeared, having received the Curator's instructions.

"Don't worry, Xiao Tan. From now on, we’ll keep Curator Chensha company—it won’t be lonely."

"Curator Chensha?" Tan Yue looked at Guan Shan. "Brother, you’re not the Curator anymore?"

Guan Shan answered vaguely, "Mm, I’ve already handed over the reins. I have other duties now—I’ll be a Curator somewhere else."

"Then can I still work at the aquarium?"

If he remembered correctly, he’d only worked for a month—originally, it was supposed to be a two-month contract. And during that one month, half that time was spent with Guan Shan during his... heat cycle.

If he couldn’t see his partner, seeing the children would be nice too.

"Of course not." Guan Shan replied without hesitation.

He was about to return, and the Portal created just for Tan Yue had to be closed. If even he couldn’t see Tan Yue, Chensha sure as hell didn’t get that privilege.

The territorial deity emphasized once more: "You are mine."

This human before him was his possession—no one—human, supernatural, or otherwise—had any right to lay a finger on him.

Tan Yue grinned back: "Mm, I’m yours, and you’re mine too."

The deity was shocked by the human’s boldness, but Tan Yue seemed perfectly fine—no divine smiting for his cheek.

After learning the aquarium was changing hands, Tan Yue switched gears to another worry: "If you’re leaving here, where will I see you in the future? By the sea?"

The capital wasn’t a coastal city—the nearest sea was an eight-hour drive away.

"Can you appear through other water? What if I rented a place off-campus with a huge fish tank?"

The dorms were decent enough, but space was tight, and rules were a pain—keeping a large fish tank would be impossible.

He’d squirreled away some cash—a big tank wouldn’t break the bank.

First-years were stuck on campus, but by sophomore year, the rules loosened up, and they could bail on dorm life.

Although roommates are nothing compared to a wife,

being a local, he might as well set up a big fish tank at home. It’d just take a little extra effort, heading home whenever he didn’t have class—just a little extra hassle.

Guan Shan didn’t answer yes or no, only shaking his head. Next time he showed up, he wouldn’t be in mermaid form, so a fish tank would be useless.

A voice was already urging his return.

The once bewitching, venomous mountain youth snapped angrily: “Hurry back!”

He believed in fairness—how long had Tan Yue spent with him versus this damned mermaid? How dare that split-off piece hog the human for so long?

Annoying true form, quit nagging already. The mermaid responded impatiently, but he could feel the pull of his original body. The child had been born, and his authority had been fully transferred. He couldn’t linger much longer.

The deity took his human lover’s hand. “Let’s head out for a walk.”

This was the first time Guan Shan had left the aquarium with Tan Yue. Led by the other, Tan Yue walked slowly down an unfamiliar path.

Suddenly, mist rose around them, and Tan Yue’s vision blurred.

“Tick, tick, tick.” Time paused, then accelerated. He heard the sound of someone turning the hands of a clock.

For a deity, patience was limited. As his power returned, he reclaimed more of his divine authority, sending his lover ahead to their next meeting.

“Guan Shan, it’s foggy. Let’s head back.”

The young man turned his head—only to find empty air where the other had been holding his hand.

“Guan Shan?”

Hands suddenly shoved him hard from behind. He fell heavily to the ground with a *thud*—

“Haah—” The next moment, Tan Yue jolted upright in bed.

What was going on? He’d had that weird dream again—thick fog, someone pushing him violently, then jolting him awake.

The young man startled awake, his first instinct to grab his phone from the nightstand and check work messages in the group chat.

Four years of college felt impossibly short.

Time left no trace on Tan Yue’s face. If he threw on a uniform, he could pass for a high schooler.

But when he took off his pajamas, his body had clearly matured since his freshman year—now unmistakably that of a young man.

For some reason, Tan Yue’s memories of his four years in college felt unreal. The first year was fine, but the next three years felt weightless, like drifting clouds, like he’d watched someone else’s life play out.

If he really dug into it, he could piece together those three years—no days missing—yet it still felt unreal.

Maybe college had been too perfect, too much like a dream, leaving only this weightless sensation in memory.

Tan Yue splashed his face with cold water. Now, he had graduated—a certified corporate cog.

With excellent grades, he smoothly completed his studies. With his standout looks, outstanding written exam results, and impressive interview performance, Tan Yue achieved his dream of becoming a TV show host.

Not only that, the freshly graduated Tan Yue had a savings card loaded with tens of millions—apparently earned from investments over the years. He’d worked part-time and invested in an aquarium, which later bought back his original shares, turning his stake into sixty million.

But that sixty million was gone now, transformed into the standalone Western-style house he lived in and a daily-use car.

The house was bought outright—a single-unit property with no HOA fees.

The house is located near Imperial Capital Television, in a prime area just a five-minute walk from work.

However, housing prices have taken a nosedive in recent years, making it unwise to sell now. Besides, the renovation, decoration, and maintenance of the house have wiped out the last of Tan Yue’s savings.

His bank account’s practically drained, with only 100,000 yuan left. His monthly expenses are high, and he still has a car loan in the hundreds of thousands to repay.

Though Tan Yue barely remembers buying the place, the transactions were indeed made by him—his name is clearly listed as the sole owner on the property deed.

The standalone four-story house consists of three above-ground floors with a large yard and a basement.

Despite working hard, Tan Yue can’t scrape much together from his paycheck. As a fresh graduate, his pay is low, and most of his earnings go toward maintaining the house. Though he doesn’t have to pay high property management fees, upkeep for such a large house isn’t cheap—utility bills are expensive, and he has to hire professionals for regular deep cleans.

Aside from maintaining the miniature rock garden in the yard, he also keeps a large aquarium at home, though it contains no fish—just some decorative aquatic plants.

He has no idea why he bought an empty fish tank back then, but now, he can’t quite bring himself to toss it.

"Teacher Tan, don’t forget we have a field assignment today—don’t be late!"

Tan Yue checked his phone and replied, "Got it. I’ll be right there."

He grabbed a sandwich from the toaster, checked his suitcase for IDs and paperwork, and headed out the door.

The house’s yard is spacious, with room for five cars, though only one is parked there.

The 60 million yuan Tan Yue had before felt like it came out of nowhere, but he didn’t squander it.

The current car—an SUV worth half a million yuan—was bought after he started working, with a 30% down payment and the rest to be repaid over ten years.

Though he doesn’t need the car for daily commutes, as a TV station employee, he frequently goes on location shoots.

After graduation, Tan Yue was assigned to Channel 10 at Imperial Capital TV. As a newbie, he wasn’t placed on high-profile programs but was instead assigned to a low-rated show about to get axed—*Exploring Science*.

The show collects submissions of bizarre stories from the public, and the host, along with the camera crew, travels to the locations to investigate and debunk them.

The previous host had switched over to a children’s channel, leaving the spot open for Tan Yue, the newcomer.

As a rookie, he had zero creative control—he simply followed the director’s instructions.

Yesterday, the director relayed the plan: "Our next shoot will be in Bai Family Village. Clock in at the station first, then head out. After wrapping up, return to the station. Everyone should pack extra supplies—cash, power banks, etc.—since remote villages can be inconvenient."

Their show had a tight budget, and the station provided only a clunker of a minivan. Tan Yue volunteered his own car.

The director perked up at the sight of it. "This is perfect for fieldwork!"

The director was a balding middle-aged man—gaunt, with the look of a man who’d given up on his dreams.

Though their station dealt with plenty of wealthy people and luxury cars, those had nothing to do with ordinary workers like them. Compared to the show’s clunker of a minivan, Tan Yue’s car was a huge upgrade.

"We’ll take turns driving. Everyone has a license, right?"

The intern nodded. "I do, Teacher Tan, but I haven’t had it for a year yet—can’t hit the highway alone yet."

The team consisted of six: the cameraman, director, scriptwriter, editor, host (Tan Yue), and an assistant intern.

The director, cameraman, and Tan Yue were men; the scriptwriter, editor, and assistant were women.

Tan Yue, the director, and the cameraman took turns driving his car, with the camera equipment stowed safely in the back.

The other three girls drove the beat-up company car. While gas money could be expensed, vehicle wear and tear wouldn't be covered, and their car wasn't really suitable for long trips.

This shoot required traveling quite far—nearly 2,000 kilometers—which would take a solid 18-hour drive to reach the destination.

Although taking the high-speed rail would be faster, it wouldn't be convenient with all their equipment. Plus, the village was reportedly quite remote, with no direct transportation options, so driving remained the most practical choice—just a bit more tiring on the road.

Munching on a KFC breakfast, the director said, "This Baijia Village is actually quite famous. Remember 'The Story of the Snake Catcher' from school? We're heading to a small village in Yongzhou mentioned in that story."

Tan Yue, driving at the time, responded, "So, are they still making a living off those black-bodied, white-banded venomous snakes?"

"Definitely not! There aren’t such harsh taxes anymore. The village stopped snake-catching long ago, and now even slightly rare animals are nationally protected—catch one and you get three years minimum..."

After six hours of driving, the director took the wheel, allowing Tan Yue to quickly review some data.

What was originally an 18-hour trip ended up taking nearly 24 hours, including rest stops and refueling at service areas.

Everyone took turns resting in the car, though none of them slept particularly well.

Fortunately, the sun came up, and by 8 a.m. the next morning, they finally pulled into Baijia Village.