100 persimmons every meter

Heinz touched his chest. He was indeed heartless.

In his early years, he had worked for the intelligence services. Later, he entered the civil service system. His background and history had long since been scrubbed clean and people only knew that he had served as a servant in the Eagle-owl Duke’s household—not how he got there.

His father was a disgraced official of the Old Empire.

Though called a disgraced official, there was also a suspicion of false accusation. In the two years before the Old Empire’s fall, many had sensed what was coming. At that time, choosing sides became an unavoidable decision—

Support the high-ranking nobles and overthrow Izu Paraiso?

Or remain silent and continue serving the old emperor?

The jellyfish father had chosen the former. As history proved, it had indeed been the popular choice.

But the old jellyfish forgot that he had once sworn loyalty to Izu Paraiso. Even as the old emperor’s power waned and he gradually lost control, what happened right under his nose never escaped his surveillance.

So, at the faction’s gathering, a group of “reformist” seafolk were arrested. Normally, this wouldn’t have been a big deal. If everyone just kept their mouths shut and insisted it was a barbecue party, the authorities couldn’t do much.

Unfortunately, someone was terrified of Izu Paraiso. Intimidated, they broke down and confessed. To protect themselves, the others conspired privately and pinned the role of mastermind on the old jellyfish.

The reason was simple: what did he expect that would happen to him as a lowly beta without a title or connections?

The old jellyfish was taken away, sentenced to two hundred years of imprisonment.

The young jellyfish was demoted to slavery, sold for two hundred credits to serve as a servant.

Their lives were a perfect illustration of misfortune. Why had his family been the only ones to suffer?

Before his imprisonment, the old jellyfish held his young son’s cold hand and earnestly advised:

“My little jelly, remember this for the rest of your life: trust no one, and don’t chase power like I did. Just grow up quietly and be an ordinary little beta.”

The young jellyfish nodded with the solemnity of someone far beyond his years. He used a newspaper to wipe his father’s tears and advised him in turn: inside, he should behave himself and not get into fights with other seafolk.

“Such a sensible little jelly I have.”

After growing up, that sensible little jelly successfully inherited the family tradition: becoming an official, betraying his master, and rising as the political scene’s brightest and most shining—

A white-eyed wolf.

Heinz swirled his crystal glass, turning with satisfaction to survey his clean, spacious office.

This was the top floor of the Imperial Government Hall, separated from the monarch’s office by only a corridor, less than five meters away. In both literal and figurative terms, this was truly “standing at the heights of power.”

But compared to his ambitions, this was far from enough.

Heinz recalled his most recent prison visit. With his influence, the old man was doing quite well inside: well-fed, with plenty of seafood at every meal, energetic enough to curse him out through the bulletproof glass:

“You unfilial son! Disobey me, and you’ll get what’s coming to you.”

Heinz picked at his ear with his pale finger. “Listen to yourself. What kind of father curses his own son like that?”

The old jellyfish choked. “What else am I supposed to say?”

Heinz replied lightly, “You could wish me success in my career.”

The old jellyfish gripped his tentacles tightly, unconsciously reassessing his son. The little blue-pink glass ball who used to spurt water when patted on the head had grown into the villain of an R-rated movie with flailing tentacles, sitting in the shadows, elegant and dashing… bearing more than a passing resemblance to his younger self.

The old jellyfish shook his head, speaking from experience: “The higher you climb, the harder you fall. Don’t let your current position fool you. Everyone may flatter you now, but one misstep, and you’ll end up just like me.”

A sliver of dim light slanted through the prison bars. Heinz’s lips curved faintly. “Wrong. As long as I stand above everyone, no one can kick me down.”

The old jellyfish’s eyes widened in alarm. “What are you planning?”

“You’ll find out in due time.”

Heinz rose unhurriedly, tapping his pointed leather shoe. The old jellyfish knew he was about to leave and leaned toward the microphone:

“When are you finally getting your old man out of here?”

“There are plenty of people looking for leverage against me.”

“And?”

“As my biological father, you’re better off spending your remaining years in here. For you, and for me, it’s safer.”

The old jellyfish tried to reason: “Son, don’t go. Let me out, and I can still advise you.”

Heinz paused at the doorframe, glancing back with a hint of regret:

“My team doesn’t accept people who’ve lost political struggles.”

The old jellyfish: “…Fine. Get lost.”

Heinz nodded with satisfaction. It seems the old man did some productive reflection during his years in prison.

He wasn’t refusing his father’s involvement out of familial indifference.

The ocean world was a strict hierarchy of the strong preying on the weak. Bloodline determined almost everything. Big fish ate small fish, small fish ate shrimp, shrimp nibbled on jellyfish.

Having crawled up from the bottom of the food chain, Heinz couldn’t afford the slightest error.

The old jellyfish’s secret betrayal had given Izu Paraiso a handle on him.

Heinz wouldn’t make the same mistake.

Besides, being someone’s watchdog was only temporary. Heinz is riding the fence between the tyrant and Izu Paraiso, two opposing forces, it was obvious he was taking such risks for something far beyond mere status.

He mused to himself, “I don’t think there’s ever been a beta emperor in the entire galaxy…”

 

---

Shaking off his thoughts, Heinz downed the brandy in one gulp. The melted ice water made him wince. When he turned to his deputy secretary, he had regained his usual demeanor:

“What documents? Let me see.”

The deputy secretary quickly handed them over. “It’s the detailed investigation report on Major General Gram’s death. I’ve flagged the key sections. During our search, we also uncovered something unexpected.”

Heinz flipped to that page and his eyebrows lifted in surprise.

The deputy secretary explained: “The pilot Gram had recruited before his death went by ‘Bai Ling.’ There’s a 90% chance this is the same person who hijacked that ship and attacked the monarch’s space palace.”

“See page 170. There’s a photo taken beneath the landfill. It captured ‘Bai Ling’s’ face.”

“But this face doesn’t match any ‘Bai Ling’ in the population registry.”

Heinz listened, the gears in his mind turning. He knew Izu Paraiso had recently been promoting a young pilot. No doubt, it was this bird.

The deputy secretary continued: “Ultimately, we found a match in the deceased registry.”

A fake death to change identities?

Heinz first recalled how The One had crushed a wine glass in his grip last time. Then he narrowed his eyes, remembering the scene from the “Hunting Night”. The One had effortlessly defeated a group of alphas and left carrying someone on his back.

He flipped to page 171 of the report. There was a black-and-white military ID photo.

Heinz said with amusement, “Who would have thought our former emperor had an eye for beauty?”

He asked succinctly, “Where is this person now?”

“At the palace, and…” the deputy secretary hesitated. “Sharing a room with your former master, Sava.”

Heinz’s pupils contracted sharply, as if his tentacles had been stepped on. His first thought was that The One had sent Bai Ling to take his little hen hostage.

The young master was his sky, his bottom line. No one could touch so much as a feather on the young master’s downy leg warmers.

Not even Izu Paraiso, that notorious old snake.

Heinz lowered his head, gripping Bai Ling’s photo tightly.

The deputy secretary asked, “Should we submit this report to The One?”

Heinz’s expression was calm. “No. Archive it. It may be useful later.”

The deputy secretary was surprised, but quickly regained his composure.

For a civil official, there were no permanent superiors, only temporary assets. That was the first rule of the job.

Heinz quickly composed himself, practicing his tone twice before the mirror to ensure nothing was amiss.

Then, he sat down and began his daily report to The One:

“Good evening. This is your loyal ‘Mixed Juice’…”

---

In the concubine dormitory.

After lights out, the three lay in bed, chatting desultorily. With Sava present, the conversation somehow veered into colorful territory, turning into an “egg-laying education seminar.” They even pressed Bai Ling to describe how it felt.

Bai Ling: “I’m calling the dorm supervisor!”

Stupid chicken, spouting nonsense in the dead of night instead of sleeping.

Sava shut up, grumbling, but still restless. In the darkness, he climbed down and rustled around for snacks.

Bai Ling tried to curse him out under his breath, but the next moment, the sliding door was yanked open. He watched helplessly as a vague, enormous chicken butt squeezed in, followed by two glowing little orange lanterns.

Sava: O V O

A bag of chips was thrust at him. “Want some fries?”

Bai Ling took a couple symbolic bites, then pushed him out, telling him to go back to sleep. After another half hour, once he heard the breathing from above even out, Bai Ling quietly slipped out of bed, opened the door, and headed upstairs.

He gave himself a perfectly flawless excuse.

—A piece of glass in the conservatory is broken, and the forecast predicted high winds tonight. He needs to reinforce it.

 

It definitely has nothing to do with checking on the merman.

To avoid alerting the target, it was best to climb the outer wall.

Bai Ling estimated his position, found an empty stairwell, and poked his head out to scout for handholds. Just then, a shadow fell over him, from his face down to his neck.

Someone stood on the stairs, backlit.

Bai Ling’s forearm muscles tensed; he nearly threw his knife. Fortunately, the other spoke first:

“Stupid bird, you’re not telling me you climb out from here every day, are you?”

“…Why are you here?”

The eagle-owl squatted down in a rakish manner, his face scrunched up. “I’m in a bad mood. Want to hit someone. But I’ve got nowhere to vent. The omegas concubines are all too fragile to take a punch.”

Bai Ling: “……”

Sava, mentally slaughtering a jellyfish into jelly broth, asked with a puzzled look:

“Weren’t you going out? Why aren’t you getting undressed?”

Bai Ling was speechless. “Why would I get undressed? It’s below zero out there.”

“I thought you were going to transform into a peregrine falcon and fly out the window.”

Bai Ling’s expression was flat as he tapped his metal prosthetic. “With this thing, how can I transform? It doesn’t shrink.”

Sava said matter-of-factly, “You could take the leg off and carry it on your back while you fly.”

“Do I look like a golden eagle to you?!” With a three-meter wingspan.

Sava nodded seriously. “True. You’re a dainty little falcon in the raptor world. Tiny. And you love perching on people’s arms to eat meat.”

Bai Ling’s vision went dark. He was about to kick him, but Sava stepped in front of him, proudly sticking out his rear. “Hop on. I’m in a bad mood tonight and looking for some fun. I don’t mind carrying you, stupid bird, for a couple laps. You’ll scream your head off seeing what we owls can do.”

Bai Ling: “I never scream my head off.”

“Then we have nothing to talk about.” Sava, a creature of principle, straightened up and retracted his chicken-based ride platform.

“A hundred credits’ worth of persimmons.”

The iron-willed little hen said, “Deal!”

---

Seafolk could manifest tentacles, antennae, and scales. Birds could likewise transform into their animal forms.

But most birds didn’t bother, only showing species-specific feathers atop their heads as a marker of their lineage.

The reason lay in the current Empire’s system of blood purity classification. Generally speaking, purebloods with animal gene concentrations above 60% could maintain their shifted form for over two hours, with no upper limit. Some could even sustain it indefinitely.

Case in point: a certain pureblood merman who frequently soaked in pools.

For mixed-bloods with lower animal gene concentrations, the duration was shorter: ten minutes at best, two or three at worst. There were even those with concentrations as low as 0.8%, unable to shift at all.

Thus, the common saying: “Even one minute is pretty good, hang in there!”

Bai Ling was also a mixed-blood. As a child, he’d often been called a mutt.

His genetic profile: 49% human, 45% peregrine falcon, 6% common kestrel. Not exceptionally high, but decent.

As for the pureblood noble, Young Master Sava, his eagle-owl content was likely above 70%, given his pronounced animal behaviors: endless cooing and gooing.

Still, no matter how pure his blood, he was still being used as a seat by Bai Ling, his former mortal enemy from a past life. Bai Ling sat atop the swaying chicken butt, with no fluctuations in his heart from the wind.

“Hold onto my speed brakes, I’m slowing down!”

Bai Ling grabbed the two tufts of feathers standing upright on the eagle-owl’s head. The owl cooed angrily: “Those are my antennae! Wrong spot!”

One corner of the conservatory had a half-meter-wide hole, usually covered with plastic sheeting. If you wanted to go through, you only needed to remove the tape to pass.

The two birds flew in without incident. The moment they landed and folded their wings, Sava exclaimed, “Holy shit!”

It was huge! Even with his superior night vision, he couldn’t see the end of it.

Beside him, the other bird had dark blue-black back feathers, a milky white belly, and was hopping unevenly on one claw across the grass. With each hop, his tail feathers bobbed up and down for balance, revealing the soft, fluffy white down beneath his stiff flight feathers.

Sava clicked his tongue. “Good thing there are no males behind you.” Otherwise, with that posture, you couldn’t escape the mounting.

They landed near the study. Walking only a  few steps forward, faint voices could be heard.

Birds had keen hearing. Sava’s brow furrowed. He immediately recognized one of the voices as that garbage jellyfish.

It was Heinz speaking: “…If I may be so bold, what exactly is your relationship with ‘Bai Ling’?”

A slightly deeper voice responded: “What does the Secretary want to know?”

“Nothing in particular,” Heinz replied, his tone still humble but carrying a faint, almost imperceptible challenge. “I’m merely concerned that if His Majesty Kaide were to learn of your… indulgence toward him…”

The One casually said: “He’s nothing more than a plaything to amuse me.”

Author’s note:

Old merman: (lightly) It’s just a bit of fun.

Little bird: (smiling) I’m listening.