“Welcome home, little madman.”

“The child‌‍‌⁠‍⁠​⁠‌​​⁠​⁠‍‌‍⁠‌⁠⁠‍⁠‍ is right here. So dote on me!”

The moment the words left his mouth, a cold, slender hand violently pinched around Bai Ling’s waist. A sudden, unexpected burst of explosive power flipped him clean over, pinning him into the mattress.

The mattress dipped heavily beneath them, the springs letting out a sharp, groaning screech.

His vision was completely inverted. Bai Ling found his wrists pinned together and secured above his head, rendering his entire body completely immobile. Catching a panicked, fleeting glimpse, he spotted the merman’s tightly flexed abdominal muscles—resembling a drawn bowstring, fully loaded and coiled to strike.

The merman’s slightly cool body temperature closed in, his abdominal muscles pressing flush against the younger man’s lower belly. His tone was ruthless: “You brought this upon yourself.”

As his guardian, Yu Chen had already fulfilled his obligations to the absolute letter, warning the omega multiple times of the danger ahead. Yet his Little Bird consistently refused to listen, tangling around his tail time and time again, even taking the initiative to straddle his waist on his own accord.

If pain was a lesson, then today, he would explicitly teach this little omega a lesson.

The more breathtakingly beautiful a creature was, the more lethal its toxicity. This phrase was by no means an exaggeration when applied to a Rotting-breed Merman.

As early as the Ancient Earth era, this species of deep-sea fish was fiercely devoted to combat. Amidst the continuous erosion of brine and the howling of northern gales, they evolved a frame of lean, elongated sinew and muscle—their powerful conditioning ensuring they could feast on shark meat even during the dead of winter.

Merfolk’s habits mirrored those of a raptor to a certain degree: the male hunted to sustain and nourish the female. From this perspective, the internal domestic relations of a merman family were vastly more stable than those of polygamous terrestrial mammals like lions, gorillas, or rodents.

Male mermen particularly looked down upon the so-called king of the land—the male lion. Whenever the kelp harvest season ended and agricultural downtime arrived, these beautiful, robust creatures would shift their propeller-like tails, traveling across entire oceans from thousands of miles away just to pop their heads out from the sparkling, azure African coastal waters. Crossing their arms, they would loudly scoff:

“Look at that. The male lion actually lounges inside a grass nest, waiting for the female to return from a hunt.”

“And the mane is utterly hideous.”

“Precisely. The locks on our heads are vastly more stunning.”

It was somewhat narcissistic, yet remained within the realm of being endearing.

They never returned empty-handed from their journeys back. Frequently, they would arrive with kelp slung around their waists and several stunned salmon, tuna, or sharks securely tied behind them. The males would tether the fish right outside their cave entrances, their haughty, swaggering posture precisely mirroring a child returning from an amusement park with a handful of balloons.

The absolute premium cuts of the prey were invariably given to the female first. Males were natural-born masters of sashimi dissection; filleting fish flesh was a mandatory survival skill. Ripping open the fresh flesh and blood, they would offer the most tender, prime cuts of the fatty belly to the female in their mouths, forcing her to swallow it down in tiny, controlled bites.

This was by no means an act of gentlemanly chivalry. On the contrary, it served as the overture to an act of raw savagery.

Particularly when a male returned from a brutal clash with sharks, his eyeballs would be bloodshot, his tail, marred with lacerated wounds, and the residual adrenaline flooding his entire frame would leave him with zero outlet for release. He would simultaneously feed the female rich shark meat while treating her as another form of war trophy, uninhibitedly enjoying her within the recesses of the cave.

—Nothing could burn through adrenaline more effectively than fiercely possessing one’s own female.

Bai Ling had once heard fragments of this wild, savage history.

Back then, he was still young—a tiny, mischievous, and gluttonous ball of grey fluff. Coveting the complimentary ladyfinger biscuits, he had joined the young bird scouts, volunteering to clean the museum every single weekend. The wicked little fluff ball would slip into the staff breakroom like a cat sliding into a classroom. The trajectory of the young bird gliding beneath the surveillance lenses was so smooth that even a little eagle-owl youngster would likely gasp in awe: What a smooth operator.

The biscuits inside the breakroom were laid out openly within a box, unpacked and loose. Grabbing two generous handfuls to stuff them into his pockets, he would happily venture upstairs to admire the artwork.

There was one specific painting that the docents strictly forbade children from entering to view. It was rumored to be entirely “indescribable.” Yet how could a docent’s eyes possibly track a young peregrine falcon? Highly likely, only the nation’s most formidable surveillance network belonging to the Old Emperor could catch the young bird’s flanking maneuvers red-handed.

Successfully infiltrating the gallery, the young bird blended into the crowd, overhearing the guide explain that the mysterious painting was titled The Mermen of the Asf Sea, depicting a scene of male and female copulation.

The guide spoke through a small microphone slung across her neck: “Intriguingly, the male merman feeds the female while keeping his own stomach entirely empty.”

The males fiercely believed that a certain degree of hunger was beneficial to any living organism. Hunger permitted them to maintain a constant sense of crisis, allowing them to preserve their primitive wildness. Under standard conditions, they would retain an empty stomach, blowing the horn of aggression to trap the female—who had become compliant and fully satiated from her heavy feast—within the crevices of the jagged reefs. There, they would completely unfurl that tail, forcing her to utterly surrender all autonomy over her body.

“What? You’re asking if the male might faint from hunger halfway through?” The guide bared a smile. “Please. A single strike from a merman’s tail can flip a Viking warship clean over. Let alone an empty stomach—even if his underbelly is gouged with a massive hole, he remains terrifyingly robust and powerful, capable of pinning a female down until she weeps aloud.”

Someone piped up: “Is it like a low-health stat boost with an added berserk modifier?”

The guide noted cryptically: “Close enough. In short, they are exceptionally ruthless.”

She remarked that they were ruthless beyond anything one could imagine.

The visitors urged: “Then detail it a bit more clearly so we can visualize it.”

The guide stepped aside, allowing everyone to catch clear sight of that patch of soft white within the deep blue oil painting—it was visibly a trapped female. She resembled a bird that had fallen straight into the ocean, her feathers completely soaked, desperately beating her wings in an attempt to scale the jagged reef, only to be ruthlessly dragged down into the deep sea by the intensifying freezing gales.

So cruel. The crowd marveled and shook their heads, yet every face uncontrollably manifested a trace of an ambiguous, knowing expression.

“Look further at this blue-tailed merman. His tail is colossal, which is a signature characteristic of a male. Extrapolating from my limited knowledge, he ought to be the leader of the pod, severely wounded, with fresh blood trailing down his scales from his injuries.”

Yet this did absolutely nothing to compromise the male’s immense power. Wrapped in hunger and agony, his muscles taut, his nervous system was operating at a peak state of hyper-activation to unleash a vastly fiercer, more brutal force. Within that dimly toned painting, the prominent veins along the male’s arms bulged like twisting thickets, and his fish tail slammed against the damp reef walls with a force that could practically hammer fractures into the stone.

It resembled a furious, surging tsunami—a convergence of terrifying, crashing waves. That awe-inspiring sound would immensely stimulate the female’s senses, sending a thrilling numbness cascading from her cerebral cortex straight down to her tailbone, triggering a sequence of metallic yet sweet biological responses…

For instance, conception. Or for instance, accelerating the maturation of a sweet, youthful little female.

Back then, the young bird listened with only a half-baked understanding. Knitting his tiny brows, he propped himself up on his tiptoes, wanting to reach across the glass partition to feel the prominent dorsal muscles of the male merman.

Would there be spines growing here?

“Where did this little bird come from?!” the guide yelled out in shock as she turned her head.

The young bird vanished like a streak of smoke, scattering ladyfinger biscuits all over the floor.

By the time Bai Ling recalled that section of voluptuous, savage history, it was already too late.

He stared blankly at the ceiling, a lone reflection occupying his mind. No wonder this old bastard had asked him so elegantly last time if he required foreplay. As it turned out, a male merman’s starting gear was an immediate stomp on the throttle.

This single hospital bed was somewhat cramped; particularly with Yu Chen’s long legs taking up the space, the layout was far too narrow to afford any room to maneuver.

Bai Ling felt his prosthesis get seized and pinned downward. Instantly, like a nestling perched upon an early spring branch, he bounced up to crash confusedly into his guardian’s chest, letting let slip a series of anxious, frantic cries.

With the merman, shrinking back was an absolute impossibility; the female was mandated to completely yield control to him. To prevent the other party from escaping excessively, he roughly tore away a section of the leather strap fastened to the bedside rail, preparing to bind him down.

“Don’t… don’t tie me up,” the little female scrambled to evade, yet the result of his dodging was both of his hands scaling the man’s shoulders, pleading in a completely disoriented panic:

“I won’t run. You can do whatever you desire, just… don’t tie me down… I will panic.”

The youthful female spoke to him in broken, halting gasps, his voice carrying a trace of a nasal tone brought on by a thermal overload.

Yu Chen barely managed to recall the younger man’s harrowing past, remembering that the female was still running a high fever this morning. Excavating a shred of consideration, he captured and kissed his dry, peeling lips.

“I permit you to resist. You can scratch, bite, kick, and clamp.”

Being entirely dominated by a male—this sensation was far too terrifying. Bai Ling instinctively began to search for a sanctuary. Yet he consistently failed to realize that the aggressor and the protector were both packaged into the exact same person.

“What is this?”

The merman tilted his head, leaning down to examine something. Under the halo of the desk lamp, the contours of his face were outlined in shadows that resembled a plaster sculpture.

“…What?” Bai Ling murmured blankly.

Yu Chen adjusted the desk lamp, like an expert appraising a piece of fine porcelain, aiming the light directly toward the root of the thigh where the prosthesis connected. The skin was damp, slick with a layer of feverish moisture that reflected a brilliant, translucent sheen beneath the illumination. Shrouded by this beam of light, a trace of handwritten text crawled across the fair flesh, composing two words:

Travels.

Yu Chen flipped his leg over to examine the other side, aiming the light once more, yet saw nothing further.

Journey. There were only the words “Travels” here. Where was the word “Safe”?

“…There is only travels; safety broke along with the rest of the leg.” The bird stared blankly out the window, the frost within his eyes having dissolved into the scalding heat long ago. His eyelashes trembled as his frame radiated a state of brokenness juxtaposed against an unyielding grit—a clash carried to the absolute extreme.

Turning his head, Bai Ling pressed his face against the merman’s arm within close proximity, noting softly:

“Safety was severed alongside the missing limb.”

Having spoken, he was surprised to find that he actually breathed a sigh of relief, as if the pent-up indignation that had blocked his chest for so long finally found an outlet.

He knew that by telling this person, he was bound to receive pity and destined to be cherished. These emotions, which he would have previously guarded against as weaknesses, had now become the very parts he relied upon to survive.

It seems he has truly… been spoiled rotten.

Aided by the dim halo of light, Bai Ling saw that head suddenly droop downward. His breathing hitched as he felt the merman’s high nasal bridge brush against his leg, a crimson tongue tip sliding out from between his lips—slightly moist, carrying a gentle, protective endearment so pure it could practically move one to tears.

He treasured him deeply.

Overwhelmed, Bai Ling lifted his arm to shield his eyes.

The merman utilized the most primitive and direct method, licking, to soothe his own female.

Bai Ling felt the muscles of his thighs tremble, his entire spine shuddering uncontrollably. His calves were long, effortlessly winding around the man’s frame as his heel braced against the merman’s lower back. Grinding against it with a very light friction, his voice trembled into a murmur:

“Leave that alone. I want you to kiss me.”

A guardian’s mission was naturally to satisfy the child. Furthermore, the youthful female was being so remarkably compliant resembling a pup that could be gratified with a mere doormat. Failing to make him completely filthy and force out a series of mournful cries would truly be a disservice to an alpha’s primitive instincts.

Yu Chen naturally kissed him, uninhibitedly savoring the Little Bird’s lips and tongue, consuming him like flesh and blood steeped in honey. On this night, he completely unleashed the primal beast within his heart.

The female resembled a bird whose wing-roots had been seized by a northern gale, his waist suspended mid-air and trembling as he gathered his hands and feet in an unbearable retreat. Yet in the next split second, he would be captured and pulled open once more, granted a minute or two of merciful rest. The man would kiss his sweat-drenched temples before gathering him up to hoist him onto his own frame, listening to the bird’s chirping, tearful whimpers.

As the sticky fragrance diffused through the air, Bai Ling experienced a faint sensation of nausea in a daze. His stomach felt incredibly sour… He felt as if he were seated inside a nuclear-powered assault boat, the muscle texturing of the hull as hard as stone, endlessly providing a ferocious, surging propulsion. He felt as though he were about to experience seasickness.

“Mgh.”

Fortunately, he hadn’t eaten a meal, so nothing came out.

That assault boat abruptly throttled its velocity, straightening its hull line as it wedged itself tight within the crevices of the jagged reef.

The merman stopped to show some mercy. The fledgling’s womb remained completely intact; he had merely witnessed the danger violently brush past from the side in a hair-raising spectacle, instinctively curling himself inward.

“I ought to have fed you some dinner.” The merman expanded his shoulder blades, cupping the younger man’s sweat-drenched face with a single hand as he planted a succession of light, lingering kisses.

Bai Ling’s entire frame looked as if it had been thoroughly washed in water; the full bath he took earlier had been entirely in vain. Still caught in residual tremors, he murmured in indistinct intonations:

“…You want to witness me throwing up on your body.”

“I wouldn’t mind.”

“You truly are a bastard…”

Yu Chen supplemented nimbly: “Through and through.”

The floating television inside the room remained active, the night anchor’s face painted with exhaustion, his pace of reading the script slowed down by half.

Swiveling his grey eyes, Bai Ling discovered that Yu Chen’s attention had been drawn over by the news bulletin. His heart gave a sudden shudder. Tautening his lip line, he decided to lay his cards completely on the table:

“I blasted your sculpture.”

“Mn. I saw.”

“Do you have nothing you wish to say…? Or rather, reprimand me.”

Yu Chen, however, looped his arm closer around the little female’s narrow waist to conveniently pinch his jaw, observing and contemplating: “I want to say—I now comprehend why you went mad tonight.”

Bai Ling twisted his eyes away, his slightly swollen lips pursed into a tight line: “That’s just how I am. I go mad from time to time.”

Yu Chen gathered him between his arms, his hair brushing against the younger’s cheek as he nuzzled it, noting softly:

“Welcome home, little madman.”

So intimate, so thoroughly all-encompassing.

Bai Ling hadn’t wept when he was apprehended at the tournament arena, he hadn’t wept when he personally blasted the sculpture mother to pieces, and he hadn’t wept even when pinned into the pillow and subjected to such rough handling for so long. Yet hearing the phrase “Welcome home,” he resembled a child who had been granted absolute forgiveness. Seizing the man’s heaving shoulders, his voice turned raspy as he began to howl and weep violently.

In the past, he would silently shed tears, but he had never once wept with such shattering intensity. Perhaps a child who is doted upon simply possesses the right to be more unprincipled.