So this was the mermaid’s illusion.
Beyond the yacht’s porthole, the sea was a sheet of black. They were far from the docks; the neon glow on the shoreline was no bigger than peas in the distance.
Ethan stood at the window, staring at that tiny, colorful line on the horizon.
Behind him, the cabin lights were soft.
The arms around his waist were softer.
He let himself feel the scene, then dissected it—especially the “nightmare” story the woman behind him had just told.
According to her, this was his first life. The zombie catastrophe had happened, and it had ended.
But fighting through it had cracked something inside him. He couldn’t fully heal. He still slipped into nightmares.
In those nightmares, he would “wake” into a hallucination where the zombies had wiped out humanity, where everyone had died—where he had died.
He would “cross” into other worlds.
He would live whole lives in those worlds—dangerous, bizarre, sometimes happy—and then, one day, he would wake up from the nightmare and return here.
Except his memories would scramble. Sometimes he’d forget his parents. Sometimes he’d forget her.
Sometimes he’d forget himself.
Ethan searched for holes.
And the terrifying part was… there weren’t any.
Everything she said could be mapped onto real events he’d actually lived.
Waking up as a three-year-old. Growing up in an orphanage. Going to school with Huang Yanyan. Making money as a copycat creator. Building a quiet, stable life.
Becoming a “player.” Crossing again. Meeting Skye. Touching the supernatural. Scraping for survival in a world that wanted him dead.
She’d wrapped truth around the lie until it looked seamless.
And worse—
A part of Ethan wanted it to be true.
He wanted her to be Qingyao.
He wanted this to be his real life.
He wanted everything else to be a nightmare.
The thought slid in like fog. Heavy. Sweet. Exhausting.
His clarity dulled.
He realized something was wrong only when his heart clenched hard enough to hurt.
Danger Premonition triggered.
The Hunter legacy.
Right. Of course.
He was a Transcendent.
The truth snapped back into place.
Ethan steadied his breathing and looked again.
Fake.
All of it was fake.
This was what Delanna meant. Regret. Weakness. Illusion as training.
“You okay?” Qingyao asked, tilting her face up. “You went quiet. Are you feeling sick?”
Ethan shook his head, irritation flaring. He understood the trap now.
And Delanna had—deliberately or not—set him up again.
Qingyao reached for his neck, rising on her toes to kiss him.
Ethan turned his head and stared out the window instead.
A flicker of hurt crossed her pretty face. Then it vanished, replaced by bright, practiced warmth.
“Hungry?” she asked, tugging him away from the porthole. “Mom packed mugwort rice cakes for us—qingtuan.”
She set the boxed cakes on the table.
Ethan stared at them.
They were perfect. Exactly like the ones in his memory.
Because the illusion was built from his memory.
Qingyao watched him closely, adding weight to the hook. Waiting for him to sink.
But Ethan’s mind was steadier now. The ache was real—sharp, tender—but it no longer steered him.
He picked one up… and put it down.
“Don’t you want one?” she asked, worry slipping into her voice. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“No,” Ethan said. “Just no appetite.”
Some regrets couldn’t be rewound.
Some ties had already been cut by time.
The only thing left was to accept it—and let go.
The yacht rocked gently on the water. Night air flowed in with salt and engine heat.
Qingyao didn’t give up. She turned on the TV—an old program Ethan used to watch before smartphones took over the world.
Ethan didn’t stop her.
If this was training, he could use it.
He sat on the couch and watched the familiar drama unfold beside her.
She curled against him like a cat, playing the role with patient devotion.
On screen, a wedding scene played. A woman said, “I insist.”
Ethan almost smiled at the nostalgia.
Almost.
It didn’t move him the way it was meant to.
Whether he was inside the illusion or not no longer mattered. The illusion couldn’t pull his mind off-center anymore.
Ethan took a slow breath.
He asked, calm and direct, “Do you want to go home?”
Qingyao’s eyes lit with brief joy—then panic flickered behind them.
Home?
She leaned into him, cheeks reddening, voice turning syrupy and teasing.
“Oh come on. We agreed—no kids until after the honeymoon. And you need to take better care of yourself first.”
Ethan blinked.
…Impressive.
Skye had been right about mermaids.
Ethan had asked that question to force the truth out—because he’d realized something.
He’d returned to the player world and only then fallen into the illusion.
Which meant there was a mermaid in the player world.
He’d tried to strike at her real attachment—her homesickness—and flip the advantage.
Instead, she outplayed him with a line he couldn’t even answer without stepping into her script.
Ethan gave up on “clever.”
Fine. No more acting.
But before he could speak, Qingyao swung a leg over his lap and sat astride him, arms looping around his neck.
“If you want it right now,” she whispered, eyes half-lidded, “I’ll say yes.”
Her hand slid toward the buttons of his shirt.
Ethan caught her wrist.
She really was getting impatient.
He met her gaze and said, clearly, “Drop the set dressing. I’m the one who can take you home.”
Qingyao froze for half a beat—then softened her expression again, leaning forward until her forehead touched his.
“No fever,” she murmured, as if diagnosing him. “Is it the nightmare again…?”
“I’ve met Delanna,” Ethan cut in.
That landed.
Her smile faltered.
Ethan didn’t let her recover.
“Dirge Priestess,” he said.
Silence.
Now it made sense.
Delanna had told him mermaids couldn’t freely cross worlds. They were the Creator’s followers, nothing more.
The only mermaid who could be here—who could exist in the player world—was the guardian brought over twenty years ago by Huang Yanyan’s father.
The Dirge Priestess.
Bound in deep sleep inside the Heart Coral.
Inside the coral cards Ethan had stumbled into.
The Blood Rite Incident had flooded the player world with supernatural force.
It had awakened her.
But she wasn’t a Transcendent. She was alone in a strange world, cut off from her kind.
So she’d fallen back on mermaid tradition: ensnare a human man, win his true love, and use that devotion to step onto the path.
And by proximity, by convenience…
Ethan had become her target.
They sat like that for several seconds—still tangled in an intimate pose—each one thinking about the same problem from opposite angles.
The illusion began to peel apart.
The yacht, the neon, the TV, the sea—everything flaked away like paint.
Ethan’s bedroom formed around them.
The illusion was gone.
They weren’t.
The mermaid was still straddling his lap, one hand at his collar, the other trapped where he’d held her.
Under the dim bedside lamp, her human face flowed back into her real form.
A long, shimmering tail the color of sunlit water.
Black hair falling to her waist, faintly curled at the ends.
Fin-like ears.
Porcelain skin. Red lips.
Beautiful in a way that would ruin most men.
It didn’t matter.
Ethan released her wrist so she could step back.
She didn’t.
She kept her fingers on his collar, staring at him from inches away—embarrassed, stubborn, curious, and oddly defiant all at once.
Ethan’s patience snapped into a dry laugh.
He asked, “What—are you still trying to continue?”
The mermaid blinked those bright, peach-blossom eyes.
She nodded hard.
“Yes.”
…
September 1. Cycle 10. Player world.
Huang Yanyan sat on her bed at midnight, trying to summarize her last Cycle.
But the more she thought about it, the clearer it became:
Aside from carrying letters and collecting information, her “life” now consisted of eating, drinking, and being shown endless clothes and jewelry by her maids.
At first she’d tried to be practical. If they bought it, she should wear it, right?
She learned a painful truth.
Trying on new outfits was exhausting.
And with the sheer volume Baron Warner kept buying, she could change three times a day and still never catch up.
She flopped back on the bed and groaned.
“When did my life turn into this?”
Her phone rang.
She answered—and Qi Heng’s voice came through, urgent.
“Player 0776 is dead. Someone killed him in the Endless Sea.”
“What?” Huang Yanyan stared at the ceiling.
“Player 0776,” Qi Heng clarified. “One of the official players from his batch. He’s on the death list.”
He spoke fast, like he’d been running.
“Did you see a kill announcement last night? Was it someone from your cohort?”
Huang Yanyan searched her memory.
“I didn’t see Player 0067’s… I didn’t see any kill announcement from my cohort.”
She almost said Only 67 could do it, but she swallowed the thought. Work required precision.
“Okay.” Qi Heng exhaled, disappointed. “I’ll check with the other teammates.”
He hung up.
Huang Yanyan sat up and looked out at the dark window, a knot of unease tightening in her chest.