Faded Scales

Jiang Yue spread out an old sea chart in the lighthouse basement.

The chart was large, its edges hardened by sea salt. Shells, a copper lamp, a smoking pipe, and an old silver hook held down the four corners. White Whale Town was drawn like a rusted nail driven into the coast. Seven red dots lined the seawall outside the town, like a ring of unclosed wounds.

"The Hunter's Light Array." Jiang Yue tapped the chart with the pipe. "Built to make sirens hurt so badly they can't sing."

Coral sat on a wooden crate, head lowered, touching her ankle.

There had once been a ring of pale blue scale markings there, like tiny shell flowers. Now a patch of blue was missing, the edges gone gray, as if erased by a rubber. She pulled a candy wrapper from her pocket and carefully pressed it over the faded spot.

"Will this grow back?"

Jiang Yue rolled her eyes. "You think you're patching a wall?"

Lu Wenchao crouched down and peeled off the wrapper. "Don't stick that on."

Coral looked down. "It's not pretty anymore."

"It's not meant to be looked at."

"Then who is it for?"

Lu Wenchao paused. "For the sea."

Only then did she fall silent.

The lighthouse basement had no windows, only an iron通风口 above. When the sea wind crept through, it brought a hint of brine. Coral couldn't help looking up every time she smelled it. She wasn't really that far from home — the sea was right outside — but the path back was blocked by the light arrays, the hunters, and all those human rules she couldn't understand.

Jiang Yue stabbed a copper pin into the sea chart.

"The entrance to Tide Bay will appear during the seventh rising tide before the full moon. Two tides have passed. Five remain. The shortest route is to cut through the East Sea Wall, circle past the Reef Gate, and wait for the third rising tide to open the gap."

Lu Wenchao studied the chart. "The East Sea Wall has the light array."

"Shortest route, not the safest."

Coral asked, "What about going around?"

Jiang Yue glanced at her. "Three days. You won't last."

Those words hung in the air, and the basement fell silent for a moment.

Xiaoman wasn't there. She was still holed up at the old inn, working on the poster clues. Without her chatter, Coral suddenly felt that everyone's words carried too much weight. Lu Wenchao stared at the map, his expression as cold as the rocks on the seawall. Jiang Yue bit down on her unlit pipe.

"There's another way," Jiang Yue said.

Lu Wenchao looked up.

"Hunter blood can briefly fool the light array." Jiang Yue pointed at the red dots on the seawall. "The array recognizes siren songs and scale glow. Hunter blood carries the Silver Hook Pact, which can mask it a little. But only for a short time, and it has to be fresh."

Lu Wenchao reached for his knife.

Coral was faster. She pressed her hand over his.

"Red water bleeding hurts."

"A little."

"A little still hurts."

She said it with absolute seriousness, like correcting a wrong tide table.

Lu Wenchao looked at her and suddenly remembered that half a candy at the harbor. She said sharing food meant she wanted him to live longer. But all he could give her now was his blood and an escape.

"Even without cutting, it'll hurt," Jiang Yue said coldly. "When the light array shines on her, she'll be the one in pain."

Coral pressed her lips together.

Lu Wenchao turned his hand around and gently moved her fingers away from the blade.

"I'll do it."

"I can sing."

"No."

"Just a little song."

"Not even a little."

His tone was too harsh. Coral froze for a moment.

Jiang Yue let out a dry laugh. "Why are you snapping at her? She doesn't even understand why you're angry."

Lu Wenchao didn't explain. He didn't want to say that he was afraid — afraid that after she sang, she'd lose another piece of the path home, afraid her scale glow would fade a little more, afraid she'd give herself away bit by bit with that matter-of-fact expression.

But Coral looked down at his hand.

"You're scared."

Lu Wenchao went rigid.

"I'm not."

"When you humans say 'I'm not,' that means you are," she said softly. "You taught me that."

Jiang Yue bit down on her pipe and turned away, pretending to look for something.

Before they set out that night, Coral tucked her drift bottle into her bag. The bottle was clean now, and the blurry paper inside had been dried by the lighthouse window. Only one curved symbol was still legible.

Lu Wenchao asked, "Why bring that?"

"If I forget the way, I'll put what I want to say inside."

"A bottle can't swim home on its own."

"You'll catch me."

He had no rebuttal.

Before they left, Jiang Yue draped an old cloak over Coral and pressed three tide talismans into Lu Wenchao's hand.

"One on her ankle, one on your wound, save the last to burn. Don't burn it against the wind, or you'll choke yourself to death."

Coral nodded seriously. "Don't burn paper facing your face."

Jiang Yue: "Well, that's not wrong."

The East Sea Wall looked like a black fishbone in the fog. Seven red lamps stood on the outer side of the seawall, their light sweeping across the sea in layers. From a distance, they didn't seem threatening — almost like festive lanterns. But the moment Coral drew close, her throat felt like it was being strangled by silver threads, and the scale marks on her ankle began to sting.

She grabbed Lu Wenchao's sleeve but didn't cry out.

Lu Wenchao cut his palm.

When the blood welled up, Coral's fingers trembled. He smeared it over the scale marks on her ankle. The warmth covered the cold. For a moment, the light array dimmed, the red light tricked into shifting elsewhere.

"Run," he said.

They charged into the red light.

Coral ran more steadily than before, but still not like a real human. Her steps were too light, as if each one wanted to turn back into a swim. Lu Wenchao half-supported, half-dragged her past the first lamp, then the second. The red light swept behind them, hitting the sea, and the water immediately frothed with silvery white bubbles.

"Don't look at the lights," Lu Wenchao said.

"It's singing."

"Lights don't sing."

"These ones do." Coral's face was pale. "It sounds awful."

At the end of the seawall, a soft metallic click rang through the fog.

Lu Wenchao turned around.

Behind them, Qin Yan stood in the shadow of the lighthouse, his finger resting on a black remote. His face still wore that gentle smile, as if he were just turning on a streetlight for an old friend.

"Did you really think the White Lady only built seven lamps?"

A hidden eighth lamp lit up in the middle of the seawall.

The red light surged up from the ground, shining directly onto Coral.

She felt her own song shatter deep inside her body.