Back home, I dropped the street candies on the table like bright pebbles spilling from a brook, grabbed a few, stripped their skins, and popped them in like stars on my tongue.

“Mmmff… wha—?”

Dreamsound shook her head, a quiet wave smoothing a choppy shore. “Shengsheng, do you think what you did today was right?”

My mind fogged like a window in winter, then thudded. “Huh? Right, wrong—what are you talking about?” She hadn’t even come along today. Which thing did she mean?

“I mean the thing you did to that middle‑aged uncle.” Her eyes were still water, clear and deep. “Was it right?”

“Oh, that.” I shrugged like a leaf dodging rain. “I did what I thought of. What’s the problem?”

“You shouldn’t have let that thug go,” she said, voice cool as moonlight on a tide. “What if someone saved him, or he had friends? The uncle and his daughter would be in danger.”

“I…” Guilt pricked like a fishbone, then I swallowed it and stared at my hands.

Dreamsound looked at my trapped expression, sighed like wind through reeds, and rubbed my head. “Don’t do that again. If you won’t kill, cut every retreat instead. Call Xuanxiao, or the local peacekeepers.”

“…Okay.” My head drooped like a wilted lily, the world dimming like dusk over the sea.

Truth was, I was afraid I wouldn’t stop and would kill him. That fear burned like pepper in my chest, sharp and hot.

I’d felt that surge before, storming like black surf—back when I nearly raised a blade to my sister Xuewei.

Pah, pah! Don’t mix those waters. One is poison, one is pride.

It was more like, You think you can touch me? That crackle of thunder in my bones felt right.

But… was that really me? The face in the water felt strange, like a stranger’s reflection rippling in my eyes.

“Right! Dream—earlier, near the forest by the Far North City, something felt familiar,” I said, chasing a firefly of memory through fog. “Is there anything out there?”

“The forest by the Far North?” Dreamsound thought, gaze drifting like a gull. “Nothing special there. Go south, though, and it leads into another Radiant Empire forest. I wandered there once when I got lost.”

“Oh.” The itch of familiarity crawled like ivy. I felt I’d been there. No, I was sure I’d walked those roots.

“Shengsheng,” she said, smile like morning on a lake. “You’ve learned most of the close‑quarters forms, right? Next, it’s time for water magic.”

“Why? No! I’m a magic swordsman,” I yelped, like a cat dunked in a bucket. “You already made me learn guns. Now magic too?”

My mood fell like a stone into a well. More magic meant less time to drift like a cloud.

“Family tradition, family tradition,” she sang, wind through chimes. “You’re born with water affinity. You’ll learn fast, hit hard. Water’s useful as rain.”

“Don’t sell me that family line,” I grumbled, cheeks warming like coals. “Last time you tricked me into eating that green cookie for years. Now this again?”

“Hey, hey, that wasn’t a trick.” Her eyes curved like crescent moons. “No one hates knowing more. At sea, our water magic multiplies like tides under a full moon. Tossing a gift like that just to be lazy? That’s foolish.”

“It’s… not the same.” My face burned like sunset on waves. “I’m not some dragon king, why learn to, I don’t know, spit water?”

“Mmm? Did little Shengsheng think of something naughty?” she purred, voice like silk sliding over jade.

“I did not!”

“I get it, I get it.” She winked like a star. “Best if you want to learn. If not, I’ll make you. Water magic also buffs yourself. Touch gets bouncier.”

“You—you—” I choked, coughs popping like bubbles.

“Do your best tomorrow, little Shengsheng.”

“Mmmph!” Dreamsound used Physical Silence on Qingsheng Tangxue.

From the next day, practice poured like endless rain, and the year stretched like a gray shoreline with no end.

If I’d gone to a normal magic academy, no big deal. I’d nap like a lazy cat and still ace the work.

But this was all‑day, one‑on‑one, taught by a water‑magic prodigy. Worse, she was basically my mom, the tide that never rests.

You want a break? Dream on. I don’t want you to feel tired. I want me to feel you’re tired. The lesson cracked like a whip across noon.

That’s Dreamsound. No teaching experience, heart fierce as a hawk. She wanted me to learn thousands of years of water lore by tomorrow.

The next three years were hell, hot and bright as noon on white sand. I learned every kind of spell, like shells sorted by shape.

I cooked all three meals, steam curling like morning mist. Meanwhile, that menace Xuanxiao lounged on my couch, sipping cola, tail swishing like a smug metronome.

I wanted to chop her tail into neat pieces, like carrots on a cutting board.

To get back at Dreamsound, I cooked fish every meal. Braised fish, pickled‑cabbage fish, chopped‑chili fish head, flying‑fish sashimi—dishes rolled like waves.

Annoyingly, she ate with shining eyes, like a seal at feast. “I’m merfolk, not a fishman,” she said, licking her lips. “Why can’t I eat fish? Also, I prefer my human form.”

True, Dreamsound almost always used her human form at home, a willow in a dress. She chose her mermaid form only for the sea or battle, scales bright as blades.

She’s a mage. That shape fits magic like a glove fits a hand.

Me, the opposite. At home, I wanted to laze like driftwood, tail swaying through water like a soft oar. It felt good, smooth as silk.

When I fought or went shopping, I stayed human. I’m a sword user; legs are lightning on a field. If the battlefield is the sea, that’s different water.

Water magic splits into three streams: support, offense, defense. Dreamsound made me learn every tide she knew.

On one point, she was right. With water affinity, skin turns bouncier, like ripe peaches after rain.

How do I know? Heh. Heh heh. The mirror says so, and so do sweaters that fit like nets.

In three years I outpaced my drawers. Ten to thirteen, and nearly a C. Sizes changed like moons, every few months.

My first bra vanished like a fish slipping the net. We had to shop again, shore to shore.

After that, Dreamsound didn’t buy every size like the first time. She said she liked the feel of strolling with me, the street a lazy river.

I didn’t. Every trip to the Far North City, we “accidentally” met Sister Xuanxiao, tail swaying, grin sharp as a hook.

I didn’t want to go, but Dreamsound’s warnings were scary as reefs. Too small and it squeezes. Too big and it sags like wet sails.

We went so often the shop owner knew me. A short loli with an almost 80‑centimeter chest stands out like a red koi in clear water.

Even at thirteen, I still shared a room with Dreamsound. She treated me like a child, cradling me like a kitten.

So weird things happened, like moths to lamplight. She changed my clothes; skirts weren’t a big deal; I barely went out.

When I did, I wore long skirts that flowed like rivers. Dreamsound never forced me to hand out fanservice.

The house was big, a shell with rooms for a small shoal, ten people easy.

I kept adding flowers to the garden, spring after spring. The sea of blossoms swelled near endless, a horizon painted with petals.

Dreamsound stretched her soul‑water further, a hidden tide under soil. On quiet days, she hugged me in the flower sea and asked me to sing.

Restoring the flowerbed after was a pain, like mending nets in moonlight. But her voice was a lullaby, a sea‑borne requiem.

It stilled the heart like glassy water. The sea breeze brushed like a soft hand. Like a siren’s song in a tale, I drifted down and down.

Pah, pah! It’s her fault I wake in her arms, head pillowed like a stone under moss.

She said my voice fits singing better than hers. After each song, she taught me to hold notes, thin as silk threads.

I acted annoyed, waves slapping the pier. But I liked it, truly, like sun on cold skin.

Too bad, in my past life, I only knew nursery rhymes, little boats taught by my sister.

I wonder how Xuewei is now. Hope swelled like a tide as my strength grew; soon, I could go find her.

And Mama Shavila at the orphanage. And the teammates I once ran with like wolves.

I’d say goodbye properly, under a clean sky, with wind like a hand on the back.