The Whole Empire Raises Me - Chapter 38

 

Chapter 38

Notes: Hi! Sorry for my absence. Had to deal with a few things at work. But we're now back on track!

[jeuny: Tearful, The Unexpected Overseas Business Expansion of the Underworld, That Summer When Chihiro Was Spirited Away [Video]]

This is the video that has taken the entire Chinese community in Spain by storm tonight.

Xia Miaomiao: “…?”

Xia Miaomiao, a Chinese student studying directing in Spain, is about to start an internship at a television station. Her social circle includes both Chinese and local foreigners, and their interests and discussion topics often diverge.

However, this time was exceptionally rare. Whether on Twitter, Weibo, Instagram, or her friends’ circles, everyone was sharing the same video and discussing the same topic, all accompanied by laughter.

“Isn’t this a bit eerie?” Xia Miaomiao, who lives alone in a rented apartment, felt a little scared watching this spooky title late at night. She wondered what kind of ghostly image awaited her. “Why is everyone sharing it…”

After much hesitation, Xia Miaomiao couldn’t resist opening the video, simultaneously turning on the brightest lights in her room.

The video was divided into several segments. Initially, different people uploaded short videos from various angles. As it gained popularity, someone thoughtfully edited them together into a cohesive narrative.

The video began playing.

The first scene left Xia Miaomiao, the aspiring director, utterly mesmerized. Against the backdrop of the dark night, a small boat with lanterns floated in the silent center of the vast sea. The young man in the center of the frame had eyes like half-closed butterfly wings, their gaze reflecting the water’s hues.

Around the boat’s center, dozens of dolphins took turns arching their heads, quietly listening to something in the sea breeze.

Then the young man parted his lips: “Namo He La Da Na Duo La Ye Ye Namo A Li Ye…”

Like all other viewers who reached this point, Xia Miaomiao couldn’t help but exclaim, “What the heck!”

It was too surreal.

She nearly choked on her words. Was this the Great Compassion Mantra? Were they performing a ritual for the dolphins?! And the handsome guy on screen—was he a star? His otherworldly beauty made Xia Miaomiao wonder, but why was he so proficient in chanting the Great Compassion Mantra?!

Her mind was filled with question marks.

The video’s atmosphere shifted abruptly from aesthetic beauty to a scene of salvation. Yet, the barrage of comments remained full of laughter. Xia Miaomiao joined in, caught up in the absurdity. The stark contrast between the visuals and the audio created an indescribable sense of humor.

And then, Xia Miaomiao noticed something: “Isn’t that the Smiling Angels? Oh, today is their release day!”

These dolphins were famous on Twitter as the Smiling Angels. Xia Miaomiao had previously followed their rescue process, appreciating the heartwarming interactions with veterinarians.

Soon, she understood the meaning behind “That Summer When Chihiro Was Spirited Away.” In the video, the young man slowly pulled out a suona.

Xia Miaomiao: “…”

Chihiro departed peacefully.

“This is incredibly professional—a one-stop funeral service,” Xia Miaomiao mused. “And the dolphins are so cooperative!”

But the dolphins weren’t merely “cooperative.” They seemed to be in disco mode, even continuing the conversation seamlessly with the young man after he stopped playing the suona.

Xia Miaomiao wanted to keep watching, but the video was only a compilation of short clips. She was left wanting more. The next scene transitioned to the dolphins bidding farewell to the hurriedly arriving veterinarians.

It was touching, tugging at the heartstrings.

Especially when combined with the news and tweets she’d seen earlier.

The person filming with their phone seemed to share Xia Miaomiao’s sentiments. They whispered emotionally, “These dolphins love humans, and humans show them kindness in return—”

Their voice suddenly faltered.

Because the dolphins returned.

Not only did they return, but they also leaped energetically, bumping their heads against the young Chinese man’s forehead and splashing him with water.

The video froze on the young man raising his middle finger.

The skilled video editor knew precisely how to create impact. The final scene turned black and white, zoomed in, and played a mournful background melody, captioned with “The End.”

Xia Miaomiao: “…”

Xia Miaomiao: “???”

After a few seconds, she burst into laughter.

The funniest part was the sudden shift from sentimental to absurd—the ultimate showdown between dolphins and veterinarians. The dolphins’ double standards toward the young man were hilariously evident!

The person filming had just been waxing poetic about “cross-species friendship between humans and dolphins,” and now they were speechless!

Considering the earlier Great Compassion Mantra

“Wait, why ‘The End’? Don’t end it! Give me more!” Xia Miaomiao slapped her thigh, finally understanding why her entire social circle was sharing this meme. Despite the video’s absurdity, she couldn’t deny that the guy earnestly playing the suona was adorable!

“If this were a variety show or a drama, I’d definitely watch it,” Xia Miaomiao thought.

Unable to find much online, Xia Miaomiao returned to Twitter and her friends’ circles. The comments section was buzzing with discussions about the mysterious guy:

“He’s an idol! One of the main actors in ‘Encounter with the Dragon.’ The show is about to premiere, and he’s also filming the first episode of ‘Fantasy Cruise.’ Wishing A'Ze explosive success this year!”

“Could he be a Buddhist disciple practicing with hair? He’s so handsome—I’ve had an epiphany. I want to convert to Buddhism.”

“Ignore the bias. A crew member from ‘Fantasy Cruise’ revealed that he’s a magician—the most incredible magician. An outstanding graduate from Hogwarts China Branch.”

“He can play such moving melodies on a car horn. I’m already dancing on my balcony. I think he’s a professional musician.”

“Yes! The newly crowned top master in China! Officially certified by the association. Look at that service—unparalleled professionalism.”

Xia Miaomiao wondered, “Really? What is he, anyway?”

The climax of the discussion came from a tweet by renowned producer Locke Fis:

“Met this interesting young man during the filming of ‘Back to Nature,’ a Chinese actor. Hoping for future collaborations [video].”

Xia Miaomiao nearly dropped her phone.

She recognized the red-haired man in floral beach shorts from the video—Locke Fis!

Most people, whether interested in documentaries or not, knew Locke Fis. His impeccable taste and eye for talent had earned his productions numerous international awards. His bold and unique choices were well-known.

As a directing student, Xia Miaomiao admired this legendary producer, and she hadn’t expected the silly video to connect with her idol. And now Locke Fis himself mentioned future collaboration!

Lying on her bed, Xia Miaomiao thought, “Is there such a thing as a feng shui master who doesn’t want to be an actor?”

________________________

Meanwhile, aboard the Fantasy Cruise ship, at the same time:

Drip, drip.

Steam enveloped the bathroom.

Chi Yan: “I accidentally entered your mustard space earlier. After opening the door, I ended up here and heard you talking…”

Wen Xingze wasn’t fully familiar with the mustard space yet. Like the Merfolk parents, they seemed to have some arrangement with the Light Tower that allowed them to enter freely. Chi Yan was someone Wen Xingze had personally brought in, so it wasn’t surprising they could do this.

Wen Xingze recalled the person who helped him brush off the snow when he opened the drawer from the mustard space. Was that also Chi Yan?

So, that mystery was solved—Chi Yan’s appearance here.

Now it was time for the second mystery.

Wen Xingze stared at his newly acquired fish tail. The fin swayed along with the lantern above, and he looked at Chi Yan in bewilderment. “I’m not human anymore, Yanyan.”

Chi Yan: “Regardless, stay calm for now.” Yanyan?

Wen Xingze adopted a bleak tone. “I’ve grown a tail. Does that mean I can’t ride a tricycle anymore?”

Chi Yan’s focus was quite broad. He paused, then half-squatted by the edge of the bath.

Rolling up his sleeves, Chi Yan revealed a strong, marble-like forearm. In the mist, his pale skin almost lacked the warmth of a human tone.

Pushing up the gold-rimmed glasses on his nose, Chi Yan asked Wen Xingze like a doctor, “Is your tail fin painful? Any burning or stabbing sensations?”

Wen Xingze replied, "Not painful, just a bit warm. Feels like I’m turning into braised fish."

Chi Yan raised an eyebrow. “You want to eat yourself?”

Wen Xingze replied, “No need to eat myself; I’ll offer myself to you.”

Unaware of the potentially ambiguous context surrounding the topic of “eating,” Wen Xingze wasn’t wearing any clothes—though, to be fair, he was in the middle of a bath, and people don’t typically wear clothes while bathing.

The steam veiled their surroundings, and the subdued lighting couldn’t hide Wen Xingze’s silhouette. His figure wasn’t slender; it held a unique beauty somewhere between youth and adulthood.

Very vibrant.

Leaning against the bathtub, the delicate play of light and shadow revealed his gracefully elongated waistline.

His skin was almost translucent, a pale white that flushed slightly after soaking in the bath. Water droplets cascaded from his hair, tracing down his collarbone, chest, and waist, disappearing into the shadows.

Chi Yan shifted his gaze to the tiled floor, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down.

He was thirsty.

Wen Xingze, unembarrassed, even wiggled his tail fin. “I have a decent physique, don’t you think? Everyone who’s seen me says so. I guess I’m quite tasty.”

Chi Yan blinked, then his ears turned warm. He quickly composed himself. “Stop talking nonsense.”

After a moment’s thought, Chi Yan’s expression shifted again. “Everyone who’s seen you?” Who else had seen him?

Wen Xingze, having mastered telepathy, completed the unspoken part of Chi Yan’s sentence: “There have been quite a few…”

Considering that he used to live in a place without a private bathroom and would visit communal bathhouses, where middle-aged men cheerfully scrubbed each other’s backs, Wen Xingze had encountered plenty of people. Of course, he didn’t participate in the communal scrubbing.

Chi Yan: “…”

Chi Yan pursed his lips.

Wen Xingze’s upper body remained human, but from his lower abdomen downward, silver-white scales gradually appeared, seamlessly merging with the tail fin.

The tail, nearly two meters long, boasted a wide, beautiful fin. It was cramped in the small bathtub, with much of it exposed to the air. The parts not submerged tingled slightly, as if burning.

“I wonder how long the Mermaid's Blessing filter will last,” Wen Xingze mused. Now completely calm, he looked through the mist toward Chi Yan. “Does this mean I’ll have to sleep in the bath tonight—oh.”

Chi Yan asked, “What’s wrong?”

Wen Xingze squinted. “Teacher Chi, there’s light green text above your head. Let me see… It seems to say—”

At that moment, both of them remembered something.

—The effect of the green-orange filter lasted two hours. Since that time hadn’t elapsed yet, Wen Xingze could still hear people’s thoughts!

Wen Xingze: “?”

Chi Yan: “???”

Their minds raced.

Initially touched that Chi Yan liked him—though the extent of that “liking” was debatable, perhaps akin to the bandit dolphins who heard him play the suona—Wen Xingze soon regained his composure.

“Lei Qi gave me something called ‘Green Tangerine,’” Wen Xingze explained. Although he wanted to read Chi Yan’s thoughts, he considered that most people wouldn’t appreciate having their minds read by a stranger.

Since he hadn’t had a chance to explain during their encounter with the Merfolk elders due to the urgency, he now clarified:

“It seems I can see your thoughts. If you don’t like it, I won’t read them.”

With that, Wen Xingze closed his eyes.

Chi Yan: “…”

Wen Xingze waited quietly forChi Yan’s response, hearing only the gentle rhythm of his breath.

After a pause, Chi Yan reached out, brushing aside the stray hair that covered Wen Xingze’s eyes.

“Wen Xingze, what about my thoughts—” Chi Yan asked an odd question, his voice low and still somewhat displeased, “—doesn’t interest you at all?”

Wen Xingze: “?”

When he slowly typed out a question mark, Wen Xingze didn't know how to respond. He felt that Chi Yan had turned into a riddle, a complex puzzle. Worried about being trapped, he remained silent.

The wall clock ticked away.

At that moment, the bedroom's internal phone suddenly rang urgently!

Wen Xingze closed his eyes, his eyelashes fluttering. Chi Yan walked out, answered the cordless phone, and handed it to Wen Xingze.

Wen Xingze: "Hello, Director? Is there something else from the production team?"

There was a moment of silence on the other end, followed by a long sigh. Zhu Bo said, "A'Ze, it's me."

Wen Xingze: "?"

“Actually, I’m a traitor among the sea monsters,” Zhu Bo said. “Tonight, I have an extra chance to tear off name tags, and I’m going to tear off yours. If you’re in the shower, I’ll give you ten minutes to get dressed…”

Wen Xingze was shocked. “You’re a traitor? And now you want to tear off my name tag?”

Zhu Bo sighed, his tone filled with weariness. “It wasn’t voluntary. Someone felt you’ve been on the Fantasy Cruise for too long, and the plot has become stale. So, they wanted to end this scenario quickly, and I became the scapegoat.”

Zhu Bo’s pain was genuine; there was no pretense in his voice.

He had started as a harmless jokester, but now he was forced to betray. He might even face criticism in the comments—truly an unexpected turn of events.

Wen Xingze remained silent.

Poor Zhu Bo.

In a sorrowful tone, Zhu Bo quoted what sounded like lines from a movie: “You can’t escape. Neither you nor I can leave this cursed cruise ship… Haha, ha…”

Then he hung up.

Zhu Bo had targeted Wen Xingze for a reason: Wen Xingze’s mermaid song was indeed a tricky skill. It was best to deal with it early.

Zhu Bo’s call served as both a friendly warning and a display of confidence. Guests couldn’t leave their rooms without permission, so even if Wen Xingze knew half an hour in advance, he couldn’t escape.

But Wen Xingze didn’t want to perform a maid dance! Especially not in front of a national audience!

With that massive fish tail, having Zhu Bo tear off his name tag would be disastrous. Now that they knew Zhu Bo was a traitor, waiting until tomorrow’s vote would give Wen Xingze the upper hand.

Wen Xingze turned toward Chi Yan, still covering his eyes to avoid reading Chi Yan’s thoughts. “Teacher Chi, do you have any golden fingers to take us to a place with a swimming pool?”

The three hours in the Mustard Seed Space had already expired; they couldn’t use it again.

Chi Yan replied, “Yes.”

Wen Xingze blinked. Really?

________________________

Ten minutes later. In the heart of Tenerife, on the top floor of an apartment building.

This was one of Chi Yan’s residences on the island. He preferred duplex layouts, and this one was no exception.

The interior design matched the style of his capital city apartment—icy, minimalist Icelandic modernism. However, a Spanish art-inspired cashmere rug adorned the floor, and a fireplace crackled—a unique touch.

The second floor housed an indoor swimming pool, a small garden, and a bedroom.

The butler, holding a candlestick, bowed silently to Chi Yan, arranging fresh toiletries and clothing. He then brought a cup of hot milk and some cookies.

The central air conditioning maintained the perfect temperature, and through the floor-to-ceiling windows, the view of the sea stretched endlessly. Finally, the butler closed the door and exited.

Wen Xingze lounged in the pool, blowing bubbles. The pool was spacious enough for his tail, and he finally felt comfortable. He kept his eyes closed throughout—like a gentleman in the presence of a half-naked beauty, maintaining impeccable manners and self-control, not even peeking.

Wen Xingze sensed that Chi Yan hadn’t left. Chi Yan approached, removing his glasses and watch, placing them casually on a shelf.

Wen Xingze mumbled from the water, “Teacher Chi, I have a question.”

Chi Yan responded in his usual teacher-like tone, “Speak properly.”

“Now that we’re not on the Fantasy Cruise,” Wen Xingze began, “how did we get here? It’s so magical. Do you also have a Mustard Seed Space?” 

Wen Xingze closed his eyes, feeling himself lifted by Chi Yan. His tail, exposed to the air, felt uncomfortable, but it lasted only three seconds.

As if passing through a hidden door, the cacophony of noise from the cruise ship’s interior—the bathroom water, distant voices—vanished, replaced by silence. Even his spatial awareness shifted.

Then he found himself in this swimming pool.

Chi Yan said, “We used your Mustard Seed Space.”

Wen Xingze typed another slow-motion question mark: “How did you manage that?”

He was no longer sure who truly owned the Mustard Seed Space.

Chi Yan tested the milk’s temperature, frowning as it felt slightly cool. He didn’t immediately hand it to Wen Xingze. Glancing at him, Chi Yan asked, “Are you sure you want to hear this?”

Wen Xingze exuded confidence. “Absolutely.”

Chi Yan began, “When we passed through your Mustard Seed Space earlier, I explored its principles. It’s an idealized wormhole entrance, different from the process of transmitting information via quantum entanglement. But like that process, it surpasses the speed of light, enabling energy and matter transference…”

Wen Xingze’s expression gradually shifted to bewilderment: “???”

Initially, Wen Xingze tried to keep up with Chi Yan’s explanation, but soon his brain resembled a tangled ball of yarn, with threads winding tighter and tighter until it became a pile of question marks.

Was this the legendary incantation attack of a science student?

Wen Xingze submerged half his face in the water, a wisp of smoke rising from his head.

System crash.

Chi Yan sighed.

Approaching the pool, he bent down, using the back of his hand to check Wen Xingze’s forehead temperature—25.7 degrees Celsius.

Normal mermaid body temperature ranged from 20 to 25 degrees, and it seemed understanding these concepts was indeed challenging for Wen Xingze.

Chi Yan stepped out of the room, deciding to reheat the milk. He rarely stayed here, so the housekeeper wasn’t familiar with his habits.

As he took out a saucepan, the oven’s LCD screen flickered and transformed into Morse code: “Officer, sir, hello, long time no see.”

Chi Yan raised an eyebrow.

His actions remained unaffected. Pouring fresh milk into the saucepan, he casually said, “Hello. You’re the PN-type combat robot, right?” Intruding into household systems was a skill he knew well.

The oven replied, “I am Unit 015.”

Chi Yan nodded.

He remembered this robot; they had met thirty years ago.

The oven slowly displayed more characters, evoking an image of another universe—metallic robots with square heads and serious expressions huddled together, painstakingly deliberating, then slowly typing on keyboards.

These robots were rare in the Muse Empire—a gentle, diplomatic faction. Unlike the aggressive Blood  Clan and Merfolk, they only resorted to emergency measures during crises—like the blaring horn incident on the Tenerife beach.

Most of the time, they preferred friendly negotiations to resolve issues.

The oven continued: “Peace, hope, offspring, resolution, puppy love, problem.”

Chi Yan raised an eyebrow. “Puppy love?” 

The robots were evidently very anxious about this issue, inputting several strings of characters.

Toaster Oven: “King, this year, twenty-four years old.”

Toaster Oven: “After one hundred and seventy-six years, it might be appropriate to consider dating and socializing. For now, it’s best not to.”

Toaster Oven: “We hope you’ll wait or find another suitable partner.”

After entering this information, the robot parents waited eagerly for a response from Chi Yan. Many of them had interacted with the blind military officer before and knew that despite his cold demeanor, he was a reasonable person.

Having a teenager was always a cause for extra concern among parents.

They also input the content from “Influencing a Child’s Life: A Trilogy on Early Childhood Education” in the hopes that Chi Yan would understand their well-intentioned efforts.

Chi Yan: “…”

He read carefully for a while, his expression indifferent, faint fluorescence reflecting off his lenses.

Against all expectations, after reading the entire chapter on ‘The Dangers of Early Romance,’ Chi Yan actually said:

“I decline.”

Chi Yan said coldly, “If being under two hundred years old counts as early romance, you should not only worry about early romance but also early marriage.”

It was undeniable that he would eventually marry a certain absent-minded king; it was only a matter of time.

Robot parents: “…”

In another universe, after a quiet two seconds, the robots’ breathing lights began to flicker wildly, and alarms sounded in succession:

“Beep-boop—” “Alert, alert, data overload—” “Beep-boop—” “Suggestion: Deactivate emotional simulation in this unit—”

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