A Mermaid’s Excursion

2.Do You Have Any Wine?

That was a night Bai Mu would never forget.

As usual, she surfaced. The sea glittered like obsidian, and the moonlight lay across the water like a sheer veil.

Then, she saw it—a massive cruise ship, like a floating palace, silently anchored in the distance.

This ship was unlike any she had seen before. It wasn’t a gray, dull cargo vessel or a simple fishing boat.

Its hull was painted deep blue, adorned with golden trim. Warm light glowed from its windows. Crystal chandeliers sparkled. Gold lines and reliefs decorated the walls—every detail exuded carefully crafted luxury. The air carried a faint scent of polished wood.

Inside the banquet hall, silverware gleamed, arranged meticulously. Piano notes flowed from the cabin doors, blending with the sound of the waves.

Everything about the ship spoke clearly—it was not made for long journeys, but for people to savor the voyage itself.

“Wow…” Bai Mu widened her eyes. “This ship is so luxurious.”

Bubble rested on her head, also staring at the vessel. “I’ve never seen a ship this big. Why is it here?”

Bai Mu shook her head, curiosity swelling like the tide. She cautiously drew closer, keeping just enough distance to reveal only her eyes above the water.

Music floated from the ship—not simple flute tunes, but complex, layered melodies: strings, piano, flute, and even human voices.

“Should we… get a little closer?”

“Too dangerous! The elder said—”

“Just a peek,” Bai Mu interrupted, her tail flicking involuntarily.

They swam closer, until details on the deck became clear. People stood on the planks, dressed in ornate attire Bai Mu had never seen.

The ladies sparkled with jewels; the men wore suits. They raised their glasses, laughing and chatting. The amber liquid in their cups shimmered like flowing honey under the lights.

“It smells so… intoxicating,” Bai Mu breathed. She had read in books that human wine was a special thing—unique in taste, capable of easing worries. She still didn’t understand why humans sometimes passed out after drinking too much.

Suddenly, Bai Mu noticed a lone boy at the railing, probably seventeen or eighteen. He wore a simple white shirt, leaning against the railing, gazing at the sea.

“Strange… why is he alone?” Bubble murmured.

The boy squinted slightly against the sea breeze. Moonlight outlined his profile—handsome, youthful, bright with energy.

“He’s watching the sea,” Bai Mu whispered to Pao Bubble, a strange resonance stirring in her heart—they were both solitary observers of the night.

Then he turned abruptly, his gaze locking toward her.

Bai Mu dove instinctively, her heart pounding. Bubble followed.

“Did he see you?” Pao Pao asked anxiously.

“Not sure… maybe just a coincidence,” she murmured, hiding behind a rock. Only after a while did she dare surface again.

To her surprise, he remained there, gazing seriously at the sea as if searching for something.

Bai Mu should have left immediately, but a strange force kept her there. She peeked over a rock, showing only a strand of silver hair.

He held a glass, swirling amber liquid inside.

Summoning some courage, Bai Mu leapt from the water in a smooth arc, landing on a nearby rock. Droplets from her wet silver hair sparkled like diamonds in the moonlight.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve seen a human,” she said, her voice playful, “Do you have any wine?”

The boy nearly dropped his glass, startled. In the moonlight, Bai Mu could see his reflection—her silver hair, pale blue eyes, and pearl-like tail shimmering under the moon.

“A mermaid?” he asked, staring.

She smiled. “Yes, I’m the mermaid of legend.”

Time seemed to freeze. Waves lapped the rocks, music from the ship faintly reaching her, as if from another world.

He looked at his glass, then at Bai Mu, curiosity on his face. “This is whiskey,” he said, voice husky. “But… how do I… give it to you?”

Bai Mu tilted her head.

“Maybe you can toss it?” she joked.

He placed the cup on the railing, took a small silver flask from his pocket, poured some liquid into the glass, and screwed the cap back on.

“Catch!” he shouted, tossing the flask toward her.

Bai Mu flicked her tail, leapt, and caught it steadily. The flask still carried his warmth.

“This is a special flask for spirits,” he explained. “It should be waterproof.”

She unscrewed the cap and drank eagerly. A fiery warmth spread from her throat, mingled with complex aromas—honeyed sweetness, oak, and a spicy note she could not name. She coughed lightly, eyes watering.

“First time?” the boy laughed.

Bai Mu nodded, sipping cautiously again. This time it felt better—the warmth spreading from her stomach.

“Strange taste,” she said, “but… not bad.”

Silence fell, but less tense now. The sea breeze carried hints of whiskey—oak, smoke, and a touch of sweetness.

“Why are you alone here?” Bai Mu asked, tail flicking lightly, splashing the water.

“The ship is too noisy. Too many people, too much talk,” he said, gazing at the dark horizon. “The sea is quiet.”

Bai Mu nodded, understanding completely. Even in the mermaid city, too many rules and warnings could feel suffocating.

“I’m Bai Mu,” she said suddenly.

He seemed surprised she introduced herself. “Allen,” he replied, meeting her gaze.

Bai Mu winked. “Thanks for the drink. In return, I’ll sing you a song.”

Allen raised an eyebrow. “A mermaid’s song… I’ve heard it’s intoxicating.”

Bai Mu laughed and opened her voice.

She sang an ancient mermaid melody, like harmony, like echoes of a lost instrument. The song had no words; its lyrics were the tides, the migratory path of krill, the slow decay of a shipwreck over three hundred years.

Allen closed his eyes.

He saw blind sea anemones unfurling in the deep trenches; humpback whales singing their migration songs near the equator; a pearl slowly forming, layer by layer, taking an ocean’s worth of time.

The song carried the scent of salt, the pressure of the deep—pushing against his temples.

“Your voice has magic,” Allen murmured, eyes closed.

Bai Mu lifted her tail, delighted. It was natural—this was a mermaid’s song.

Time passed unknowingly. The moon climbed to the center of the sky.

“Hey, I have to go,” Bai Mu looked up. “I must return before sunrise.”

Allen called after her, “Wait! The ship will stay here a while. Tomorrow night… will you come again?”

Bai Mu giggled, winking. “Yes. Thanks for the drink.”

“Thank you for the song,” he replied.

She dove back into the water, lingering before returning to the deep. Through the ripples, she watched Allen leave the railing, returning to the ship’s lights.

The warmth of the flask lingered in her palm, and Bai Mu knew she would return on the next full moon night. Perhaps not just for the stars.

Turning toward the deep, her tail traced a silver arc in the water, like a bridge between surface and depth—brief, but real.