Chapter 28

A few days later, Lansi was on the verge of losing his mind.

Teaching a student eager for knowledge is usually a joy. But teaching someone completely unsuited to the subject? That's enough to drive anyone insane.

In this case, the student in question was Quirrell, the eighteen-tentacled octopus.

Though Quirrell disliked humans and had escaped from a lab, he hadn't let his grim past define him. Instead, he discovered something he enjoyed—music. Specifically, playing the drums.

That might sound like a good thing—if only he had any talent for it.

Unfortunately, Quirrell's intelligence didn't translate to musical ability. Despite having eighteen tentacles—and by extension, eighteen drumsticks—his drumming was pure chaos. As Lansi bitterly realized, more limbs didn't mean more talent. Not everyone with hands is Mozart.

Lansi had endured several days of noise. That was all it amounted to—noise. He was on the brink of collapse.

What made it worse was Quirrell's oblivious optimism. He genuinely believed that effort could make up for his lack of skill and refused to stop practicing.

So, when Quirrell finally went off hunting that morning, Lansi seized the rare moment of silence. He bolted over to Winsor and, nearly in tears, begged:

"Let's swim up. I can't take it anymore."

His ears felt like they were bleeding. He couldn't bear another second underwater with that racket.

Winsor, however, remained completely composed—so calm that Lansi wondered if they were even existing in the same space.

Why wasn't Winsor going mad?

Winsor gave a small chuckle as he tried to console Lansi. "Weren't you the one so excited to take him in as a student?"

"I was wrong," Lansi wailed. "I'll never do it again!"

Winsor raised an eyebrow. In truth, he couldn't stand Quirrell's noise either. But he had kept quiet on purpose, wanting Lansi to experience the full consequences of his decision.

It worked.

Watching Lansi unravel like this gave Winsor a small, guilty satisfaction.

"Well, if you've finally come to your senses, let's go."

Lansi immediately turned to look for his suitcase.

After a few moments of clattering and noise from his sugar palm, Lansi returned, dragging a suitcase awkwardly behind him.

"Winsor, could you help me carry this up? I'm still not good at dragging heavy things upstream."

He hadn't learned the proper technique yet. It was like trying to ride a bike but not knowing how to balance.

Winsor couldn't help but laugh.

Lansi stopped and frowned. "What are you laughing at?"

"You're always so full of yourself," Winsor said, shaking his head. He stepped forward, and under Lansi's confused stare, reached out and pulled his cheek.

"How dare you call me that so casually."

His tone was both scolding and fond.

Lansi: "???"

Eventually, Winsor took the suitcase and they swam away.

Even though Winsor had been tolerating Quirrell's noise, that didn't mean he intended to keep doing it without Lansi around.

His patience depended entirely on the situation.

"We need to find an island first," Winsor said. "You're not allowed to go ashore until we do."

His strict tone immediately shattered Lansi's illusion of freedom. Lansi had thought once they escaped Quirrell, they could relax.

Why so cautious?

Lansi muttered internally, glad Winsor didn't know about the three humans he had secretly interacted with. If Winsor ever found out, he might forbid him from setting foot on land for the rest of his life.

Winsor wasn't just being careful—he was also deliberately making things difficult for him.

As expected, Lansi rolled his eyes and quickly thought of a workaround.

He swam in front of Winsor, blocking his path. "Wait, I'll go ask someone. Wandering around aimlessly wastes too much time."

"You mean Quirrell?" Winsor asked.

"Of course not! I'm not that dumb," Lansi snapped. "If we ask Quirrell, we'll never get out of here."

He was headed for someone else—Quirrell's neighbor.

The hermit crab.

Without another word, Lansi darted off in a new direction. Winsor raised an eyebrow but followed with the suitcase.

Only then did he realize that Lansi had learned quite a few things while he'd been away.

Lansi swam for a long time along the route he remembered before finally spotting the hermit crab.

The hermit crab was grumbling, dragging a massive shipwreck behind it as it stomped out of its home.

[Hermit crab?] Lansi called out, swimming over to the moving wreckage. [Where are you going?]

[Where I'm going is none of your business!]

The shipwreck stopped moving. Two claws poked out, followed by a pair of beady eyes.

The crab recognized Lansi and swallowed its string of colorful curses. Instead, it huffed:

[That octopus is insane. Constant banging. Bang, bang, bang. Bang your head, bang your ancestors—]

Lansi: "…"

Winsor, who had just caught up: "…"

[Oh? You've got company?] the crab asked, squinting at Winsor. Its eyesight wasn't great, so it waved a claw in greeting.

Lansi gave an awkward nod. [His name is Winsor. He's with me.]

[Winsor, huh? A cultured fish. I once knew someone named Zou Zou. You fish are all so fancy.]

The crab squinted harder. [Are you a mermaid? You don't look like one.]

Winsor frowned.

Sensing his displeasure, Lansi quickly changed the topic. [Hermit crab, are you moving out now?]

[Obviously. I'm about to lose it.] The hermit crab sighed, then added in a more serious tone:

[Listen to me. Treat your friends well. If they die, you'll be all alone. This place is awful. It's no place to settle. Come with me.]

Lansi wiped his face awkwardly. He didn't dare admit he'd been teaching Quirrell.

If the hermit crab found out, it might chop him into bits.

Not wanting to linger, Lansi asked, [I came to ask—are there any uninhabited islands nearby?]

[Yeah,] the crab replied, pointing southeast with a claw. [I remember one from when I was a kid. Check it out.]

[Thanks.]

Lansi turned to leave but paused. He looked back seriously.

[You know, maybe you should talk to the octopus.]

The crab stopped. [Why?]

[You've lived here all this time without leaving. Not because you like it—but because you're lonely. And now there's a shipwreck... and a noisy octopus…]

Lansi continued,

[I think you're just afraid of being alone.]

The hermit crab said nothing. Its claws rested quietly in the sand.

[Talk to it. It's lonely too. Maybe if you speak up, it'll finally think about how you feel.]

With that, Lansi swam away.

Winsor was waiting nearby. As Lansi reached him, Winsor gave him a soft look.

"You care about them."

"I'm Quirrell's teacher, after all." Lansi shrugged, trying to seem casual even as his cheeks warmed.

"I was just making a suggestion. Whether they listen or not is their choice… Why are you laughing?"

"Ah, no reason."

"I wasn't thinking about them! I was trying to save us from the noise. That's all. Stop laughing!"

An hour later, they found the island the crab had mentioned.

It was tiny. A few coconut trees stood scattered across it, with nothing but open beach all around. Lansi guessed it wouldn't take more than thirty minutes to walk around the whole thing.

It was likely a volcanic island, formed from underwater eruptions. When the sea level rises, it'll vanish.

Even so, it was a rare and lucky find.

After confirming that it was safe and deserted, both Lansi and Winsor surfaced, dragging themselves onto the shore.

Unlike his last time going ashore near Wen Yu, when he had been nervous and hesitant, Lansi felt bolder now—maybe because Winsor was by his side.

He even started studying shells along the beach.

"Lansi!"

Winsor turned to see Lansi lying on the sand, fully absorbed.

He sighed, equal parts exasperated and amused. He was still carrying the heavy suitcase.

"Huh? Coming!" Lansi jumped up and ran to Winsor, taking the suitcase from him with a grin.

They found a shady spot under the trees and sat together.

Lansi took out his camera first, setting it on a rock to dry out before trying to power it on.

Then, he placed the suitcase on the beach and, under Winsor's curious gaze, unzipped it.

Inside, everything was soaked.

"It's all money," Lansi groaned.

Winsor helped take things out. Most of it was ruined—clothes, shoes, junk. Lansi sighed, accepting that as a mermaid now, he didn't need these anymore.

From the corners, he pulled out odds and ends: a souvenir from the Queen Mary, expired medicine, a brochure, and a diary sealed in plastic.

His tail flicked nervously.

He recognized the diary. It belonged to a colleague from his old room—sentimental, secretive, and obsessive about privacy.

The guy would seal the diary every night in a bag, hoping to detect tampering by examining the plastic.

"What's it doing here?"

Lansi was baffled.

Meanwhile, Winsor flipped through the Queen Mary brochure with interest.

"Were you rich back then?" he asked, staring at the luxurious photos.

Lansi leaned over, saw the image Winsor was studying, and winced. "No. I was broke."

He shook his head. "That's why I was so excited to get on that ship. People who live like that probably take it for granted."

Winsor reached out and gently ruffled Lansi's hair.

Lansi: "…"

If they had bought tickets, he would have had to save for years just to afford the cheapest one.

But it just so happened that the cruise company had been celebrating its fiftieth anniversary, and the company Lansi worked for had received special benefits.

Even with the discount, tickets were still pricey—but just within reach for a working-class employee.

So, the entire company pooled their savings to buy tickets. It was a once-in-a-lifetime trip. None of them would ever become the kind of wealthy elites who could cruise regularly.

The dream felt real—at first.

Lansi sighed.

It had been a week-long cruise, but he could only remember one or two days of it. It felt like he'd lost a fortune.

Shaking off the melancholy, Lansi opened the diary.

The seal was perfect. Not a drop of water had gotten in.

He flipped to a random page—the latest one. The last sentence leapt out at him:

"We are guinea pigs."

Lansi frowned.

What was that supposed to mean?

"What's written in it?" Winsor asked, noticing Lansi's expression.

"I don't know," Lansi replied, turning to the first page. The entries started about a month before the cruise began.

At first, everything was normal. The writing was meticulous, just like Lansi remembered his colleague to be.

But as he read further, Lansi's head began to hurt from the detailed and obsessive tone.

That last sentence kept echoing in his mind: We are guinea pigs.

Eventually, he closed the diary and took a deep breath.

"Winsor, let me ask you something."

Winsor looked up from the suitcase and nodded for him to continue.

"If one day, you're suddenly given something beyond your wildest dreams… is it possible that someone had ulterior motives?"

Winsor smiled faintly. "You mean the cruise?"

Lansi paused, then nodded.

Winsor looked at him thoughtfully. "You need to judge for yourself. Think about the context—what was the background of that time?"

"Context?" Lansi repeated, confused.

"If someone had a hidden agenda," Winsor continued, "then think back. Who else was on that ship?"

Lansi stared at the diary, mind reeling.

He remembered now.

Almost everyone onboard had been like him—ordinary people who'd gotten lucky. Very few were celebrities or people of status.

His face went pale.