Fishing a Little Dragon Girl from the River - Chapter 1

Chapter 1

I “died” in the twelfth lunar month of the fourth year of Jin’an. It was a snowy day.

In truth, I had begun planning my own “death” three months prior.

Initially, I wanted to fake choking to death, so I asked Chen Huai’an to buy some candied fruit.

After eating eighteen bags, my face turned bright red, and I looked as if I couldn’t catch my breath.

Unexpectedly, Chen Huai’an grabbed me from behind, pressed his fist just below my ribs, and gave me several sharp thrusts. With a “plop,” the pit of the candied date flew right out of my mouth.

I didn’t die; instead, I was nearly squeezed to death for nothing. He held me so tightly that my eyes rolled back in my head. I thought to myself that if I didn’t choke on the date, I’d certainly be crushed by him.

He pulled me into his arms, whispering, “Don’t be afraid, don’t be afraid,” as if he were soothing a child.

Once the pit was out, before I could even speak, Chen Huai’an looked as if his soul had left his body. His eyes were rimmed with red.

The witty remark I had prepared died in my throat; he looked far too shaken. He apologized incessantly, saying he never should have bought the candied fruit, and even gave me his family’s heirloom jade bracelet.

I’d heard from the villagers that Chen Huai’an’s ancestors were once wealthy. Looking at the bracelet, I had to agree; the jade was so translucent that I bet it would fetch a high price back on the seabed.

Feeling a bit guilty, I silently crossed “choking” off my list of plans. After all, Chen Huai’an knew first aid.

So, I chose to “wither away from illness.”

It started one day when I began to cough, staining my handkerchief with blood.

In reality, that blood was something I had mixed myself.

I had plucked some hair from the Blood Coral Spirit, ground it into a powder, and mixed it with a bit of water. The resulting concoction looked exactly like blood.

The Blood Coral Spirit had fled, clutching his bald head and crying that he was going to tell my father.

But I had no choice. It was my old man who had ordered me to hurry up and get my tail back to the seabed.

At first, I wasn’t satisfied with the color of the blood I’d mixed, so I secretly hid those handkerchiefs under my pillow.

One day, Chen Huai’an discovered them. Holding a handkerchief, he stared at me blankly, his voice thick with bitterness. “Song Song, what is this?”

I kept quiet out of guilt, which, in Chen Huai’an’s eyes, only made me look more frail and sickly.

He pulled me into his embrace and said hoarsely, “It’s all my fault. I’ve been so focused on my imperial examinations lately that I neglected your health. From today on, I will handle everything.”

Thus, starting the next day, I didn’t even have to cook.

Though, to be honest, I never really cooked to begin with.

Every day, I used to go down to the shore and shout for the Field Snail Spirit. They would pop up, transform into “house-husbands,” and come home to clean the house and prepare a table of fine food for me.

Chen Huai’an never knew; he always thought I was the one keeping the household in such perfect order.

Now, I didn’t even have to walk to the shore.

Patting my increasingly rounded little belly, I lost the last shred of motivation to exercise.

Meanwhile, Chen Huai’an threw himself into the kitchen. Realizing the drudgery of daily chores, he found it even more exhausting than his single-minded pursuit of scholarly texts.

Sometimes, he would look at me with heartache and say, “Song Song, I never realized you did so much before. You’ve worked so hard.”

I would break into a guilty sweat, and he would promptly hand me a bowl of nourishing soup. “Look at you, you’re breaking out in cold sweats again.”