Taming the Merman - Chapter 1

Lan Shiyu was the person I hated most in the world.

Before he joined the sect, I had been its eldest senior sister. Then he arrived, and the grand elder—who had not shown his face in eight hundred years—suddenly emerged from seclusion. One look at Lan Shiyu left him thunderstruck, and he took the newcomer as his personal disciple on the spot.

From then on, I had an eldest senior brother above me and never again escaped the whirlpool known as Eternal Second Place.

Lan Shiyu was more talented than I was, better-looking than I was, and even more popular. He taught our junior disciples swordsmanship a few times and became the darling of the entire sect, ranking first in the poll for “Immortal Master We Most Want Lessons From.”

I came second. Again.

Always again!

I could not understand it. “What is so good about him? Why can’t I see a single likable thing?”

A junior brother who disliked me said snidely, “Maybe your eyesight is bad. Or maybe you’re jealous of Eldest Senior Brother.”

I froze. Then enlightenment dawned.

So even my moral character was inferior to Lan Shiyu’s. He was the flawless, kindhearted senior brother, while I was merely a despicable wretch jealous of a genius.

Good heavens.

If that was how they wanted to put it, then I could torment him with a perfectly clear conscience.

Unfortunately, even after I abandoned all moral restraint and let myself run wild, none of my schemes against Lan Shiyu worked.

Years passed. He remained firmly seated in first place, while my reputation steadily deteriorated as every attempt to sabotage him was exposed by accident.

They said the time I sprinkled itching powder on him before a competition was—

“Absolutely hilarious! Senior Sister, did you skip theory class again? Mermen have invisible scales over their skin. What did you think itching powder would do?”

Everyone had assumed I was an aloof, unsmiling senior sister. As it turned out, I was apparently a monkey sent to entertain them.

After that incident, I went from “that cold and formidable second-place disciple” to “that funny second-place disciple.”

For a sword cultivator, there could be no greater humiliation.

You could call us unsociable. You could say we were cold and ruthless, or that we would stop at nothing to reach our goals.

But you could not call a sword cultivator funny. It destroyed our mystique!

Seething inwardly, I swore that only Lan Shiyu’s crushing defeat could wash away this disgrace.

Thus began my entirely one-sided feud with him.

I cultivated like a madwoman and studied swordsmanship day and night, all so that one day I could defeat that overpowered cheat.

Lan Shiyu could only say helplessly, “If Junior Sister wishes it, I can lose to you whenever you like.”

Such an indulgent tone.

Such an infuriating lack of respect!

I flew into a rage. Under Lan Shiyu’s bewildered gaze, I pointed at his nose and issued my challenge.

“Don’t underestimate me. Just wait. In less than ten years, I will defeat you.”

And when I did, I would make his humiliation public so everyone would call him a clown too.

Yes, I was that vicious.