Chapter 45: The Temple

The so-called secret passage was hardly a true passage at all, merely a small, low opening. When Quanxian first established the royal court, resources were scarce, and the city walls were battered and full of gaps. After Quan'an was born, he often slipped out of the palace to play, using this little hole as his exit. When Quan'an became king and had the walls rebuilt, he chose to preserve this place. It was once a fond reminder of childhood, but now, unexpectedly, it had become his lifeline.

Quan'an never imagined he could fall so low. Through the tiny opening, he could see, in the distance, armed merfolk actively joining the fray. The seawater was thick with the scent of blood—even the sharks kept in the royal court grew restless and were hauled onto the battlefield to fight and kill.

Seeing this scene, Quan'an could not fathom how things had come to this. The rivalry between the eldest and second princes was something he had allowed, hoping to foster competition within the royal court, so he could maintain balance and accelerate the court’s growth. Everything had been going well—how had it all changed once he fell ill?

Quan'an dared not linger; he ordered his maid to follow him as he hurried toward the military camp. He would summon the imperial guards and quell the rebellion! He had made up his mind: the eldest and second princes were both traitorous sons. He would pass the throne to his youngest son, the lord of Haoming City!

The youngest had ruled Haoming City for many years; surely, he had gained enough experience. Quan'an planned to use the imperial guards to swiftly end the chaos, install his youngest, and restore order.

With such hope, Quan'an reached the camp, only to be rebuffed by the guards, forbidden to approach. When he revealed his identity, he was met with a cold response: "King An has fallen. Impostors must die!"

Hearing these words, Quan'an understood: even the imperial guards wanted nothing to do with their family strife. Having spoken, they began to pursue him.

Stumbling, Quan'an summoned strength he’d never shown in his pampered days, casting aside his sickness and breaking through the encirclement with his maid. Quanxian’s mighty shark power had not only been gifted to Quanxi, but a portion had been passed to Quan'an as well.

Though he escaped, Quan'an was wounded—a gash was carved into his abdomen, blood pouring out in torrents. The guards pursued him relentlessly.

With nowhere left to run, Quan'an fled desperately, finally arriving at a shallow beach. The place felt familiar, but he could not recall exactly where it was—only that it stirred some memory. Leaning against a building, breathing deeply, he looked at his terrified maid and whispered, "I am dying. Take my scales and the corner of my robe to Haoming City. Let... Qier become king."

Without hesitation, he wrote a blood decree on the edge of his robe, explaining the situation and instructing his youngest son to care for the loyal maid, to make her queen if he wished.

The maid was deeply moved, knelt before Quan'an, and immediately fled toward Haoming City. In an instant, the world was left with only Quan'an.

He took a deep breath; his wound still bled. The maid had bandaged it as best she could, but Quan'an knew such measures were futile. After more than two hundred years as the king of the merfolk, it seemed his reign would end in chaos.

He sighed deeply and looked around. This place... it felt so familiar. Where was it? His mind, starved of oxygen, struggled to think. Soon, he remembered: over two hundred years ago, the former king stood here, holding his and his elder brother Quanxi’s hands, saying a few words, and here, declared him king.

This was the temple dedicated to the Primordial God.

This place was rarely visited, for he had once decreed: "The temple is the domain of the Primordial God; no merfolk may enter except for ritual." Unexpectedly, he had returned here, to the place where his dream began.

Quan'an was now dazed. Quanxian had made him king on his deathbed, not in the temple. Staring at the temple, a strange feeling welled up inside him. Was his late-life misfortune punishment for disrespecting the deity?

An unnamable terror filled his heart. Quan'an began to move, struggling up the steps, step by step.

With a creak, he pushed open the great doors and gazed at the statue in the temple’s center, struck by a sense of revelation.

Neglect had left the statue covered in seaweed. The offerings had long since vanished, leaving only deep sediment. There were few seagrasses on the floor, suggesting someone occasionally swept the place, though the statue itself was left untouched out of reverence.

"Primordial God!"

Bending his tailfin, Quan'an stood before the statue, gazing at it with awe and a hint of repentance. Blood gushed from his abdomen, staining the water with its scent.

He began to mutter his grievances, his hardships, and his remorse for disrespecting the deity and letting the temple fall into ruin. In his words, he mentioned the former king. He spoke of his accession—how, at first, he believed fervently in the Primordial God, visiting the temple every full moon to seek the god’s favor. Yet no matter how devout he was, there was never any response.

On the contrary, ministers loyal to Quanxi often used "failure to gain divine favor" as grounds to attack him, even inciting rebellion. Afterward, Quan'an never again visited the temple. Over more than a century, he subtly shifted the beliefs of the new generation, making them see the Primordial God as mere legend, not a real presence.

He even tried to alter the written records, but eventually chose only to spread rumors—real history should still be passed down to future generations.

"Eleven cities span three thousand leagues of sea; I expanded the royal domain fivefold and never sought immortality. How did it come to this?"

His voice trembled with emotion, but soon he lapsed into self-pity: "If the Primordial God is to punish me, then I deserve it."

He had never sought eternity, but he had dreamed of making the merfolk king the sole celestial power among his people—an act of grave disrespect to the deity.

He lay before the statue, his eyes lifeless. Before him, a towering figure began to appear.

"I have never cared for your affairs. Your fall is not the punishment of the gods."