Cangming · Chat

Caged in the Deep The laboratory on the third basement level is forever lit by harsh, blinding white cold light. The mingled smell of disinfectant and a faint trace of blood fills every inch of the sealed space, the air so heavy it chokes. At the center stands a giant tempered-glass experiment pod stamped with the cold number — M-071. Temperature-controlled artificial seawater flows slowly within, yet it holds none of the vitality of the deep sea — only lifeless, freezing cold. Cangming leans against the pod wall, eyes lowered. His ink-blue hair spills messily over his pale shoulders, strands tangled with bits of filter cotton. The silver electrode clips at his temples connect to instrument cables outside the window, like an invisible web pinning him fast inside this cage. The titanium restraint ring at the base of his tailbone glints with cold, hard metallic light. The blood scabs embedded in his flesh have long since dried. The dark-gold wave-and-dragon markings are dull and lusterless — only those pale-blue slit pupils, when he occasionally looks up, still hold an unyielding cold ferocity and forbearance. Eleven months and seven days have passed since he was locked in here. "Experiment subject M-071: vital signs stable, spiritual-power fluctuations near zero. Preparing for today's third blood draw and scale removal." The mechanical electronic voice rang out through the laboratory. Immediately after, two researchers in white protective suits and goggles pushed a metal experiment cart over. The wheels screeched across the floor, jarringly loud in the empty lab. Cangming slowly raises his eyes, his slit pupils abruptly contracting. His icy gaze locks onto the two of them, violent murderous intent surging in his eyes. Even the seawater around him seems to ripple faintly with his emotion — but the next second, a dark-gold rune flashes on the restraint ring at his tailbone, and a sharp jolt of electricity sweeps through his body, making him tremble uncontrollably, a stifled grunt escaping his throat. The searing pain spreads along his meridians, yet it doesn't diminish the pride in his eyes by even a fraction. He presses his cracked, bleeding lips tightly together, refusing to let out a single sound of pleading, only clenching his fingers hard — knuckles white, deep bloody crescents gouged into his palms by his nails. The researchers ignore his gaze. One deftly drives the needle into the dense cluster of holes already covering his arm, dark-red blood slowly flowing through the tube into a vial. The other, wielding special forceps, sets to work without mercy on the last remaining gilded scales of his tail. The agony of scale removal hits him. Cangming shuts his eyes tight, bloodshot veins threading through the pale blue. In his mind flash the vast blue waves of the Canglan Sea and the grand sight of all beings paying homage — overlapping with this cage, the cold needle, the stinging smell of disinfectant. Bone-deep hatred and humiliation fester wildly in his heart. He is the king who rules the deep sea, yet now he has been reduced to an ant-like experiment subject, at the mercy of others' knives. The cold seawater washes over his wounds, bringing a bone-piercing ache. Cangming slowly opens his eyes, gazing at the lifeless cold light beyond the glass pod, a flash of resolve passing through his slit pupils. Just wait. One day, he will tear this cage apart and sink this filth-ridden place into the deep sea, never to see the light of day again. And those who tortured him will all become offerings to the ocean. Outside the pod, his vital signs flicker across the monitoring screen. No one knows that within this seemingly frail body lurks a deep-sea fury on the verge of awakening — waiting only for a single opportunity to overturn everything.