The caretaker informed Bai Liu that the hot water room he sought was rather secluded, with several broken lights, and cautioned him to be careful. He also warned that many mermaid wax figures were haphazardly piled in that area, and advised Bai Liu not to bump into them. As he spoke, a sly, ill-intentioned smile played across his face.
Bai Liu wove his way between marble columns—each so broad it would take two or three people to encircle them—rising from the center of the hall. Along the corridor, at regular intervals, stood mermaid wax figures.
Each statue was unique, their tails trailing to the floor, their faces expressionless. Bai Liu noticed that nearly all of them gazed longingly out the windows, as if yearning to escape.
At the end of the corridor, the hot water pool gushed and steamed, left running by some unknown hand. The entire passage was shrouded in vapor, the mermaid statues seeming to melt in the heat, wax dripping from their bodies, their forms subtly shifting.
Bai Liu walked through the mist as though traversing a fog-laden sea, surrounded by the wavering silhouettes of mermaids beneath the water's surface.
After only a few steps, he realized the statues' heads, once turned toward the windows, were now slowly twisting to face him, their blank faces tracking his every move. On either side, the mermaid figures inched closer, their melting forms encroaching with a subtle, almost imperceptible speed.
The vast, shadowed expanse of the European-style hall was shrouded in darkness. Bai Liu's solitary footsteps echoed on the polished floor, while the mermaid statues seemed to shift their postures and expressions with every blink, drawing ever nearer.
Faint, unnatural smiles began to bloom on their once-vacant faces, their tails leaving greasy trails of wax across the floor. They were so pale, so flawless, like a host of ghosts, frozen in place yet able to move with agonizing slowness.
Bai Liu silently counted their numbers, glancing back now and then to monitor their approach and control their pace. But there were simply too many. Whenever he fixed his gaze on those behind, the statue before him—its lips curled in a pitying smile—would already be reaching out, hands poised to seize his throat.
He had calculated their speed, timing his movements and glances, using the columns to keep them from encircling him. Though menacing, their true danger lay in their numbers and indestructibility; if they managed to surround him, escape would be nearly impossible.
As the statues pressed closer, Bai Liu noticed their faces, once generic and lifeless, were slowly morphing—becoming more and more like his own. The nearer they drew, the more their melting features resembled his.
With grotesque, exaggerated smiles eerily mirroring his own, the mermaid statues advanced, claws outstretched.
At last, Bai Liu reached the hot water room. The aged, yellowed sink was mottled with rust—or perhaps blood. Above it, a rectangular iron boiler rumbled, sending up clouds of scalding steam.
Amid the hiss of boiling water, Bai Liu calmly placed the newspaper into the basin, then turned.
Behind him, a dense throng of mermaid statues—each bearing a face uncannily similar to his own—stood in silent ranks, blocking every avenue of escape. Their heads bowed, the dim light casting shadows over their eyeless sockets, their mouths twisted into gaping, jaw-splitting grins.
There was malice in those smiles, a chilling threat etched into their melting, distorted faces. Their gazes, heavy and ravenous, fixed upon Bai Liu as he stood before the basin, surrounded by dozens of his own likenesses.
He realized, with a wry sense of irony, that he had only just dismissed these creatures as mindless, incapable of coordinated attack—yet here they were, having learned to hunt him without instruction. Their capacity for adaptation was remarkable, almost human.
Bai Liu met their stares with unruffled composure, the hot water overflowing behind him. He dared not turn away or even blink, knowing that the moment he did, they would surge forward.
He reached back and shut off the tap.
A single blink, and the statues crept closer, their faces contorted with malice. Yet Bai Liu, unperturbed, stroked his chin thoughtfully, as if studying their features, and mused aloud:
"Hatching—is that what this means? The closer they get, the more they resemble me… So whatever emerges in the end will likely look just like me. Hm, the fishy odor on me intensifies as they approach—so I'll be affected during the hatching, just as the townsfolk are. Are they, too, in the midst of hatching?"
While Bai Liu remained calm, the viewers watching his small TV screen were anything but, their comments dripping with sarcasm.
"Still analyzing at a time like this? What's he going to do, show the mermaids a movie with all those useless projectors?"
"Tch, a sanity score of one hundred—I thought he'd be something special."
Suddenly, a commotion erupted: "That newbie with the torch broke through! Come watch!"
On a nearby screen, a male player brandished a blazing torch, swinging it at the encroaching mermaid statues and shouting, "Back off! Move, or I'll burn you!"
The statues recoiled, and the audience cheered:
"I knew it! He picked the right tool. One of the mermaid statues' weaknesses is their fear of light—torches are perfect. Nice, I'm charging him up!"
"Liked! His combat stats are great, too. If he keeps this up, he might make the Rising Star list."
"Shouldn't have wasted my points on that Bai guy—this is the real contender…"
Bai Liu's own likes had dwindled to single digits, with only a handful of viewers lingering—not to cheer him on, but to witness his inevitable demise.
On screen, Bai Liu calmly produced the three discounted 3D projectors he'd purchased, prompting a fresh round of mockery.
"He's actually using them? What's he planning?"
"The torch is way more effective—look, the statues all backed off."
The mermaid statues pressed so close their tails brushed Bai Liu's toes, their melting hands reaching from every direction to seize their prey.
Unhurried, Bai Liu tossed the projectors behind, to his left, and to his right, then pressed the switches with a smile.
Three lifelike projections of Bai Liu sprang to life among the statues, each one smiling just as he did. The four Bai Lius—three illusions and the original—stood guard on all sides, and as the mermaid statues hesitated, they all stopped in their tracks.
Still, the audience jeered:
"The statues are dumb, sure, and can't tell the difference between a real person and a projection, but it won't last. Ten minutes, tops, before they catch on—and that's not enough time to escape."
A viewer who had just spent a fortune charging up the torch-wielder sneered, "And that flashlight he bought? Useless. It might scare off mermaids, but it's nothing compared to a torch. One flashlight won't do a thing."
No sooner had he spoken than, on screen, the mermaid statues shrank back, transfixed by the projections.
"Ten minutes, max," the critic insisted. "Just wait—they'll figure it out soon enough."
Sure enough, before long, the statues began to sense the ruse, edging around the flashlight's beam, preparing to advance.
The critic smirked, "See? Told you so."
But before he could finish, his words died in his throat as he stared, dumbfounded, at the screen.
Bai Liu's three projections, in perfect unison, drew out high-powered flashlights and aimed them at the statues. Four Bai Lius, each wielding a blinding beam, trained their lights on the encroaching mermaids as if preparing to fire a cannon.
Bai Liu smiled. "One flashlight isn't quite enough. But four—four should do the trick."