Immortal Paladin

Ren Jingyi was a fish.

She had been a fish for a long time. She did not know how long exactly, because the concept of time was mostly irrelevant to a fish. There was only the flow of water, the warmth of the sun, the cool embrace of the moon, and the never-ending cycle of eating, swimming, and staring at things.

Right now, she was staring.

The fishbowl was clear, but the world beyond it was strange and distorted. The large figure holding him—Lu Gao—had a serious face, his gaze locked onto Ren Jingyi’s own unblinking fish eyes. It was a silent contest of wills. A battle between predator and prey? No. A battle between two beings bound by fate? Perhaps.

Ren Jingyi did not think too hard about it. Thinking was not a fish’s strong suit.

She swam forward, then backward, then in a lazy circle before stopping to stare once more. Lu Gao had not moved.

Life, as a fish, was simple.

She had few desires. She liked eating, and thankfully, the humans remembered to feed her. She liked swimming, and the water in her fishbowl was always fresh. She liked the sun, though it only reached her when she was placed near a window or when the Floating Dragon drifted into open sky. She also liked staring at things, though she wasn’t quite sure why.

Perhaps it was instinct. A fish’s natural curiosity.

Or perhaps it was because, deep down, Ren Jingyi knew she was not an ordinary fish.

There were flashes—memories that didn’t belong to a simple creature of water. Moments when her mind felt too vast, when understanding came too easily. She did not know what she had once been, but she knew this: she was not born to live in a bowl.

Still, she did not struggle.

It was because she liked her bowl very much.

The humans took care of her. Da Wei, the one who radiated divine presence, had a peculiar fondness for her. Lu Gao, her current holder, treated her with a quiet reverence. The new kid, Hei Mao, sometimes poked at her bowl, watching her as if expecting something miraculous to happen.

They all had their own ways of showing attention to her.

Even the smug guy—Ren Xun—had given her a strange look when they first met, as if trying to solve a puzzle he didn’t quite understand. But out of all of them, her Big Sister Gu Jie was the one she cherished most. Steady, reliable, and always carrying herself with an air of quiet strength, Gu Jie made Ren Jingyi feel safe in this strange world. If she had a choice, she would always swim toward her Big Sister’s presence, drawn to the warmth and reassurance it provided.

They were her family.

Ren Jingyi did not mind even if they weren’t fish.

She flicked her tail, sending ripples through the water. Small bubbles rose to the surface.

Yes, life as a fish was simple.

But recently, things had started to change.

Ren Jingyi was growing. She could feel it in the way her body stretched, in the way her appetite surged with every passing day. If not for the confines of her bowl, she was certain she would have already outgrown her current form. It was an uncomfortable truth, one she wished she could ignore.

Worse still, there was that strange phenomenon occurring within her.

Whenever she had a sudden funny thought or felt particularly full, something inside her stirred—a burst of warmth, like a hidden star igniting in her core. The first time it happened, she had been startled, nearly flipping herself over in the water. It was a strange sensation, one she didn’t particularly enjoy. Every time it happened, she would grow, and every time she grew, her hunger became more unbearable.

She didn’t want to grow.

If she grew too much, would she still fit in her bowl? And if she couldn’t stay in her bowl, where would she go? The outside world was too vast, too uncertain. Here, in the gentle sway of her water, she felt safe.

A shadow loomed over her. Lu Gao was staring again, his expression unreadable.

”Jingyi,” he muttered, eyes narrowing slightly. ”Is something wrong? Did you get fat again?”

She wished she could answer. She understood his words, yet no matter how much she longed to reply, all that came out were bubbles. Because she was a fish.

Sometimes, she wished her family were fish too.

If Lu Gao were a fish, then maybe he would understand her. If Big Sister Gu Jie were a fish, then… maybe they could share a bowl. Wouldn’t that be nice? Floating together in the same little space, away from all the overwhelming vastness of the world?

Maybe?

Before she could dwell too much on that thought, Lu Gao sighed and turned away.

”He still won’t talk to me,” he muttered, rubbing his forehead.

”I keep telling you,” Da Wei’s voice rang out from nearby. ”She’s a fish, man. But I understand your frustration. I want to talk fish too.”

Lu Gao caleld over Hei Mao.

”Come talk to her,” he said, gesturing at the bowl. ”You’re the only one who can understand her.”

Ren Jingyi tensed.

Hei Mao could talk to fish. Or at least, he could talk to her. And if he could talk to her, then…

Would he find out?

Would he learn that she was purposely holding back? That despite the hunger gnawing at her insides, she was stopping herself from eating too much, afraid of what would happen if she grew too big?

She didn’t want them to know.

Because then, they might try to change her mind.

Hei Mao walked over, tilting his head as he looked into her bowl.

”What’s the problem?” he asked.

Ren Jingyi would have sighed if fish could sigh.

Most of them couldn’t understand her, which was fine. It kept her thoughts to herself, hidden in the little world of her bowl. But Hei Mao was different. For some reason, the new kid could talk fish. And right now, she wasn’t sure she wanted to be talked to.

She felt… claustrophobic.

Which was ironic, considering the biggest, clunkiest person in their group—Dai Fu—the always-reliable Big Sister Gu Jie, and the smug Ren Xun had already left for a mission. The boat wasn’t crowded anymore. It should’ve felt more open, more comfortable.

But it didn’t.

Her scales prickled as she thought about it. Maybe it was because of this feeling inside her, the one that kept bursting like little stars, trying to push her to grow. Maybe it was because she didn’t want to grow.

Ren Jingyi missed her Big Sister Gu Jie already.

She didn’t really understand why they left, only that it was probably for a mission His Eminence had bestowed upon them. Not that she fully grasped what His Eminence wanted most of the time, but she knew one thing—he was the highest authority here.

Even so, she recognized him as Master, because Big Sister Gu Jie did the same. And if Big Sister did it, then it had to be right.

A finger reached toward her bowl.

”Don’t poke the fish,” Lu Gao warned.

Hei Mao looked guilty, pulling his hand back. ”I wasn’t going to poke her,” he defended himself. Then, as if to make up for the suspicion, he added, ”The fish is uuuhh… What’s the word? Something is happening to the fish... like, she’s getting fatter...”

His words made every one pause.

Even His Eminence, who had been quietly reading a book, stopped turning the pages and shifted his gaze toward her.

Ren Jingyi froze.

Why? Why did she always feel nervous when His Eminence looked at her? It wasn’t that she feared him—no, not exactly—but every time his attention turned to her, she had this strange, inexplicable flashback.

A giant something, scooping fish like her out of the water.

She didn’t know why she remembered that, or even if it was real.

All she knew was that every time she thought about it, she felt very, very small.

“Oh,” muttered His Eminence, “She’s really doing it, huh?”

Ren Jingyi was a fish, and she liked being a fish.

Life was simple. There was no need to hunt, no need to fight. Everything she needed was given to her, a bounty from her Master, His Eminence Da Wei.

She didn’t have to think too hard. She didn’t have to worry.

But that was the problem, wasn’t it?

If she kept growing, she would outgrow her bowl. And if she outgrew her bowl, she wouldn’t be able to enjoy being a fish anymore. She’d have to hunt for herself. She’d have to live like the others, struggling and striving.

She didn’t want that.

Yet, despite her wishes, the feeling returned—that strange sensation in her core, like a tiny explosion of light.

A star formed inside her.

Hei Mao yelped. “The fish’s presence is growing!”

Lu Gao, who had been calmly watching her, suddenly stiffened. ”Incredible… She’s raising her cultivation in such a short period of time.”

Another pulse. Another star.

“No way,” Lu Gao breathed. “She’s raising another star again!”

Ren Jingyi fought against it. She tried to suppress the sensation, tried to stay small. But it was difficult. The stars kept forming inside her, one after another, spinning like little suns in the depths of her being.

Seventh Star.

Eighth Star.

Ninth Star.

And then—

She broke through.

Lu Gao gasped. “She’s reached the Mind Enlightenment!”

Ren Jingyi didn’t really get it. All she knew was that she was definitely bigger than before.

Fish life was a good life.

That was a fact for her.

But was she still a fish if she couldn’t fit in her bowl?

Cracks spider-webbed across the glass. She barely had time to react before—

Shatter!

Her beloved bowl exploded into shimmering fragments. Water splashed everywhere, drenching Lu Gao and Hei Mao. For a moment, there was silence. Then—

“Ahhh! The fish is crying!” Hei Mao pointed in horror.

Ren Jingyi flopped helplessly on the deck of the Floating Dragon, gasping. She couldn’t breathe!

Panic surged in her body. The world outside of water felt suffocating—like being wrapped in tight, suffocating air. She flailed, her gills burning.

“The fish is gonna die!” Hei Mao screamed. “She’s gonna die!!”

Lu Gao was already moving, trying to scoop her up, but his hands were shaking. “Get water—do something! We need—”

“Enough.”

Da Wei’s voice cut through the chaos.

The deck stilled. Hei Mao froze mid-panic, mouth still open. Lu Gao held his breath.

Da Wei muttered something under his breath.

“Divine Word: Life.”

A golden glow surged through the air, wrapping around Ren Jingyi like a warm current. The burning sensation in her gills faded. The suffocating tightness in her body loosened.

She gasped—and then, to her shock, she was breathing again. 

On land.

Kind of.

It was a strange sensation. She wasn’t quite breathing like a land creature, but neither was she suffocating like a fish out of water. It was as if the water inside her had merged with the air around her, allowing her to exist in this bizarre in-between state.

It felt wrong. But also… not deadly.

“I have a plan,” Da Wei announced. “So calm down… and please don’t accidentally step or slip on her.”

Hei Mao, who had been hopping from foot to foot in panic, immediately froze in place, his foot hovering midair before he carefully placed it down.

Lu Gao exhaled in relief. “If it is you, Master... then there is nothing to be afraid of.”