Heart of the Ocean (5): A ring

“Woof woof woof! (You shameless fish thief!)”  

Xiao Bai barked loudly, charging straight toward the fish tank. The little dog’s sharp claws unsheathed from its pink paw pads as it swiped furiously at the jellyfish.  

But Xiao Bai was a step too slow. The lighthouse jellyfish swiftly shrank its entire body back into the tank and even had the nerve to pull the lid shut in time.  

When Xiao Bai lunged forward, Tan Xiao held him back—though even if he hadn’t, the dog would have missed, left staring helplessly as the despicable thief shrank back down to thumb-sized and sank motionless to the bottom of the tank, playing dead.  

Xiao Bai’s paws slapped against the glass as he barked furiously through the water: “Woof woof woof woof woof…!”  

Those were the fish he and his owner had worked so hard to buy! And now this wretched jellyfish had eaten them all! With their limited supplies, how many days’ worth of food would this glutton even last?! It was supposed to be a freebie, but instead, it turned out to be a money-devouring monster!  

A torrent of furious dog-speech, punctuated by the sound of paws smacking glass, poured out of Xiao Bai. To anyone other than Tan Xiao, it would just sound like ordinary barking—but the jellyfish hiding inside the tank could tell from the cotton-ball dog’s vicious tone and aggressive movements that the insults were exceptionally crude.  

The lighthouse jellyfish curled all its tentacles inward, shrinking into a helpless little ball. “I only ate a few fish, why so angry? Such a nasty little dog!”  

“Alright, Xiao Bai, calm down,” Tan Xiao sighed, pulling the dog away from the tank and holding him back.  

“That jellyfish is going to eat us into poverty!” Xiao Bai’s chest heaved up and down, taking a while to steady his breathing. He turned to Tan Xiao with a suggestion: “Let’s send this thief back today—return it to that seafood shop! Get rid of it, get rid of it!”  

In Xiao Bai’s eyes, the seafood shop owner was like a cartoon villain, raising this fish thief just to keep stealing from customers and forcing them to buy more fish endlessly.  

Tan Xiao looked at the peculiar jellyfish. Honestly, with its current form, he couldn’t tell if it was his lover or not. Even though Wen Yi wasn’t human, every time they’d met before, he had taken human form—not this jellyfish shape.  

Maybe Wen Yi wasn’t even in this instance at all. But Tan Xiao didn’t want to send the jellyfish away.  

“It’s fine, Xiao Bai. We’re actually pretty rich—we can afford a jellyfish with a big appetite.”  

He wasn’t the overworked office drone from the last instance. Now, he was an incognito rich guy with a special black card. In fact, during the previous instance, the presence of KK Smart Company had confirmed that Tan Xiao could still use that card—he just hadn’t been able to access his system inventory before.  

For the sake of household harmony, Tan Xiao soothed the furious little dog with some gentle ear scratches. “Don’t be mad, Xiao Bai. It didn’t do it on purpose.”  

Xiao Bai let out a couple of unhappy yelps. “You just think it’s pretty! But it still did something wrong—how can you say it wasn’t on purpose?!”  

If it wasn’t on purpose, why did the jellyfish specifically wait until no one was around to steal fish? And when Tan Xiao came back, it had the audacity to shrink back down and even remember to close the tank lid—like it was trying to cover up the crime scene! This was clearly premeditated theft!  

Tan Xiao glanced between Xiao Bai and the jellyfish before delivering a decisive argument:  

“It really wasn’t on purpose—because jellyfish don’t have brains!”  

Xiao Bai’s jaw dropped. 

After all, whether in the last instance or this one, the Tan Xiao he knew had always been the picture of elegance—a polite, well-mannered gentleman whose demeanor and personality were nothing like an orphanage-raised kid.  

Compared to his original little owner, Tan Xiao—the adopted one—fit the title of “young master” far better. Someone this refined wouldn’t insult others.  

Yet Tan Xiao had just called the jellyfish brainless.

Tan Xiao continued explaining, “Jellyfish are very simple creatures biologically. They don’t have brains, hearts, noses, or ears…”

Xiao Bai breathed a sigh of relief—so his owner was just stating facts, not actually insulting anyone.  

Xiao Bai asked, “If that transparent dome with the red strawberry-like thing in the middle isn’t a brain, then what is it? Some kind of strawberry filling?”  

Tan Xiao replied, “The pink part in the center of its bell is actually its digestive system—like our stomach. Its stomach is quite large, and it probably ate those fish simply because it was hungry.”  

Like most animals, jellyfish operate purely on instinct. Without a brain and with only a stomach to guide it, its actions are driven by hunger rather than malice—it truly couldn’t be considered a deliberate troublemaker.  

Xiao Bai’s anger shifted to pity. So beautiful, so clever-looking… yet no brain at all—just a pretty, empty vase.  

Still, humans in this world were willing to pay steep prices for beauty. If Tan Xiao really liked it, Xiao Bai wouldn’t stop him. But keeping this utterly useless (except for being pretty) jellyfish came with one condition: it absolutely couldn’t compromise Tan Xiao’s survival.  

Xiao Bai asked, “It eats so much fish in a single day—are you sure we won’t go broke feeding it?”  

Tan Xiao answered confidently, “We won’t. Besides, it only eats fish—we eat other things too.”  

Unlike humans, jellyfish have a very limited diet—usually small fish, brine shrimp, or sea monkeys. But this particular lighthouse jellyfish was special, capable of devouring dozens of pounds of fish in one go.  

Tan Xiao did the math: 200 pounds of fish per day. If he had to sustain it for a full 30 days, their current seafood stock definitely wouldn’t be enough.  

Fortunately, they were on an island. Despite rising seafood prices due to recent shipwrecks, a coastal town like this would never run out of marine goods.  

Tan Xiao wondered—would it even eat frozen fish? If it did, the difficulty of keeping it would drop significantly.  

He took a piece of frozen salmon from the fridge, cautiously lifted the tank lid, and tossed the fish near the jellyfish’s edge.  

The lighthouse jellyfish remained motionless at the bottom of the tank, showing no reaction.  

Tan Xiao added, “If you can eat frozen fish, go ahead and take it.”  

But the jellyfish still didn’t move, stubbornly playing dead. With any other jellyfish, Tan Xiao might have worried about its health—but lighthouse jellyfish were a unique species. In harsh conditions, they could revert to a juvenile polyp stage and later mature back into medusae when the environment improved.  

Xiao Bai pointed out, “Didn’t you say it has no brain? It probably can’t even understand you.”

While ordinary Turritopsis dohrnii jellyfish indeed lack brains and can’t understand human speech, the one in this tank was no ordinary specimen—it had escaped from a special laboratory, an intelligent lifeform with cognitive abilities. There was no way it couldn’t understand him.  

It simply remained motionless out of suspicion, wary that the suddenly offered salmon might be a trap—perhaps laced with something harmful.  

Tan Xiao couldn’t read minds (and the jellyfish didn’t even have a mind to read), so after a moment’s thought, he concluded the jellyfish must prefer eating in private.  

To test his theory, he called to Xiao Bai: “Xiao Bai, come help me move the supplies upstairs. I bought a lot today, and we still need to organize them.”  

The cameras were internet-connected. After closing the storage room door, Tan Xiao pulled up the live feed on his phone, and the two of them quietly watched the screen.  

The jellyfish stayed motionless at the bottom of the tank. To save time, Tan Xiao delegated: “Xiao Bai, I’ll start organizing the supplies. You keep an eye on the feed—if it moves, bark three times.”  

Since becoming a small dog, Xiao Bai had lost much of his robotic strength and couldn’t help much with heavy lifting. But he could focus on surveillance indefinitely—something Tan Xiao couldn’t do without blinking.  

Tan Xiao added, “And keep it quiet.”  

Xiao Bai nodded obediently. “Got it.”  

Still guilty over failing to protect their fish earlier, Xiao Bai was determined to redeem himself this time.  

Nearly two hours later, the jellyfish in the living room finally stirred. Xiao Bai let out three soft barks, and Tan Xiao immediately abandoned his task, eyes snapping to the screen.  

The tiny jellyfish tentatively expanded a little, pausing to confirm no one rushed out to stop it. Then it grew larger—and larger still—until it was several times bigger than the salmon chunk.  

Its ribbon-like tentacles lashed out, snatching the salmon and swallowing it whole.  

Of course, this meager portion wasn’t nearly enough for the jellyfish, which still vastly preferred live fish over frozen. But instead of raiding the tank again, it targeted two feisty lobsters instead.  

The jellyfish hadn’t forgotten Xiao Bai’s earlier aggression—those slapping paws against the glass. These lobsters, with their waving claws, bore an uncanny resemblance to the annoying little dog.  

Waving its tentacles triumphantly, the jellyfish issued a silent threat: This was no weakling. If that wretched mutt dared provoke it again, it would swallow him whole!  

Before Tan Xiao’s earlier intervention, the jellyfish hadn’t realized it was being monitored. But now it knew—this house had invisible eyes watching its every move.  

Back in the lab, every specimen endured 24/7 surveillance. Its tank had been riddled with cameras. It was all too familiar with being observed.  

Tan Xiao sighed in relief. At least their jellyfish wasn’t picky—it would eat frozen food.  

With plenty of space left in the three-story house, Tan Xiao decided to buy more freezers and stockpile even more seafood.  

He’d worried other players might target him, but days passed without incident—only local fishermen voiced complaints.  

The blackwater contamination had spread, but many fishing vessels operated farther offshore, returning with fresh catches unaffected by the pollution.  

Tan Xiao avoided recent hauls, instead buying out older stock from multiple restaurants.  

Perhaps resigned to its exposure, the jellyfish now ate openly—until one day, it overindulged and regurgitated something shiny.  

A ring tumbled out from its gastric pouch—only for the jellyfish to swiftly snatch it back with a tentacle, curling tightly around the object before tucking it safely into its crimson stomach.  

But Tan Xiao had already seen it.  

His entire body locked up.  

It was a pure gold ring—identical to the one on his own finger.  

Their wedding band.  

His lover… really had turned into a brainless, heartless, eyeless, mouthless jellyfish.  

One that did nothing but eat fish.