Dragon Boat Secret Realm 25: Peach Blossom God

Turn into a fish?

The statement carried intriguing implications.

But using it as a threat was too casual—Su Qing didn’t care about his life.

“Interesting,” Su Qing said with a smile. “I’d like to see what kind of fish you’d become.”

Chen, horrified, lips trembling, stammered, “So young, yet so ruthless. Aren’t you afraid of karmic retribution?”

Tian Ning, chewing at the table, glanced back silently, kicking the sword propped against it. The blade clanged sharply against the table’s edge.

The unspoken threat silenced Chen. His abdomen throbbed, vision darkening.

Su Qing, surprised, raised her eyes, then smiled knowingly. “I’d expect someone like you to dismiss karma. Weren’t you afraid of retribution when you acted against your own daughter? Or do you think people like you are untouchable?”

She twirled her gleaming knife. “Turn into a fish or die now—choose.”

Chen’s brows furrowed, eyes bulging, lips pursed as if to speak, but no words came. His face paled, trembling. “I can’t say, I really can’t! Take all my wealth, I beg you—spare me! I’ll reform, start anew!”

He kowtowed, sweat and tears streaming down his fleshy face, soaking the floor. His massive body quivered like a slab of pork.

But he hadn’t grasped one thing.

Speaking or not wasn’t his choice. Just as he’d oppressed others, now his life wasn’t his own. He had to speak.

Su Qing grabbed his collar, dragging him to the inner chamber. “Keep eating,” she told Tian Ning. “I’ll handle him so you don’t lose your appetite.”

Tian Ning nodded. Though she had no memories of Su Qing, she felt an inexplicable trust, able to lower her sword and eat, leaving matters to her.

This was unprecedented for her.

Tian Ning rubbed her stomach, still hungry, and gestured to the trembling servants. “More food.”

…

Su Qing pulled Chen into his opulent living quarters, lavish with gold and silver. But this gilded nest was about to become an execution ground.

As an innocent, ungraduated female student, Su Qing wasn’t versed in torture. Without a word, she delicately lifted the bandage on Chen’s neck with her knife’s tip.

The cold blade grazed his skin, raising goosebumps.

He wailed, his face ashen with despair. “I’ll talk! I don’t want to die!”

She hadn’t even cut yet, but he’d chosen. He was weaker than she’d thought.

With the blade’s chill at his neck, Chen whispered shakily, “The Flower God Festival is a lie. There’s no Flower God—it’s a fish—”

His voice caught, as if a fishbone lodged in his throat. His breathing grew labored, eyes rolling back, mouth twitching, foam spilling. “Fish, fish, fish, fish, fish…”

He repeated endlessly, his dark eyes lifeless like a dead fish’s, glinting eerily.

“Fish, fish, fish…”

The word poured from his pursed lips, one after another.

“Fish.” Chen’s vocabulary stalled, a bleak smile forming. “I can’t say, or I’ll turn into a fish.”

As he spoke, hard bumps appeared on his skin, scales sprouting rapidly.

“I’ll turn into a fish,” he said, still smiling vacantly.

His bulky body convulsed, as if something grew inside. A fish fin, reeking of brine, burst through his spine, tearing his clothes.

“I’ll turn into a fish.”

Fleshy slits opened at his neck, gills pulsing. Long whiskers sprouted from his mouth. His human voice faded into garbled whimpers, like a fish struggling to mimic human speech, producing only “hiss, hiss” sounds.

Chen collapsed, bloated body twitching, leaving sticky fluid. He had gills but retained human lungs, somehow still alive.

Su Qing recoiled. It was unsettling—too sanity-shaking. A man turning into a fish-man gave her goosebumps, as if something hard lurked beneath her own skin.

She recited a calming mantra, suppressing the discomfort.

Examining Chen, she noted he hadn’t fully become a fish but a human with fish-like traits. Scales, fins, and gills appeared superficially, but his legs didn’t merge into a tail. His organs, respiratory, and nervous systems remained human.

This wasn’t divine punishment—just a curse.

Su Qing had seen nastier spells in a Qi Refining evil cultivator’s storage bag.

“Scary, but…” Su Qing, treating it like a practical assignment, studied the fish-man. “The force behind this seems weak.”

Chen’s transformation was partly the curse, partly his own belief he’d become a fish if he spoke, catalyzing the change.

Tian Ning, sated, wiped her hands and joined Su Qing to inspect her “work.”

“Spilled?” she asked.

“He did,” Su Qing said, frustrated. “Too fast, not much info. We know two things: the Flower God Festival is a sham, and it’s tied to a fish. The chosen girls likely aren’t sent to the Flower God—they’re fed to a fish’s belly.”

Suspicion wasn’t proof, and without evidence, finding the illusion’s eye was harder.

“Pity he can’t talk now,” Tian Ning said, her tone devoid of pity.

“Talking fish are rare, but talking people aren’t,” Su Qing said, grinning wickedly. “We’ll just grab more.”

…

In the main hall, the servant who’d snitched cowered in a corner. Both “demon stars” were in the inner chamber, leaving him alone in the vast hall.

He didn’t dare flee. Who could outrun them? If he tried and got stabbed, he’d die without a chance to beg.

His loyalty to Chen was less about devotion and more about ambition. A nobody, his only path to better days was clinging to Chen’s coattails, flattering him.

It worked—his career had progressed from yes-man to right-hand man.

But this chaotic night shifted his goal: from advancement to surviving the demon stars.

They were merciless but hadn’t harmed servants. Good behavior might not only save him but secure a better future.

Soon, faint noises came from the inner chamber. The transformed miss and the other demon star emerged.

Their calm, unferocious demeanor could almost pass as normal, but the servant sweated coldly. His lord hadn’t come out.

Was the demon star wiping her hands of Chen’s blood?

Silently, he prayed: *Lord, go in peace. You weren’t great to me—I won’t avenge you.*

The demon star’s first words were, “Send invitations to the Li family for a visit to strengthen ties. Any other close families? Invite them too.”

The servant stammered, “But invitations need the lord’s seal, and the lord…”

“The lord?” She glanced at the miss. “Isn’t the head of the house right here?”

The miss stood expressionless, accepting this shift.

The servant sensed a change—tonight, the miss became the lord, and the lord became the former miss.

He ventured, “What pretext should we use?”

The demon star gave him a knowing look. “You’ve handled Chen’s affairs. You know what bait will hook them.”

…

In the inner chamber, two more fish-men appeared: Lord Song and Lord Li, notorious for bullying and exploiting the island’s people. Their deaths wouldn’t be mourned, but turning into fish-men spared them—for now.

Lord Wang, however, remained human, slumped against the wall, trembling, too scared to move.

“Strange,” Su Qing remarked. “You didn’t turn into a fish.”

“Why would I, a fine man, become a fish?” Wang said, pride intact despite his fear. “I’d rather die human than live as a fish!”

Her theory—that Chen’s transformation was partly self-induced—held water.

“Keep thinking that,” Su Qing smiled. “Now, tell me about the Flower God Festival.”

Wang gritted his teeth, glancing at the sword-wielding figure nearby, his resolve crumbling. A powerful man on the island, he wasn’t alone—his four skilled servants handled dirty work.

Yet they couldn’t block a single strike from the veiled woman. When had such talent emerged on this tiny island, unbeknownst to him?

Chen’s fall wasn’t unjust.

Wang tried reasoning, pointing at the twitching fish-men. “Get those things out, or I can’t talk! They’re creepy.”

“Fine.”

Su Qing obliged. Servants, hardened by the night’s chaos, efficiently hauled Song and Li into tubs and carried them off without a glance.

Wang, struck by pity, couldn’t help asking, “Song, Li…” He paused, swallowing revulsion. “Where are you sending them?”

Su Qing stared, then grinned, joking, “To keep Chen company. Don’t worry—not the kitchen.”

She reassured, “To the embroidered tower—sturdy, perfect for laying low, right?”

“Fish overfed on grain burst; less food means longer life,” she said innocently. “For their longevity, no feeding. Let them bond.”

Wang wondered if she was avenging the Chen miss or a demon summoned from hell.

On this isolated island, everyone knew the miss starved herself to resist marriage. Chen said to let her hunger until she complied. Her betrothed, Lord Li, only added, “Don’t let her looks fade.”

No one cared for her life, just as no one cared for the fish-men now.

A buzzing filled Wang’s ears.

An expert at keeping fish and birds, he knew starving fish ate each other.

But he had no time for sympathy. He didn’t want their fate. After a pause, he said, “If I talk, will you spare me?”

Su Qing didn’t commit, raising a brow. “Depends on your sincerity.”

A fish on the chopping block, Wang sighed, knowing he had no leverage. “I’ll tell what I know, but I don’t know much. The Li, Chen, and Song families are involved—I’m just aware of it.”

He quickly distanced himself.

“It’s not a Flower God we worship. I don’t know what it is, but it controls the island’s currents, ensuring bountiful fish harvests, keeping us fed and safe from sea disasters. Its price? Every three years, ten girls of age, handpicked by it, sent to it.”

Ten girls every three years for the island’s prosperity was a temptation no one resisted.
@Infinite Good Reads, Only at Jinjiang Literature City

Forced sacrifice would spark outrage, and the entity was picky, choosing its own offerings. So, they disguised it as the Flower God Festival, letting it select ten girls from a prepared pool. This appeased the people and satisfied the entity—a win-win.

To Wang, a profiteer, it was a no-loss deal. Ten girls every three years—what did women matter? Their sacrifice was their honor.

But facing two formidable women, he feigned remorse. “That greedy thing—maybe a demon—disrupts our peace. We’re heartbroken at every festival!”

Su Qing ignored his crocodile tears. “When did the festival start?”

“About a hundred years ago,” Wang said awkwardly.

“So, roughly three hundred thirty innocent girls,” Su Qing said flatly. “They died for you.”

Sweat dripped from Wang, staining his robe. Panicking, he blurted, “Not all! Some escaped. I remember a fuss when I was young about not sending one back—she survived!”

…

After questioning Wang, Su Qing sighed heavily. With a swift move, she sealed his meridians as he stared in disbelief.

If not for his role, Li wouldn’t have targeted the Chen miss, Chen wouldn’t have offered her, and their usual misdeeds spoke for themselves. None were saints—why pretend?

She smirked, too drained for a cold laugh.

“Send him to the tower,” she ordered the gathered servants. “With the fish-men. Minimal food to keep him alive—starve him to tame him.”

Tian Ning approached, veiled to avoid identity exposure after Chen’s near-disastrous outburst.

Oddly, despite being identical to the Chen miss, her sword made people blind to her identity.

“It’s worse than I thought—rotten to the core,” Su Qing said, taking a deep breath and sharing Wang’s intel with Tian Ning. Her eyes glinted coldly. “But it confirms one thing: that thing—or fish—is weaker than we thought.”

The fish demon, too weak to act alone, collaborated with islanders for mutual gain. It only dared demand “unimportant” women, using layered psychological suggestion for transformations. If that wasn’t weakness, what was?

The three hundred girls weren’t taken by force—the island’s elites orchestrated it. United, they could’ve driven the demon out, but for petty gain and peace, they sacrificed them.

Tian Ning agreed, gripping her sword in anger. “When do we kill it?”

“Soon—its days are numbered,” Su Qing said. “But first, we find the one woman who escaped.”

She took down the faded beauty portrait Chen had admired.

The woman’s eyes sparkled, her smile vivid, rippling with the painting’s creases, as if alive.

Su Qing tore off a later-added backing, revealing the painting’s true title: *Ten Flower Gods: Peach Blossom*.

Indeed, Peach Blossom.

A perceptive servant stepped forward cautiously. “Why take the painting? It’s Chen’s prized possession, said to depict his childhood betrothed, sent to serve the Flower God. Separated by mortal and immortal realms, he retrieved her festival portrait for solace.”

“Some solace,” Su Qing said dryly. “I’m visiting a friend—empty hands would be rude.”

“How about bringing a fish?” she added.