Chapter Eight: Not Wanting to Become Smelly

Seeing himself drawing closer and closer to that great shark, Fang Yuan couldn’t help cursing the bug: You damned thing, even if you’re dissatisfied with me, you don’t have to do this. This could get me killed.

The shark looked on with an air of superiority as its prey swam toward it, as if it hadn’t even deigned to notice the food before its eyes, and that it was only because the prey insisted, pestering it relentlessly, that it would bother to eat him at all.

The shark glided slowly, its cold, indifferent gaze making Fang Yuan feel as if icy needles were pricking every inch of his skin. He had never been so afraid before—its body was many times larger than his own. If it swallowed him whole, at most it would look as if it were pregnant.

Fang Yuan circled the shark, neither retreating nor advancing, but simply moving in endless loops around its tail. The shark seemed annoyed to have such a bothersome creature lurking behind it, staring at its rear, and so it began to turn, following Fang Yuan’s movements.

Gradually, Fang Yuan picked up speed, and the shark increased its own pace in tandem, refusing to give Fang Yuan any chance to escape.

Finally, the shark lost patience. With a sudden twist, it turned and lunged, jaws agape, straight toward Fang Yuan. He hadn’t expected the shark to be this intelligent, to launch such a sudden attack.

Yet, this gave Fang Yuan the opening he needed. With a swift spin, mimicking the shark’s own movements, he darted toward its tail. Even he was surprised by how fast he moved; in the blink of an eye, he was at the shark’s tail. He didn’t even know why he insisted on circling its tail like this—it wasn’t as if he’d ever had such a bizarre fixation before.

His hands, now sharp and strong as if forged from steel, clamped down on the shark’s tail fin. The shark, feeling itself caught, struggled with all its might to break free. In the past, a simple flick would have made Fang Yuan let go, but things were different now—his body was no longer what it had been.

No matter how hard the shark thrashed, Fang Yuan’s grip did not loosen in the slightest.

The shark, never having suffered such humiliation, went wild, tearing through the sea at random, heedless of direction or depth. Wherever the going was rough, wherever rocks and reefs abounded, it dragged Fang Yuan along at a terrifying speed—fifty kilometers per hour.

That might not sound fast for a car, but for someone being hauled along in the shark’s wake, it was nothing short of a nightmare.

Sea water rushed past him, scraping every inch of his skin like countless tiny needles stabbing relentlessly. Even worse, at this speed, Fang Yuan couldn’t open his eyes at all. With his eyes squeezed shut, he had no idea where he was anymore.

He realized that ever since he had entered the water, he hadn’t surfaced once for air. He didn’t know how much longer he could hold out. If he didn’t let go soon, he wouldn’t even have the chance to breathe again—he’d be shredded by the sea long before that.

He desperately wanted to release his grip, but stubbornly refused, determined not to die alone—if he had to go, he’d drag that damned bug down with him.

Soon, his skin went numb; he could no longer feel the pain. That only made him more uneasy. He was blind, numb, and entirely senseless—a walking corpse.

He didn’t know how much time had passed before he finally felt the speed beginning to slow. Was the shark exhausted, needing a rest? If so, all the better—it could rest as long as it liked.

When Fang Yuan finally caught his breath, his body felt as if it had been taken apart and put back together—everything ached. When he was finally able to open his eyes, he saw the shark had disappeared.

He suspected it was hiding somewhere nearby, but after searching the area, he found no sign of it. In the distance, however, he vaguely made out a massive shape—an enormous, indistinct mass.

But in a place like this, seeing such a giant was not surprising to a graduate student in biology like Fang Yuan. It was a whale, though what kind, he couldn’t say.

There were many species of whales in the modern ocean: sperm whales, which liked to float and rest at the surface, caring nothing for the scientists who might mistake them for a drifting island; blue whales, belugas, orcas, narwhals—these were all giants. To witness such a creature with one’s own eyes would be a stunning sight.

Fang Yuan wondered where the shark had brought him. Here, the sea was as clear as if it had been washed clean. Wait—what was that?

Glancing around, Fang Yuan caught a glimpse of something that made his heart leap with excitement.

Could that possibly be a bluefin tuna?

As a biology graduate student, Fang Yuan was quite familiar with this endangered and extremely valuable species, prized for its extraordinary taste.

The bluefin tuna, the largest and slowest-growing of all tunas, could live for twenty years or more. Due to its habitat and unique biology, its price had soared in recent years. Different cuts fetched different prices, with the choicest parts selling for nearly three thousand per kilogram.

A bluefin could reach three meters in length and weigh up to four hundred kilograms. Some rare individuals from special environments could fetch tens of millions at auction.

Of course, there was much hype behind the market, but this only underscored the bluefin’s true value and popularity.