In a nameless warm current somewhere along the northern latitude, Gu Lian is a young humpback whale.
He possesses the most beautiful fluke in the region, and when he moves, it stirs up a dazzling trail of bioluminescence. He is the acknowledged heir of the pod—strong, intelligent, destined to lead their great migration.
But he is lonely.
His whale song is grand and expansive, capable of guiding entire journeys, yet no one understands the intricate improvisations woven into its shifting melodies. They belong to no inherited courtship or warning pattern—more like verses cast into the deep sea, unanswered poems drifting in silence. Until one day, an anomalous signal appears—not a mating call, not an alarm, but something else... a precise computation, laced with a cold, unfamiliar rationality.
He is drawn to it. Defying the elders' warnings, he veers off the safe route and follows the signal into a foreign trench-riddled region.
And there, he sees Ai Miao.
Ai Miao is a Bryde's whale, long separated from his kind.
He is more slender than Gu Lian, his movements tinged with an almost elegant detachment. But what sets him apart is his sound. Unlike the emotionally rich songs of most whales, Ai Miao's signals are unnervingly clear and stable—each frequency calculated like a mathematical model of the ocean itself, cold and precise, devoid of the warmth that defines these waters. He has survived alone in this perilous region for years, relying on a self-devised system of currents, predators, and danger zones—a strategy, not instinct.
When Gu Lian's vibrant, life-filled presence intrudes, Ai Miao's first reaction is caution. He retracts his signal, hides within the shadows of a trench, and from the turbulence of Gu Lian's swimming alone, constructs a mental map of the intruder's size, condition, even temperament—strong, vital, but inexperienced in survival here. Like a lost noble.
Gu Lian approaches without defense, sending out a curious, friendly low-frequency greeting. His signal is warm and direct, like sunlight recklessly piercing the ice Ai Miao has built over years of solitude.
Ai Miao does not respond. He watches from the shadows, observing how this beautiful humpback clumsily dodges undercurrents, how he's mesmerized by a swarm of glowing jellyfish. A long-dormant emotion—interest—begins to stir in Ai Miao's mind, usually reserved for survival calculations. When Gu Lian opens his mouth to bite, a cold signal slices through the water: "Poisonous. Gill paralysis for three days." Gu Lian halts in shock, watching the jellyfish drift away.
He is lost—or rather, he doesn't care. He stubbornly follows Ai Miao, trying to communicate with his exuberant whale song.
Ai Miao, finally disturbed, turns and sends a complex, sharply tuned signal that strikes a seemingly harmless reef ahead of Gu Lian. The reef shifts, revealing a cluster of razor-sharp crystals.
Gu Lian freezes.
Ai Miao glides beside him, his massive body suspended with elegant precision. No wasted motion. A clear, emotionless signal enters Gu Lian's perception: "Follow my path. Don't touch anything."
Thus begins a strange symbiosis.
Gu Lian uses his strength and sonar range to drive away competitors and secure safer feeding grounds. Ai Miao, with near-prescient strategy, guides Gu Lian through every undercurrent, trap, and predator. He teaches him how to conserve energy using thermoclines, how to identify fish that carry neurotoxins despite their allure.
Gu Lian's world expands. He is no longer just a future leader—he learns caution, thoughtfulness, and begins to appreciate the fierce survival and hidden tenderness beneath Ai Miao's cold signals.
Together, they watch shattered moonlight on midnight waters, chase glowing fish through deep trenches. Gu Lian's once hollow, ornate song begins to absorb Ai Miao's depth and complexity; Ai Miao's signals, once purely functional, start to carry soft, meaningless rhythms.
One day, while navigating a volatile hydrothermal zone, Ai Miao becomes too focused on calculating a safe path and nearly gets hit by a sudden jet of scalding water. Gu Lian, with brute force, slams him aside with his fluke.
The heat grazes Gu Lian's tail, leaving a scorched mark.
Ai Miao scans the wound with sonar. For the first time, his stable signal falters—like a precision instrument trembling at its core. He recalibrates in silence. Then, a new signal emerges—soft, intricate, unlike anything he's used before. It is an ancient, nearly lost Bryde's whale melody, about the steadfastness of stone and the companionship of tides—a vow buried deep in genetic memory, never lightly sung.
Gu Lian understands. His massive body sways gently, releasing a deep, joyful resonance—like thunder from the ocean floor—wrapping around Ai Miao's cold melody.
Their songs merge for the first time, composing a unique symphony in the unlistened depths.
Gu Lian's pod finally locates him, drawn by his signal. The elder humpbacks send out urging pulses, reminding him of his duty to return.
Gu Lian hovers between his pod and Ai Miao, emitting anxious, restless frequencies.
Ai Miao floats silently in the shadowed water, his massive form as quiet as the deep sea itself. Inside him, the sonar used for navigation and evasion spins furiously, calculating countless possibilities: following Gu Lian back would mean facing an unfamiliar pod, rigid traditions, perhaps rejection. Staying would mean Gu Lian abandoning his birthright.
Eventually, Ai Miao swims toward Gu Lian, gently touches his injured fluke with his forehead, and sends out a calm signal:
"I'll go with you."
He isn't submitting—he's strategizing. Just as he once mapped survival in treacherous waters, now he will map a place for them within the complex rules of the pod.
Gu Lian releases a jubilant, thunderous call that echoes through the depths.
Two whales—one vast, one slender—swim side by side toward the warm currents of home, and toward an unknown, expansive future. Their songs intertwine: one radiant like sunlight, the other serene like moonlight, resonating together in the endless blue.
Upon returning to the humpback pod, Ai Miao immediately feels the pressure.
The massive pod moves like a drifting fortress, each adult humpback a mountain in motion. They circle Ai Miao curiously, their wide flukes stirring powerful currents. Their signals are deep and direct, filled with scrutiny for this "outsider"—too slender, too strange, his frequencies cold and unfamiliar to these warm waters.
Ai Miao swims silently beside Gu Lian, keeping close to his massive body, using the water flow he generates to reduce resistance. He emits no defensive or ingratiating signals—only watches with calm eyes, analyzing each whale's behavior and potential status within the pod. This is his instinct: strategy.
Gu Lian senses Ai Miao's tension. He emits a low, displeased rumble, positioning his head fin protectively in front of Ai Miao, driving away overly curious peers. Then he sends out a clear, unmistakable signal:
"This is Ai Miao. He's mine."
Simple. Direct. Undeniable.
The pod is not unfamiliar with pair bonds. The elders have seen many close connections between individuals. But for Gu Lian—the future leader—to so openly claim a Bryde's whale, a different species, as his sole companion, is rare.
Some young males respond with challenge and confusion. They flaunt their strength and elaborate songs, trying to draw Gu Lian's attention or push Ai Miao away.
Ai Miao responds with perfect calm. He never engages in pointless contests of strength or song. When a challenger approaches, he calculates their trajectory and the shifting currents, then makes a subtle, precise maneuver—guiding them into a sudden, cold, chaotic eddy. Or he positions Gu Lian's massive body as a shield at just the right moment.
After a few such incidents, no whale dares approach this seemingly fragile, yet uncannily "lucky" (or strategically brilliant) Bryde's whale.
Whispers begin to circulate in new frequencies—tones of confusion, awe, and quiet acceptance. In the deep sea, survival and power are the only laws. Ai Miao proves he possesses a different kind of power—one not to be underestimated.
Whale intimacy is unlike anything human.
Their deepest form of connection is not physical entanglement, but the complete fusion of sound—frequencies synchronized, life rhythms aligned.
In the abyss where moonlight cannot reach, Gu Lian emits his lowest, most soothing resonance. It is no longer for communication or defense, but a warm, invisible net that gently envelops Ai Miao. Within it lies unreserved trust, dependence, and a tenderness almost fledgling in nature.
Ai Miao responds with his most intricate, refined signal. No longer the cold frequencies used to calculate danger, but the core rhythm of existence itself—his signal becomes a carving tool, etching his unique imprint into Gu Lian's vast sonic field.
Their bodies do not entwine like humans. More often, Gu Lian uses his broad pectoral fin to shield Ai Miao's slender back, or gently presses his forehead against Ai Miao's. Their flukes move in slow, synchronized sweeps, maintaining a suspended stillness—as if time itself pauses for them.
In this profound resonance, they sense each other's subtlest emotional shifts, even glimpse fragments of memory: the grandeur of Gu Lian's migratory past, the loneliness of Ai Miao's survival in dark trenches. It is a communion deeper than flesh—a touch and solace of the soul.
Ai Miao never tries to change the humpback pod's ancient traditions. What he does is use his strategy to bring tangible benefits to the entire group.
He accurately predicts the migration paths of large fish schools, avoids volcanic seabed activity, and even discovers a more energy-efficient migration route. He teaches the young whales how to identify cleverly disguised predators, how to use sonar for coordinated hunting.
At first, there is doubt. Then surprise. Eventually, trust.
Gu Lian's pod begins to realize: this silent Bryde's whale is not here to share their future leader—he is here to fortify the pod's survival. Like a calm brain paired with Gu Lian's warm, powerful heart, they become the new pulse of the group.
When Gu Lian once again sends out his declarative signal—"He is Ai Miao. Mine."—the response is no longer scrutiny or challenge, but a deep, collective resonance of acceptance.
Time flows in the deep sea.
Gu Lian and Ai Miao continue to swim side by side through the endless blue. Gu Lian's song grows deeper, more majestic, infused with Ai Miao's wisdom and calm; Ai Miao's signal no longer carries only cold calculation, but the warmth and vastness Gu Lian has given him.
They no longer need words—or signals—to affirm each other. A subtle movement, a slight shift in frequency, conveys everything.
Sometimes, at dusk before a storm, they surface together. Gu Lian releases a towering spray, rainbow-lit in the fading light. Ai Miao floats quietly beside him, watching the mist dissolve—like a silent, magnificent poem they've written together.
From then on, the whale who once sang untitled verses found his one, eternal echo. Their story is not in history books or palaces, but in every flick of a fin, every no-longer-lonely song, and in the eternal blue that witnessed their meeting, knowing, and companionship.
They never spoke of forever. But in the laws of the deep sea, there is a death more generous than any other—it is called whale fall. When a great whale dies, its body nourishes a barren wasteland for a hundred years, becoming an oasis for countless lives.
Gu Lian thinks: if that day comes, the life he and Ai Miao have intertwined—their songs and strategies—will have already completed the grandest whale fall within each other's souls, becoming the inexhaustible sustenance that carries the other through eternal solitude.