Tragic—honestly, it could only be tragic.
Ji Chenxi paused halfway through signaling the snow leopard to back off. His fingers absently rubbed the big cat’s head before he gave up and just let it approach that dangerous presence on its own.
As the snow leopard moved forward with that lazy, elegant grace of its species, Ji Chenxi’s sharp eyes had already spotted the man up ahead.
A tall, dark-haired man lay sprawled among the thick canopy. The ancient tree’s sturdy branches held him firmly, while a black mamba—seven meters long and covered in rare, glossy black scales—coiled tightly around the trunk. The sleek, slender serpent was in full attack mode, hissing warningly at anyone who dared come close. Compared to that monster, the small snake that had wrapped itself around the man’s leg earlier now seemed almost… cute.
That same man who had stood before Ji Chenxi earlier—cold, distant, radiating danger—was now lying there unconscious, eyes closed, completely still.
The towering tree, the impossibly handsome man, and the terrifying giant snake—all of it bathed in sunlight filtering through the leaves. The light stretched across their bodies, coating them in a warm, golden glow.
Dark danger and soft light blended together, creating something strangely perfect.
For a moment, Ji Chenxi—who had always had a thing for painting—actually wanted to capture that scene on canvas.
He lowered his gaze, pulling his eyes away from the man.
Truth be told, Ji Chenxi himself couldn’t tell if Chi Zhuo’s current state was good or bad. By his earlier guesses, the man should’ve been skewered through the chest by sharp branches, or at least dealing with some serious fractures and internal injuries.
Yet here he was—just unconscious, with not a scratch in sight. So where the hell was that pheromone scent coming from? It couldn’t be… heat, could it?
Uncertain, Ji Chenxi slid down from the snow leopard’s back. The moment his foot hit the ground, pain shot up from his ankle—it was swollen and red now from the earlier sprain.
He winced, frowning. Of all the things he’d packed, he just had to forget the recovery serum.
Pushing through the pain, he patted the snow leopard’s flank. “Go on, up you go. Check it out.”
For a creature used to scaling bare cliffs and icy peaks, climbing a tree was child’s play. The big gray-and-white cat bounded upward effortlessly. But before it could even reach Chi Zhuo, the black mamba lifted its coffin-shaped head, hissing menacingly in warning.
Ji Chenxi worried the sound might spook his snow leopard and was already preparing to climb up himself while the snake’s attention was elsewhere—
—but before he could move, his snow leopard calmly pressed one paw down on the mamba’s body, leaned in, and… licked its head.
The snake, moments ago all threat and fury, froze. One lick—and it was stunned into silence, completely motionless.
Ji Chenxi stared, momentarily speechless. He really needed to teach that cat that ‘not everything in this world is meant to be licked.’
But right now, that lecture could wait. There were more important things to deal with—like the unconscious man lying in the branches above.
Ji Chenxi climbed up the old tree with ease, though a small frown tugged at his brow. The ache in his ankle made him glance down at the swelling again. He hadn’t cared much about that minor twist before, but without any healing meds on hand, even a small injury could make life miserable for someone used to comfort.
Forcing himself to ignore the pain, he leaned closer to check on Chi Zhuo’s condition—
—and the moment he got near, his body jerked backward in a flash, nearly wrenching that same ankle all over again.
A blast of terrifying spiritual energy sliced through the space where he’d just been leaning in. Even though he’d reacted fast, a thin strand of his silver hair was still cleanly cut in half.
The soft hair drifted down like a wisp of willow fluff caught in the breeze before settling lightly among the branches.
Sunlight. The old tree. Flecks of shade dancing through the leaves.
Everything looked perfect—except for the guy who’d just nearly had his head taken off. Ji Chenxi let out a small hiss of pain, more irritated than scared.
If he’d been even a second slower, it wouldn’t have been just his hair getting sliced.
The man who’d been lying there, eyes closed, wasn’t some forest spirit—it was more like a venomous snake resting on a branch. And that snake had just woken up. His sharp, defined face was carved with danger, his gaze cold and deadly.
Ji Chenxi had thought that once the man recognized him, he’d calm down a little. But instead, Chi Zhuo’s muscles only tightened further, ready to strike again at any second.
That caught Ji Chenxi off guard. He quickly replayed everything in his head—had he done something wrong without realizing it?
Why the hell was this guy flipping out for no reason?
The air between them went tense and still. Just as Ji Chenxi thought things couldn’t get worse, Chi Zhuo moved again—this time, not with spiritual force but with his own body.
Those hands—hands strong enough to snap a large animal’s neck—lunged toward him. Ji Chenxi dodged back fast, but then the black mamba’s tail came whipping around from the side.
Seven meters of sleek, black-scaled muscle—not huge, but fast and vicious as hell. It struck with all the deadly precision the species was known for, not the slightest bit sluggish.
Annoyed, Ji Chenxi tugged at the inhibitor collar around his neck. The air was thick with Chi Zhuo’s pheromones—far stronger than before, and this time they weren’t the soft, hazy kind from a mating haze. Now, they were sharp, aggressive, almost suffocating. For another alpha like Ji Chenxi, it was downright unbearable.
Because of that little tug, a faint rose scent slipped from his own collar. And that, oddly enough, made Chi Zhuo pause mid-attack. His voice came out low and rough, dark eyes narrowing.
“Who are you?”
Ji Chenxi almost laughed out loud. ‘Seriously? You clearly wanted to kill him earlier, and now you’re asking who I am?‘
Ji Chenxi ran a hand through his hair, casually pushing it back, and smiled. “Brother Chi Zhuo, don’t tell me you fell from that height and damaged your head. That would really be bad news.”
The man in question—supposedly the one who’d “damaged his head”—frowned, his brows tightening before he finally spoke that familiar name. “Ji Chenxi.”
“Mm-hmm.”
Ji Chenxi’s smile wavered into something a little complicated. That strange feeling he’d had earlier was now more or less confirmed.
Chi Zhuo’s gaze was as sharp as ever, but if one looked closely, they’d see something off. His stare, though focused and intense, lacked the light it used to have. Those dark eyes, once bottomless and alive, now looked… empty.
“Earlier I thought you were mad about the trouble I dragged you into,” Ji Chenxi said, his tone casual but his words direct. “But looking at you now… could it be that you can’t see?”
Chi Zhuo didn’t answer. His hand brushed the smooth scales of the black mamba that had slithered back to his side, and instead he asked, “If that’s true, what does Your Highness plan to do?”
A deadly question.
Ji Chenxi didn’t reply right away. The air between them, which had just started to calm, tensed again.
The mamba moved restlessly along the branches, as if waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
Ji Chenxi’s expression stayed cool, but when he finally spoke, his voice softened—a warm murmur that could almost be mistaken for a lover’s whisper. “What do you think I want to do? What could I possibly do?”
“I’m not Your Highness,” Chi Zhuo said coldly, “so how would I know what’s in your mind?”
That tone—frosted over and distant—was all the proof Ji Chenxi needed. The man had noticed something.
So now that he knew… what was Ji Chenxi supposed to do about it?
That earlier attack had shown enough. Even blind, Chi Zhuo’s instincts were razor-sharp, his strength terrifying. Whatever caused his blindness and that uncontrolled pheromone surge hadn’t weakened him much—at least, not in a way Ji Chenxi could use.
Carefully, Ji Chenxi picked up the strand of silver hair the snow leopard had carried back, lit it, and let it burn. The acrid smell rose into the air and drifted between them.
Only then did he say, sounding almost disappointed, “Brother Chi Zhuo, you make me sound so awful. What if I’m just worried about you?”
The tone was light, harmless—exactly the kind of spoiled charm expected from a young noble.
“Do you even believe that yourself, Your Highness?”
The faintly boyish prince tilted his head, feigning trouble. “I always thought I was a pretty decent, harmless guy.”
Chi Zhuo let out a quiet, humorless laugh. He was already regretting ever showing this man mercy. The Empire’s Third Prince was far more dangerous than anyone imagined. At first, he’d really thought Ji Chenxi was just unlucky—cornered and desperate, running from the Red Scorpion Pirates. But now… now he wasn’t so sure.
“You spared me once before,” Ji Chenxi continued, his voice taking on a rare edge. “I didn’t forget that. I’m not the kind of person who’d turn around and bite the hand that helped me.”
The prideful prince sounded genuinely frustrated now—maybe even a little hurt, though he hid it well.
Chi Zhuo’s blind eyes narrowed slightly, turning in Ji Chenxi’s direction.
There was no light in them, no focus—and yet, Ji Chenxi could feel that cold, assessing stare as if it cut straight through him.
Suspicion. Judgment.
It wrapped around him like a shadow, sharp and suffocating.
He quickly tasted the meaning behind it. Before, when the other treated him like some little brat who wanted to kill but didn’t dare, that murderous vibe had felt like a spoiled child’s anger—petty, oddly cute. But now the man might have guessed a bit of his true self. With that memory of real killing intent, and given how suspicious Chi Zhuo was, there was no way he’d believe him easily.
With a small sigh, Ji Chenxi reached a hand out—risking that it might be sliced off by another spiritual strike—and said, “Chi Zhuo, my ankle’s hurt. I can’t move well, and you can’t see. Seems we’re both out of luck. Why don’t we help each other? I’m pretty good at scouting.”
He sounded sincere, but he was ready for anything.
Luckily, Chi Zhuo didn’t attack outright. That look—like someone who’d seen through a person—fell on him again.
This time Ji Chenxi couldn’t stand it. He hated that kind of stare and hated being seen through even more.
He pulled his hand back casually. “Fine. If you won’t, I’ll go alone.”
He patted his snow leopard, climbed back on, and meant to head deeper into the forest.
The big cat leapt down from the tree and walked away with graceful steps.
But before they’d gone far, the man leaning against the trunk—cool and a little lazy—suddenly spoke, “I’m curious. We didn’t know each other before. Lately we keep running into each other—twice, three times. Coincidence, or…?”
There was an edge to the question.
Ji Chenxi silently finished the thought in his head—‘or something more deliberate’—then didn’t hesitate. He moved to strike.
He couldn’t let this man live.
Chi Zhuo seemed to expect Ji Chenxi’s move. The black mamba that had been coiled in the branches struck, and Chi Zhuo suddenly swung toward Ji Chenxi’s wrist.
Ji Chenxi twisted his hand and dodged the blow. In that same motion he’d already pulled out a fine dagger—against someone like Chi Zhuo, old-school blades worked better than laser guns.
Their two psyches clashed like fire. Chi Zhuo had one hand twisted out of place; his other arm wrapped tight around Ji Chenxi’s neck. Ji Chenxi didn’t care his own throat was held—he drove the dagger toward Chi Zhuo’s neck. The snake opened its black mouth and sank fangs into the snow leopard; the cat bit at the snake’s belly, trying to tear it apart.
For a moment it looked like they’d kill each other. Then they suddenly stopped.
Someone was coming this way.
Annoying.
“Hey, tone down your pheromones.” Ji Chenxi hissed under his breath.
“I can’t.” Chi Zhuo answered coldly.
“Do you want me to bite you, huh?!” Ji Chenxi snapped.
Hello, everyone ヾ(＾∇＾). I hope you enjoyed the story! If you’re feeling generous, please buy me a coffee, share/comment on my translated works! Check out the link below for early chapters. (๑>ᴗ<๑)
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