It wasn’t surprising that Chi Zhuo reacted so strongly—Ji Chenxi’s words were the kind that made anyone overthink.
So, who am I supposed to trust?
When the person you care about asks you that question, there’s really only one answer: “Me.”
But Chi Zhuo found it hard to actually say that to Ji Chenxi. He could tell that Ji Chenxi had at least a bit of that kind of thought himself; otherwise, why would the Third Prince even bother getting entangled with an alpha? Yet their first two meetings had been too coincidental, and even Chi Zhuo didn’t fully trust Ji Chenxi. How could he expect Ji Chenxi to trust him?
In just a few seconds, though, Chi Zhuo collected himself. He looked at Ji Chenxi and said, “Your Highness, in your position, there are very few people you can truly trust. If you can, you should only trust yourself. Everyone else is guided by their own interests. And where interests are involved, there are no absolute friends—so trust becomes impossible.”
After hearing this, Ji Chenxi paused for a long while and then, surprisingly, smiled.
“This answer… I honestly don’t know what to say. It’s not what I wanted to hear, but it really is the most suitable for me.”
Chi Zhuo knew full well how unromantic his answer sounded. Seeing Ji Chenxi clearly say he didn’t want to hear it, Chi Zhuo quickly added, “Your Highness, you could also try trusting me. As long as there’s no huge conflict of interest, I won’t go against you. I’m even willing to help you if you actively ask for it.”
“And what if there’s an unavoidable clash of interests between us?” Ji Chenxi teased, poking at him.
Chi Zhuo frowned slightly. Given their current positions, a real conflict of interest wasn’t possible—but since Ji Chenxi had asked, he gave an honest reply. “I’m willing to give up part of my own interests for Your Highness… but only part.”
Ji Chenxi met his gaze. There was no hint of lying in Chi Zhuo’s eyes—of course, if he were lying, he wouldn’t need to emphasize that it was only partial. Just thinking about Chi Zhuo yielding to him stirred a familiar thrill, a faint spark of interest that had cooled not long ago, now rushing back all over again.
Chi Zhuo’s behavior wasn’t what Ji Chenxi had expected at first—it seemed like he was actually being a bit serious.
Ji Chenxi was a top-tier alpha, with a face so handsome it could make anyone melt. Add in the fact that he was a prince of the empire, and his omega and beta admirers were endless. He’d also had alphas showing him private attention before, and he had turned down too many of them to count, even crafting different reasons to refuse each one. The most persistent suitors would eventually give up, knowing better than to push.
With so many admirers, Ji Chenxi had even reached the point where he could easily tell why someone liked him. Most were drawn just to his looks. At first, Chi Zhuo had been the same—attracted to that simple charm. But now… was Chi Zhuo’s liking really that simple anymore?
Ji Chenxi thought Chi Zhuo’s approach was a little off. Showing your feelings first made it easy for the other person to take control.
“You’re not afraid that if I only take that little part of your interests each time, I’ll eventually numb you… and eat you completely, leaving nothing behind?”
Chi Zhuo’s lips curled slightly into a relaxed smile, as if he didn’t feel threatened at all. “Your Highness, you can try.”
That same alpha confidence, proud and unshakable, was fully on display in Chi Zhuo.
Some would be drawn to it… and naturally, some would want to break it.
Ji Chenxi rested his head on one hand, frowning slightly. “Chi Zhuo, doing this really makes me feel like you do have some thoughts about me.”
“And if I really did… what would Your Highness do?”
Chi Zhuo had never answered Ji Chenxi’s teasing directly before, yet this time he did. Ji Chenxi hadn’t expected that just ten days without contact would make Chi Zhuo so upfront. Next time they met, would he tear down that thin veil of ambiguity entirely?
Ji Chenxi was curious, but he quickly killed that possibility in its cradle.
“Of course, I’d refuse. Alpha and alpha are never a good match.”
Chi Zhuo’s breath hitched for a moment, but he quickly regained control. “Is that what Your Highness means?”
A smile still lingered on Ji Chenxi’s lips. “Of course, that’s what I mean. If I did anything before that gave you the wrong idea, I apologize.”
At first, Ji Chenxi had guessed that Chi Zhuo might get annoyed by such a blunt rejection and hang up right away. But Chi Zhuo didn’t. He listened—and after a brief frown, he thought for a moment. Then, in a calm, almost emotionless voice, he said, “I don’t think I’ve hidden anything on purpose. If I’ve been unclear before, I can say it now: I do like Your Highness… just a little, two points, let’s say.”
Ji Chenxi didn’t understand. He had already refused him—there was no need for Chi Zhuo to humiliate himself again.
“You…” Ji Chenxi started but stopped mid-sentence.
“Before being refused, a confession should at least be heard once. A refusal without a confession feels… too unclear,” Chi Zhuo said, as if pointing at the already murky nature of their relationship.
“Do I need to refuse you again?”
“Would Your Highness refuse me a second time?” Chi Zhuo’s warm gaze, which he usually gave Ji Chenxi, slowly changed tone.
“Of course I would. Refusing someone isn’t hard.”
“Then why did you string me along before? If it was for some benefit… you haven’t gained a single thing from me.”
Ji Chenxi had already won this little game of who fell first, but somehow, he didn’t feel much joy.
Some things really weren’t meant to be played with—secretly teasing didn’t feel right either. He frowned, already annoyed at the words he was about to speak.
When he finally spoke, his face carried that elegant, teasing smile. “Actually, it wasn’t hard to guess. I wanted to leave a bit of dignity between us. How could an alpha be interested in another alpha? The first time I marked you, your scent nearly drove me crazy for a while.”
Chi Zhuo let out a cold “hmph,” probably thinking something like ‘serves you right’.
Ji Chenxi, unfazed, continued, “But… being tangled up with an alpha isn’t bad. Especially after you kissed me—I admit, I got a little mean. The alpha in me even wanted to take you to bed.”
“Now Your Highness doesn’t want that?” Chi Zhuo interrupted.
Ji Chenxi let out a soft laugh. “Aren’t you getting tired of this? At first, it was all just a game, and that would’ve been fine. But you had to take it seriously. And I can’t just marry an alpha, can I? You understand, right? An alpha always looks for a highly compatible omega.”
Chi Zhuo’s composure finally began to crack. Along with the sinking weight in his chest came a killing intent. His dark eyes glinted with a look that seemed to regard Ji Chenxi as good as dead.
Chi Zhuo sneered. “If you tell me you’re wrong now… maybe I could forgive you.”
“Even for that, you’d forgive me? Chi Zhuo, it seems your feelings aren’t just two points,” Ji Chenxi said with a light laugh, his tone teasing in a way that was hard to resist. “We’re adults—can’t you stop taking this so seriously? I’d feel guilty otherwise.”
Chi Zhuo let out a quiet “hmph,” his eyes, full of killing intent, locking with Ji Chenxi’s. “Then… have you been enjoying yourself all this time, Your Highness? Or should I ask… have I been thrilling to you?”
Ji Chenxi tilted his head, a playful smile on his face, boldly accepting the words. “Thrilling.”
The screen suddenly went black. Chi Zhuo’s video call ended just like that.
Before the call cut, there was even the sound of heavy objects crashing down. With the strength Chi Zhuo could exert in just three seconds, his room must have been destroyed in that instant.
After the virtual image disappeared, Ji Chenxi’s smile faltered. On his desk had been a book—the black leather one.
His fingers traced the name “Chi Zhuo” on the page again, but his feelings were even more complicated than the first time he saw it.
“Chi Zhuo… a belated blaze.” Those were the words Chi Zhuo wrote when he finally confessed his feelings to Bai Anran near the story’s end. Yet now, this “belated blaze” had come as an early confession.
No matter how Ji Chenxi looked at Chi Zhuo’s final gaze, it seemed like he wanted to kill him.
Ji Chenxi thought he might be sick. Somehow, being looked at that way only made him more excited.
In truth, Ji Chenxi didn’t need to be so extreme. If there was still a chance for them later… but he didn’t want the old man to know about his relationship with Chi Zhuo yet. Losing the chance to secure that position before he was fully ready would be far too embarrassing.
Ji Chenxi had originally thought Chi Zhuo would come looking for him a bit later, when his heart had already calmed down. This timing felt a little too soon.
Stuck at home, Ji Chenxi finally moved. The first thing he did was go to the palace to see his good father.
Since the assassination attempt, he hadn’t visited, and his father hadn’t asked him to come either. His sudden initiative made him look somewhat weak, and, as expected, the emperor once again put on a display of fatherly care—after all, he had just sent the royal guard to ruin Ji Chenxi’s previous plan.
“Xier, are you mad at me?”
Ji Chenxi’s face broke into a gentle, amused smile. “How could I be mad at you? Didn’t you still send people to protect me?”
He smiled with all the innocence in the world, as if he had no idea that the emperor’s gesture was also a way to secure another pair of his children.
“Xier,” the emperor’s voice grew slightly stern.
Ji Chenxi’s smile softened but didn’t disappear. “Your Majesty, if you wanted to play the game, you shouldn’t have let me end up passive again.”
“So… you admit it was your doing before?”
Ji Chenxi, of course, didn’t admit it directly. He only said, “I wouldn’t send someone to kill myself.”
“Then why were you angry?”
“Naturally, it’s because of your favoritism, Father. Why wouldn’t I want to play the game? Because if I step in, I’ll have no way out. I haven’t even joined the struggle yet, and you’ve already shown favoritism to my older brother twice. If I really join, I dare not imagine what will happen.”
Today, Ji Chenxi had already done two bold, reckless things, yet his mood felt surprisingly light.
He still didn’t know why the old man had interfered with that matter, but his words today had already achieved the effect he wanted.
As expected, the emperor, upon hearing this, didn’t get angry. Instead, he seemed to pity his youngest son a little. “Wu Xiang is a good blade. Use him well.”
This was essentially a promise that Wu Xiang would obey his orders.
Ji Chenxi smiled and took his leave.
Chi Zhuo, probably much calmer now, sent him one last message:
[Don’t let me catch you!]
Ji Chenxi’s smile, which had been a little fake before, was now completely real. What could he do? He wasn’t scared at all.
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)
