Most of the objects in the quiet room had been smashed to pieces under Chi Zhuo’s spiritual force, yet a few items made of sturdier materials remained intact. The loud crash that echoed just now came from one of those unbroken objects hitting the floor.
Even in a soundproofed room, such a massive commotion could be noticed from outside.
Dust swirled through the air, and amidst the shattered fragments on the floor, the door creaked open lightly. After three polite knocks, a voice came from outside—Bai Han’s, asking carefully,
“Master?”
Chi Zhuo gave a single “Hmm,” signaling her to enter.
Bai Han stepped inside and, facing the chaotic mess, didn’t flinch. Calmly, she continued briefing the issues they needed to handle this time.
“Leave the Y Route and the XM-52 star business to Yin Man. Let Hua Yao handle the current problem.”
Following Chi Zhuo’s orders, Bai Han lowered her head and laid out the tasks. “So, we’re not going to Uzzi Star?”
“Yes.”
“Then… Master, are you going to check out the new project our gaming company just launched? It’s not too far from headquarters.”
“That dating game?”
“Yes. Virtual games centered on romance are really popular lately. We just released a few closed beta spots and already got a lot of praise. But for long-term profits, we can’t rush the initial investment. My suggestion is to enhance the sensory effects a bit more—make it feel fully immersive so people are willing to spend money—but also include anti-addiction measures so players don’t get hooked. Master could also take a look at our other games we’ve launched…”
Before Bai Han could finish, Chi Zhuo cut him off: “Return to Imperial Star. We’re heading back now.”
Bai Han, who over the years had grown used to spending half a year at a time away with Chi Zhuo without returning to Imperial Star, paused. She set down the electronic recording pen and asked, “Is something wrong with the industries on Imperial Star? There are still a lot of high-ranking people over there.”
Bai Han’s words were meant to reassure her master—not to worry. Even if someone were bold enough to provoke the Chi family, there were people who could handle it. But as if recalling something, Bai Han added, “Actually, there is one matter on Imperial Star. At the time, I thought it was minor, so I didn’t report it to you immediately.”
“Speak.”
“At that time, Master, you had kept all the ores used to make the ‘Mineral Rose’ and had them crafted into the rose that was sent to your home. There were some leftover scraps, and your jewelry company turned them into pieces intended for market release.”
Chi Zhuo was silent for a long moment before saying, “Suppress it. Don’t sell them.”
“Master, is your return to Imperial Star for personal matters?”
Chi Zhuo’s face, already sharp, darkened even further. “Bai Han, are you questioning my business?”
“Of course not.”
“Return to course.”
“Yes.”
As the massive starship began its journey back, Chi Zhuo’s cold gaze fixed on the account that had almost been blacklisted. He sent a single message:
【Don’t let me catch you.】
Even he didn’t know exactly what he would do if he actually caught the person. All he knew was that his anger was like a wild beast, devouring his reason.
Sometimes, when certain people provoke him, escape isn’t an option.
*
Ji Chenxi was irritable—everything around him grated on his nerves.
His sensitive period had begun.
At this unstable stage, pheromones drifted everywhere, filling the room with a cloying scent of roses.
Annoyed, Ji Chenxi was carving his spiritual form with a small knife. His movements betrayed no patience at all, and neither did his model. The snow leopard, which was supposed to stay in position, was wandering restlessly around the room.
Alphas in a sensitive period were always like this—fidgety, short-tempered, insecure.
The best way to calm an alpha during this time was to be with an omega; marking and claiming could soothe them the most. But Ji Chenxi had no omega nearby, nor did he feel the need for one.
As he tried to carve the texture of the snow leopard’s tail fur with his knife, a slip caused him to snap the tail of the wooden sculpture.
The restless snow leopard prowled back and forth, its sapphire-blue eyes fixed on Ji Chenxi, openly filled with reproach.
Ji Chenxi sighed. He didn’t have the patience to carve another one.
He tossed the failed half-finished sculpture and the carving knife onto the table and took a deep breath, trying to calm himself.
Sure, during a sensitive period, one could always rely on an omega—but there were other ways to manage it too. Suppressants could help. This time, though, Ji Chenxi hadn’t administered any in advance. Already deep into his sensitive period, he was vulnerable and extreme in his reactions; the few suppressants brought to him had either been broken or casually tossed aside. By now, he’d been in this state for six hours.
A high-level alpha’s pheromones were overwhelming, almost no other alpha dared approach him.
And yet, under these conditions, Major General Wu Xiang had knocked on Ji Chenxi’s door.
Ji Chenxi instinctively rejected every alpha who came near. Even someone who had just stepped onto this floor was already trapped by the aura of his pheromones.
Alphas naturally had a physiological aversion to another alpha’s scent. The cold, sharp fragrance of roses was actually pleasant, but Wu Xiang still felt physically uncomfortable under the thick, pressing pheromones. Making it to the door at all relied on his S+ level status.
“Your Highness, the butler asked me to deliver your dinner,” Wu Xiang said.
Amid the mingling scent of food and something sweet, Ji Chenxi’s throat moved, but his voice remained cold. “Leave.”
The sweet aroma came from a blend of several omega pheromones. Subtle, yet enough to attract an alpha in a sensitive period.
Wu Xiang paused, then said, “Your Highness doesn’t have to use suppressants; an omega can help ease things a bit. That’s the Emperor’s intention. You don’t need to fully mark them. Though if you want to fully mark, that’s also an option.”
Ji Chenxi didn’t respond, yet the scent of rose pheromones grew even stronger.
The overwhelming concentration of pheromones forced even Wu Xiang’s scent to the surface. The rich, brandy-like aroma he usually wielded to dominate any room was completely overpowered by the sweet, cloying floral scent. A sharp sting from his glands forced him to take a step back, retreating from the area where the pheromones were thickest.
Without saying a word, the room echoed with the same icy command: “Leave.”
Wu Xiang hesitated. After reporting that the Third Prince hadn’t used suppressants during his sensitive period, the Emperor had said not to force suppressants—just provide an omega to ease his discomfort. Clearly, however, the Third Prince had no intention of accepting the gesture.
After a brief moment of hesitation, Wu Xiang withdrew from the floor.
He glanced at the few omegas deliberately brought in—each with over 60% compatibility with the Third Prince. Only when the omegas trembled with fear did he coldly say, “His Highness doesn’t need them. Send them back.”
The old butler, calm as always, simply cast a slightly colder glance at Wu Xiang. “Major General Wu, do you realize whose orders you’re following right now?”
“Of course, Your Highness’s.”
“The fact that you reported the young master’s whereabouts was technically the Emperor’s wish. For us old hands, turning a blind eye is one thing—but you should understand what’s worth reporting and what isn’t. Some things… crossing the line isn’t good.”
Wu Xiang lowered his head without replying, cold sweat sliding down his forehead.
The pain in his glands was relentless, as if someone had plunged the thorns of a rose deep into them.
“All right. Leave a few betas here to wait for the young master’s instructions. The rest can go—if the young master smells more of us, he’ll only get more upset.”
Ji Chenxi lay on the bed, hugging the snow leopard and closing his eyes to rest. But the agitation of his sensitive period made sleep impossible.
In his arms, the snow leopard thrashed its long tail restlessly, mirroring his own agitation. His hands toyed with two vials—one a nutrient serum, the other a suppressant.
One dose of the suppressant would ease his symptoms considerably. While suppressants had minor side effects, decades of research had minimized them to almost nothing. Yet, Ji Chenxi stubbornly refused to use it.
His holocomputer vibrated lightly. Just as he reached to toss it aside and pull the embedded chip from his skin, he saw who had sent a message.
Chi Zhuo.
The same person to whom he had delivered those ruthless words just a few days ago.
【I’ve returned to Imperial Star. Hide yourself, Your Highness.】
Ji Chenxi laughed. If Chi Zhuo truly wanted to kill him, why give a warning in advance? Was he supposed to feel psychological pressure from such words?
Setting the holocomputer aside, Ji Chenxi endured a moment before finally activating voice input. He spoke firmly: “Do I need to hide? At the Rose Manor, I await you anytime. Come if you dare.”
After delivering his sharp retort, Ji Chenxi curled up completely under the covers, even positioning the fairly large snow leopard in a protective embrace around him. He lay beside it, enveloped by its tail.
Still, the restlessness clung tightly to him.
Looking back at the message he’d just sent, he realized—was he provoking? No. He was calling his alpha over. Since he had marked him, he belonged entirely to Ji Chenxi and, naturally, should stay by his side through this sensitive period.
Two hours had passed, and Ji Chenxi could feel sharp pangs twisting through his stomach. His palms were covered in self-inflicted bloodstains from trying to suppress his sensitive period.
Each breath grew heavier, his body being pulled between extreme desire and a deep, world-weary frustration.
He kept pressing at the wounds in his hands, using pain to reclaim some semblance of reason. One thought kept circling in his mind—he hadn’t come. The alpha he had marked hadn’t come.
On the other side, Chi Zhuo sneered at Ji Chenxi’s display of defiance and quickly began planning an infiltration of Rose Manor. But today, the manor was guarded even more strictly than the last time he had come.
Chi Zhuo, however, was among the top-tier in skill. With Bai Han opening the path covertly, after a bit of effort, Chi Zhuo finally slipped inside the manor.
The first thing that hit him upon arrival was the thick, sweet scent of roses.
A small alpha in a sensitive period was fragile and insecure. Even as his killer instincts sharpened, Chi Zhuo restrained himself a little, his desire to see Ji Chenxi in person softening him.
Moving carefully, he climbed through a window and reached the spot where the pheromones were strongest.
When he opened the window, he saw the silver-haired alpha curled up, hugging his knees, and beside him the snow leopard, also curled up, tail wrapped protectively around the alpha. Both looked utterly pitiful, vulnerable.
The blade-ready, murderous Chi Zhuo felt a twinge of softness. Bathed in the heavy rose scent, his own breathing faltered for a moment.
Ji Chenxi, sensing the movement, lifted his face.
Chi Zhuo saw him immediately.
His eyes were red-rimmed, lashes wet with tears.
Chi Zhuo’s dark gray eyes flickered, and even his own breathing hitched.
Alphas in a sensitive period were so fragile.
And now, Chi Zhuo felt a sudden, inexplicable pang of guilt for not having been there for his alpha.
“You’re here!” The alpha’s voice, a little hoarse, trembled. Yet his pheromones pressed like icy, sharp blades, wrapping Chi Zhuo completely, strong and commanding, like a spider encasing its prey in silk.
Barefoot, Ji Chenxi stepped onto the floor, moving toward Chi Zhuo one deliberate step at a time.
“You don’t have the resolve to kill me! I’ve been waiting for you—two hours, thirty-eight minutes, and fifty-six seconds.”
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)
