If Chi Zhuo wanted to, he could really stay low-key. That day, he quietly slipped out through the window without even eating breakfast, without alerting anyone—not even Wu Xiang.
But the faint smell of tequila in the air… perhaps Wu Xiang wasn’t completely unaware of it.
Ji Chenxi, who had specially ordered extra breakfast, shook his head at the snake still being held by the snow leopard. Of course Chi Zhuo wouldn’t forget about his spiritual form. Any spiritual presence left behind was almost certainly intentional.
Arriving at Bao Bao’s little nest, Ji Chenxi ran his fingers smoothly along the head of the black mamba, tracing it down and handling the little snake from head to tail with practiced ease.
Cold, scaly creatures were definitely very different from the soft, furry kind.
After a light touch, Ji Chenxi lifted the black mamba onto his wrist, arranging the little snake into a neat coil, and then began playing with it casually inside the room.
Breakfast was naturally delivered by a trusted maid. The delicate-featured maid carefully laid out the morning food from the tray, then lowered her eyes to report on the movements of the royal guards during this sensitive period.
Ji Chenxi responded with a casual hum. He hadn’t eaten in over ten hours—he was hungry—but that kind of hunger, after the worst part had passed, was more numb than anything else. He drank the porridge expressionlessly, not even glancing at the accompanying side dishes. Once he finished two bowls of the soft, well-cooked porridge, he gestured for the maid to leave.
A spiritual form could be summoned and withdrawn at will. When someone left their spiritual form with you, it was either because they wanted it to keep them company in their absence or as a way to set up a future meeting.
After all, when something as important as a person’s spiritual form is in your hands, you can’t exactly just send it back in the mail.
Ji Chenxi, originally gentle with the snake, tightened his grip slightly, a mix of amusement and slight irritation playing across him.
One hand coiled the snake, the other flicking the black mamba’s head, he muttered, “I feel like you’re a little troublemaker.”
The black snake lightly flicked its tongue against Ji Chenxi’s fingers.
Ji Chenxi chuckled softly. Well, he could already see a hint of affection in the little black snake’s gesture.
Even after he eventually set the black snake aside to play, it still followed Ji Chenxi’s steps closely. At one point, he nearly stepped on it—but luckily, both man and snake reacted quickly.
Before the maid arrived, Ji Chenxi had already put away his snow leopard. Feeling a little bored, he called it back out and let the two spiritual forms play together.
In the end, the scene was this: Ji Chenxi, painting, had a little black snake coiled around his hand, and at his feet lay a snow leopard. His snow leopard was clingy by nature, and now, paired with this equally clingy little black snake, they were a perfect match.
With paint splattered across the snow leopard’s gray-white fur, Ji Chenxi had no choice but to withdraw the leopard’s spiritual form. The little black snake, still winding around his hand, glanced toward the spot where the snow leopard had disappeared, then tightened its coils around his hand even more.
They say a spiritual form reflects its owner’s true inner thoughts—could it be that Chi Zhuo wanted to cling to him like this?
Ji Chenxi chuckled at his own thought.
Life continued much as it had in previous days; the only difference was that now he had a little snake at his side, and Chi Zhuo would occasionally reach out to him.
Unlike when they met in person, Chi Zhuo was much more serious in their chats—mostly exchanging morning and evening greetings, checking in on Ji Chenxi’s daily life, and sharing things that someone his age wouldn’t normally encounter. Not once did Chi Zhuo mention his own spiritual form.
If Chi Zhuo didn’t bring it up, Ji Chenxi would.
He pinched the black mamba’s head, snapped a photo, and sent it to Chi Zhuo.
“Brother Chi Zhuo, it seems like you forgot something with me.”
The poor spiritual form was completely under his control now.
Chi Zhuo, however, seemed completely oblivious to the subtle meaning, replying instead with playful seriousness:
“Are you talking about yourself, Your Highness?”
Ji Chenxi laughed.
“You’re done. Your spiritual form is mine now.”
Faced with the threat of his spirit form being controlled, Chi Zhuo’s response was:
“Your Highness, it’s been five days. We should meet.”
Ji Chenxi tapped his finger lightly. Did he want the spiritual form back, or did he just want to see him in person?
It wasn’t hard to agree—he could have, easily. But the timing wasn’t convenient. If Chi Zhuo had asked a day earlier or a day later, he would have said yes immediately. Unfortunately, today was when Gu Hechuan returned, so Ji Chenxi could only decline with regret.
Apparently, Chi Zhuo interpreted his refusal as a playful tease. After a long silence, he sent a call request instead.
Ji Chenxi accepted, and a deep voice came through: “I think I’ve already been low-profile enough.”
Ji Chenxi responded with a soft hum, silently agreeing—at least for now.
“But even being low-profile should have its limits. We should have some emotional contact.”
“Aren’t we doing that now?” Ji Chenxi shot back.
“At the very least, we should meet in person. Who dates without even meeting? Are we having a secret affair or what?”
Ji Chenxi feigned shock. “Aren’t we having a secret affair?”
He could hear the other person on the line taking a deep breath. “Is this really how you date?”
The calm voice carried both disbelief and disapproval.
Ji Chenxi laughed without restraint. “Looks like Brother Chi Zhuo isn’t satisfied! Regretting it?”
“No, I don’t regret the decisions I’ve made.” While Chi Zhuo was frustrated with Ji Chenxi’s attitude as a boyfriend, it wasn’t to the point of regret.
“But I’ve never dated anyone before, how would I even know what dating is like?”
After hearing Ji Chenxi’s reply, Chi Zhuo went on about what couples were supposed to do. “Even if you’re not rushing into anything, you should at least go on dates. If not dates, then at least meet in person. Aren’t we supposed to be in the honeymoon phase now?”
Even he sounded a little unsure of himself. He could feel that Ji Chenxi wasn’t really keen on turning their relationship into a typical boyfriend-and-boyfriend setup yet. It was hard to tell whether Ji Chenxi was deliberately keeping him at a distance.
Ji Chenxi suppressed a laugh, making his voice sound serious—almost aggrieved—as he turned the blame back on Chi Zhuo. “Oh~ so even Brother Chi Zhuo knows we’re not exactly in a honeymoon phase! In the past five days, we’ve chatted twenty-seven times, and more than half of those were meaningless greetings. We’ve called five times, three of which I started. If you hadn’t said anything, I would’ve thought we weren’t dating at all.”
In the past five days, neither of them had once brought up meeting in person—but Ji Chenxi threw the blame entirely on Chi Zhuo. He was the one who insisted on being low-profile, yet he also criticized Chi Zhuo for not taking the initiative afterward.
With a mischievous grin, Ji Chenxi waited quietly for Chi Zhuo’s reply.
What should have been nonsense, unreasonable words, surprisingly made Chi Zhuo pause to think.
“You’re right. I feel like something’s missing between us.”
Ji Chenxi raised an eyebrow. “Missing what?”
“A confession—a grand, proper confession. The one before was too informal.”
“You…”
“Chenxi little baby, can you come to Galaxy Amusement Park at eight tonight? I’ll prepare everything, just wait for me.”
“I…”
Ji Chenxi never finished the words on the tip of his tongue. He heard Chi Zhuo starting to prepare, and all the things he wanted to say condensed into a single line:
“Keep it low-key.”
Chi Zhuo replied softly.
“Or maybe another day? I’m meeting friends today—my old friend from afar has just come back.”
“No, just today.” Perhaps realizing how commanding that sounded, Chi Zhuo spoke again, more softly this time. “Today is a very special day for me.”
Ji Chenxi hummed. “Alright then, as you wish.”
Finally, Ji Chenxi remembered why today was special. It was the day Chi Zhuo had been brought into the Chi family as an illegitimate child. In that book, the event was mentioned briefly as a memory—arguably one of the most humiliating days in Chi Zhuo’s life.
When you soften for a lover, you can only be tough on pitiful friends.
At three in the afternoon, Ji Chenxi was picked up as scheduled and politely declined Su Yu’s invitation to go to the Red Wine Villa.
It had been too long since he’d seen Gu Hechuan. Su Yu was chatting animatedly with others, showing patience even toward the new red-haired friend beside Gu Hechuan.
The red-haired friend was actually handsome—tall with long legs, broad shoulders, narrow waist. Even standing next to Gu Hechuan, with his mid-length golden hair and elegant, gentle presence, he didn’t get overshadowed. Instead, he gave off a completely different vibe: that roguish, cool kind of charm.
The redhead had already heard about Gu Hechuan’s two friends and hadn’t been particularly interested. But after a brief encounter, his eyes kept scanning Ji Chenxi.
Seeing Su Yu’s twitching eyelids, it was obvious that this flamboyant redhead was also a top-tier alpha, and lately, his good friend Ji Chenxi seemed to be especially attracting alpha attention.
Unlike Su Yu, who expressed displeasure immediately after being declined, Gu Hechuan’s attitude was calm, his smile gentle and elegant. “Does Chenxi have something to do? You don’t need to stay just to accompany me.”
The red-haired guy, who had always been full of swagger, looked utterly defeated, like he had just swallowed a fly—the expression was indescribable.
“You… you… oh, Hechuan, you’re like this…”
“What do you mean by ‘like this’?” Gu Hechuan turned to him, still calm, still gentle.
The redhead hesitated, finally forcing out a single sentence: “Very… special.”
It had been a long time since Ji Chenxi had met this old friend, and he really didn’t want to cancel. “Can I pick the place?”
“Of course.”
And so, the four alphas arrived at the amusement park.
Gu Hechuan, ever patient with Ji Chenxi’s childlike whims, went along willingly—after all, Ji Chenxi was the youngest among them.
Su Yu, on the other hand, complained verbally but his body was completely honest—he had a great time.
After spending over an hour on the slightly thrilling rides, Gu Hechuan called everyone together to eat.
That meal ended up taking nearly another hour.
Back at the amusement center, Ji Chenxi casually glanced at the holographic display.
By now, the red-haired alpha had become somewhat familiar with Ji Chenxi and Su Yu. Seeing Ji Chenxi look at the holographic display yet again, he finally couldn’t resist asking, “Third Prince, are you waiting for some important news?”
Knowing full well that the redhead was just curious, Ji Chenxi replied frankly, “I am indeed waiting for important news.”
The redhead, who had always been interested in Gu Hechuan’s two friends during the trip, went along with the conversation. “What kind of important news is worth this much attention, Your Highness?”
Ji Chenxi tilted his head and smiled. “Does a confession count?”
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)
