Maybe a child’s affection for their parents is something they’re born with. Or maybe it’s just human nature—wanting more of what you can’t get. Ji Chenxi had a near-obsessive need for his mother’s approval. Chi Zhuo couldn’t fully relate, but he still stood by Ji Chenxi’s side. At the very least, he showed up less in front of that woman, and when he did, he tried his best to keep himself from looking too threatening.
For a predator, hiding their wild nature was never easy. Yet no matter what he did, it always felt like Ji Chenxi noticed. The kid would get excited because of his restraint… but after that excitement faded, there was always a hint of sadness left behind.
The little bundle of a child stroked the black little snake. “Little snake, I think I made you suffer.”
The little snake licked Ji Chenxi’s finger, as if saying: *good, you know it.*
But honestly, whether it was suffering or not didn’t really matter. This kind of pretending wasn’t anything serious. What mattered was that the child could be a little happier because of it.
Chi Zhuo originally thought the kid would praise his considerate spirit beast. Instead, Ji Chenxi pulled the snake tightly into his arms.
“You don’t need to suffer just for me,” he said softly. “You’re mine. I should be the one protecting you, not making you step back for me. I just complained a little… did you really understand? Or is it because you’re a spirit beast, so you just follow my will?”
If that were true, then his closest companion would be nothing more than a lie.
Not a companion. Not comfort for the mind. Just another form of self-deception.
Chi Zhuo had only wanted to make the child happier—but what he saw in Ji Chenxi’s eyes was something heavier instead: sadness.
The beautiful child had clear, bright eyes, but now they were misted over with a faint layer of tears.
It looked like he hadn’t comforted Ji Chenxi at all. In fact… he might have made him even sadder.
Chi Zhuo felt a rare sense of panic, which showed in the black snake clumsily trying to comfort him.
But Ji Chenxi had already sunk into his own world. He seemed to be looking at it… and yet not really seeing it at all.
The black snake moved around aimlessly, like someone pacing back and forth. Then suddenly, without hesitation, it slithered out the window.
The night stalker returned quickly. In its mouth was a bright, fiery red rose.
A black snake, a red rose—black and red, a color pairing artists loved most. Their existence alone was already beauty.
Ji Chenxi had shifted position, now sitting under the moonlight, eyes lowered as he thought about something.
At this moment, he didn’t even fully count as a teenager yet. He was young, soft, still someone who should be guided and protected by adults—but there wasn’t a trace of childish innocence in him.
Chi Zhuo had brought back something that wasn’t precious at all—a single beautiful rose.
The rose garden had the most roses in the world, yet when Ji Chenxi saw this one, he actually smiled.
Can people comfort themselves? Ji Chenxi didn’t know. But this little snake that brought him flowers whenever he was uneasy… whether it was influenced by his will or not, he already treated it as an independent being.
Even if it was controlled by his thoughts—so what? Who said you couldn’t comfort yourself?
The child returned to normal again, growing—at least for now—in a healthy way.
Chi Zhuo quietly let out a breath of relief.
But good times never lasted long. That soft-looking, easy-to-bully little bundle of a child was too eye-catching. Someone even tried to bully royalty on campus. Chi Zhuo almost laughed from anger.
Ji Chenxi’s blue eyes narrowed slightly, a faint smile rippling in them—like a lazy cat that looked harmless, but was already ready to hunt.
“Interesting,” he said lightly. “Since they treated me like this, I should return the favor properly. What kind of gift would be equal… an accident?”
After a pause, he shook his head on his own.
“No. Too obvious. If those people end up in trouble together, it’ll be easy to trace it back to me. Maybe I can find a more hidden way.”
As he spoke, Ji Chenxi stroked the little snake wrapped around his wrist, fingers gently brushing its head.
If Chi Zhuo knew this moment would become the trigger for Ji Chenxi’s mother discovering his true nature… he would have stopped it.
But there is no “if.” There’s no way to change what was already destined to happen.
When Ji Chenxi was shoved away by that beautiful woman—and she kept repeating, “You’re just like him,” screaming at him to get lost—Chi Zhuo already understood what had pushed Ji Chenxi’s spiritual domain to the brink of collapse.
A spiritual domain already full of cracks meeting backlash… would naturally hunt down every weakness, trying to devour its owner whole.
After being exposed, Ji Chenxi visibly spiraled. The half-grown child still thought there was room to fix things, but in reality there was no turning back. The disgust in that woman’s eyes was no longer hidden. She broke down completely, everything she had been holding onto collapsing in an instant.
In the end, news of her death arrived.
A death caused by emotional collapse, gradual physical decline, and eventual fading from the world wasn’t a good way to go. If anything, Chi Zhuo felt it might have been better if she had died from the beginning.
No expectations meant no disappointment. But once expectations existed, they became even more destructive—breaking someone down until they were almost destroyed.
Before she truly closed her eyes, the last look she gave Ji Chenxi was still full of disgust, like she was looking at something filthy.
She hated him. She wanted to escape him—or maybe escape the man who trapped her life.
But she was just a delicate flower in a greenhouse, a bird trapped in a gilded cage. No matter how big the space looked, she was still inside a prison.
Now she was dead. She was free.
If the last person she saw before dying hadn’t been Ji Chenxi, maybe she would’ve been happier.
Time passed. The half-grown child grew into the version Chi Zhuo was familiar with again—but his mind remained stuck at that moment.
At this point, Chi Zhuo broke through the barrier of the little snake, taking human form inside Ji Chenxi’s spiritual domain. The moment he gained a human body, he grabbed Ji Chenxi’s hand tightly, trying to pull him back—but it didn’t work.
No matter what he said, Ji Chenxi couldn’t hear him.
He was trembling, whispering to himself: it’s fine, it’s fine—even if the person he cared about didn’t love him, it was fine. He was calm. He didn’t care. He had already guessed it, hadn’t he?
But the more he forced himself not to care, the more the woman’s broken screams echoed in his ears.
“I knew it… I knew it—you’re just like him. Disgusting.”
“You’re his child. You really are the same. I actually thought you might be different… haha… how ridiculous!”
“Stop laughing. Stop laughing already.”
Why did it sound more like crying than laughter?
Why did someone so gentle and elegant become like this?
Ji Chenxi’s heart pounded painfully. Wave after wave of stabbing pain blurred the line between illusion and reality.
“Don’t cry, Mother. I’ll become what you want me to be,” he murmured.
His smile was soft—but stiff, forced, unnatural. Like someone who had never smiled before trying to shape their lips into something human. Strange. Off. Almost terrifying.
His face was pale, silver hair falling messily around him. The darkest color on him was the blood-red bite on his lip and those deep blue eyes—too bright, too haunting.
Blood stained his lips, adding a strange beauty to him. His gaze was gentle and careful on the surface, but underneath it was dead silence… and fragility that could shatter at any second.
And once he did shatter, his entire spiritual domain would collapse with him.
“Ji Chenxi! Calm down! Breathe!” Chi Zhuo grabbed his shoulders, voice sharp and urgent.
But he wasn’t listening at all.
Chi Zhuo finally understood why his face was so pale—he was severely suffocating. Pale skin, bluish lips… the blood on his lips almost made Chi Zhuo miss it.
There was no time for anything else.
He pulled Ji Chenxi in and kissed him, forcing air into him—dragging him back from the edge of death.
The sudden oxygen made Ji Chenxi regain a bit of clarity. He gasped for breath, trembling violently, heart pounding like a drum.
He looked nothing like the gentle, sunny boy anymore.
He looked ruthless. Dark. Almost unhinged.
“I don’t know what obsession you have with your mother,” Chi Zhuo said coldly. “But from what I’ve seen, she was never fit to be a mother. She wanted to prove she didn’t hate her child because of a man. She wanted to raise you well. But her eyes—her reactions every time you didn’t meet her expectations—tell me she might’ve been an attractive omega with many admirable traits, but at her core, she wasn’t a good mother.”
Ji Chenxi had finally recovered enough to laugh again.
“Maybe my father hurt her too deeply. Every time she saw me, she thought of him. Maybe all of that was just my imagination.”
“Imagination?” Chi Zhuo replied calmly. “You want her attention. I understand that. But a mother who truly loves her child shouldn’t project hatred for someone else onto them. She kept you, but never gave you what you really wanted.”
Ji Chenxi suddenly laughed harder, bending slightly as if he couldn’t stand straight.
His silver hair fell messily, face half-hidden. He looked dark… almost sick.
“She raised the child of her enemy. That’s already hard enough. How can you blame her for hating him? She tried to hide it. She tried to be a real mother.”
“But she didn’t succeed,” Chi Zhuo said flatly. “And in the end, she died from it.”
Ji Chenxi laughed again.
Dark. Unrestrained. No elegance left at all.
“But she was just a deceived omega,” he said softly. “How can I blame her?”
“So you think it’s all your fault? That you didn’t meet her expectations… that you don’t deserve love?”
The words ‘don’t deserve love’ made Ji Chenxi’s pupils contract.
The unstable spiritual domain around them began collapsing.
A spiritual domain was a strange thing—it could become anything its owner needed, strong enough to block threats… but also fragile enough to shatter instantly if its weak point was struck.
“I don’t know what kind of person deserves love,” Chi Zhuo said calmly. “Kind people? I think they’re fake sometimes. Brave people? Some call them stupid. Smart people? Others think they’re scheming. No one is liked by everyone.”
He looked at Ji Chenxi.
“I only know this: I like you.”
Ji Chenxi froze slightly.
Chi Zhuo continued, voice steady.
“When you look at others, I’ve been looking at you. What others call cruel tricks—I see them as a kitten showing its claws after being bullied. I don’t think it’s dirty. I think it’s cute.”
“…You’re kind of perverted,” Ji Chenxi muttered, trying to stay cold, but clearly uncomfortable.
His ears had turned faint red. Even the collapsing space around them had started to stabilize.
Chi Zhuo laughed.
A mature man’s laugh carried something different—less sharp, more grounded.
“Maybe,” he said. “But I don’t think so. Because of you, everything about you just feels… cute. If that makes me pervert, then fine. I guess I just prefer you.”
He looked at Ji Chenxi.
“Because I prefer you… I only want to look at you.”
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)
