The guy piloting the starship might have been annoyed, but the truth was their ship really had been dragged by those flames to forcefully find a weak point. With its emergency systems triggered, the starship moved even more smoothly toward the outer perimeter of the palace.
After realizing this, the man couldn’t help but laugh.
“With Vermilion Bird showing up, it should’ve been a tough fight no matter what, but I didn’t expect him to let you off. Suddenly, your earlier actions don’t seem that ridiculous anymore.”
Chen Xing’s injuries were rapidly healing under the efforts of the little robot. For the first time, the Chen Xing who had never doubted his own decisions found himself recalling that question Ji Chenxi had asked him—“Not even the slightest bit of regret?” The young prince had wanted an answer that their years of friendship hadn’t been for nothing, but he had given a reply that could only be called cruel. And now, he hadn’t tried to play the emotional card with Lu Tu, yet Lu Tu had generously added a different shade to a friendship that had never been pure from the start.
Compared side by side, it only made him seem colder.
Chen Xing let out a cold laugh, his gaze drifting far into the distance beyond the starship window. “Whether it’s ridiculous or not, it still doesn’t count as regret.”
The man piloting the ship shook his head with a chuckle. “Chen Xing, you really shouldn’t emphasize something like that. When someone keeps stressing they don’t care about something, it just proves they do care. So, you still care, don’t you?”
Chen Xing closed his eyes, too lazy to even bother responding.
The pilot got no reaction, but he didn’t mind and continued amusing himself—until he sensed a shift in the situation.
Something wasn’t right.
The rapidly departing starship was abruptly forced to stop. Even he couldn’t tell if it was surprise or shock—the entire palace’s defenses had just “awakened” moments ago.
“This couldn’t be the young prince’s doing, right?” the pilot muttered to himself.
Chen Xing opened his eyes and swept a glance outside.
The man kept rambling, “Looks like your third-in-command isn’t that capable after all. And here you were, specifically researching intelligence and all that. If it really doesn’t work, maybe I should just hand you over—”
“Don’t stop,” Chen Xing cut him off. “Full speed ahead, leave now. Hurry. What you’re seeing now is all fake. It might not be later.”
The man let out a rather impolite sound. His first instinct was to question this crazy decision, but time and time again, reality had proven Chen Xing right. So after hesitating for less than a second, he pushed the energy output to the max and charged straight toward the outside of the palace.
Chen Xing was indeed right. The defenses that gave him a sense of danger were nothing but a facade. Everything went smoothly, and just as they had reached the palace’s outer perimeter—only a few hundred meters away from escaping—a new obstacle appeared before them.
It was a massive black python.
At first, they couldn’t even tell how long it was. After all, just its pair of vertical pupils were as large as an adult human, deep and terrifying.
“This is… Black Mamba?”
It sounded like a question, but Chen Xing already knew the answer. With such a beautiful shade of black, whose else could it be but that person’s spiritual form?
Chen Xing’s feelings toward Chi Zhuo were complicated. On one hand, he felt the other had ruined his perfect creation. On the other, because of Ares, he couldn’t truly hate him. Instead, there was even a faint sense of anticipation.
At this point, it was hard to say whether the giant black python could still be called Black Mamba. Even its saliva now carried corrosive properties. If that massive snake took a bite, their starship would be scrapped on the spot.
The already heavily damaged starship struggled to flee. The pilot’s head throbbed. “Where are your robots?”
“I’ve never built one this big. And even if I had, it wouldn’t be in the palace.”
“Even if they’re smaller, they could at least block it for a bit.”
“I left almost all of them behind to hold back the third prince.”
The pilot: “…”
After stopping himself from speaking several times, the man finally said, “If it really comes down to it, maybe we should just kneel and beg for mercy.”
Chen Xing, however, remained calm. He even took over the controls himself. The starship weaved fluidly, trying to find a sliver of survival among the massive coils of the python.
The python was incredibly fast, and its venom terrifying. Droplets of saliva fell to the ground, instantly corroding deep pits. And even in such a critical situation, overwhelming spiritual power surged in from all directions. A spiritual form combined with a high-spiritual-power owner—this was a perfect kill, leaving no way out.
Yet even in such dire circumstances, the starship nearly managed to escape the palace several times. He even had the spare attention to contact Chi Zhuo.
The man on the light screen had a cold, sharp face, and his voice was even colder. “You think you can escape?”
Chen Xing smiled. “Instead of catching me, Master Chi, you might want to worry about our little prince.”
As he spoke, the starship suddenly burst forward and actually shot out from the snake’s jaws, leaving the palace behind and speeding off into the distance.
Chase?
The ship’s interference system had momentarily tricked the security system, but once the defenses reacted, they delivered a heavy blow to the starship. If he pursued now, there was nearly an eighty percent chance of capturing Chen Xing alive.
Those words were most likely meant to shake him. What could possibly happen to Ji Chenxi? Could those robots really hurt him? And yet, the words were like water splashed into hot oil, the sizzling spray making it impossible for him to stay calm. He only paused for a brief moment before decisively choosing Ji Chenxi—especially when his communicator couldn’t reach him. That worry surged to its peak.
The communication requests failed again and again, and the system’s automated voice prompt felt like some kind of silent warning.
The calculating and composed head of the Chi family was, in the end, just a fool who lost his mind when it came to love.
On Ji Chenxi’s side, all kinds of robots and artificial humans lay scattered across the ground, many reduced to broken limbs and wreckage. Sitting atop a giant robot, Ji Chenxi watched as green characters continuously flickered across the virtual screen in his hand. He calmly analyzed the rapidly scrolling data. As for Chen Xing, with Chi Zhuo there, he wasn’t too worried, so he simply immersed himself in the flood of information.
When he finally noticed movement in the distance, he looked up and saw Chi Zhuo stepping out from the shade of the trees.
“Hm? You came all this way just to find me?”
“I couldn’t reach you on the communicator.”
Ji Chenxi tilted his head, then broke into a smile. “So you came in person?”
“Yes. Chen Xing escaped,” Chi Zhuo stated, delivering the not-so-good news.
“Oh, then I guess you’re here looking for comfort.” Ji Chenxi opened his arms and raised a brow with a grin.
“Want a hug?”
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)
