At first, their teamwork was a mess. When one of them couldn’t see, no matter how much the other tried to guide them, there was always a slight delay or they would act too soon.
Ji Chenxi had more than a few moments where he felt like the other guy was just trying to walk him straight into a tree.
If it weren’t for the fact that the other had absolutely no reason to mess with him, Ji Chenxi might have sworn it was on purpose.
While Ji Chenxi felt uneasy, Chi Zhuo wasn’t having a great time either. That kind of uncertainty—having to rely entirely on someone else’s voice to figure out the world—was deeply uncomfortable.
Chi Zhuo wasn’t the kind to trust easily. This kind of trial, trying to sync with another person, was even harder than letting a spiritual form scout the way. But just as Ji Chenxi had put away his spiritual form to let Chi Zhuo carry him, Chi Zhuo, through this very act, was showing trust—and so, he allowed Ji Chenxi to become his eyes.
“You can relax a little,” Ji Chenxi finally said, brushing past tree branches more times than he could count, and this time he spoke something completely unrelated to directions.
Chi Zhuo, who had been moving at a fairly brisk pace, slowed down a bit.
“Yeah, you can slow down. Listen to my voice and get used to the rhythm of my instructions.” Ji Chenxi’s voice sounded unexpectedly gentle.
Chi Zhuo stayed silent for a moment. At a slight questioning tone from Ji Chenxi, he said, “It’s completely dark in front of me. Everything’s still. I can’t tell anything apart.”
At that moment, his other senses seemed useless. He couldn’t feel anything around him—only the occasional brush of wind hinted at where the trees were.
Ji Chenxi’s tone brightened. “But you’ve got me!”
And in his heart, Chi Zhuo thought, ‘Yeah, but you’re all sugar and knives.’
The reason their teamwork had been so off was simple: they had no foundation of trust. Ji Chenxi even had a fleeting thought of suggesting they split up—that maybe, given the way things were, even if danger came tonight, the two of them together might not add up to more than the sum of their parts.
But that idea vanished almost as soon as it appeared. He liked challenging himself.
Like getting someone who guarded themselves completely to try trusting him.
Human relationships are both ridiculously simple and impossibly complicated. People gravitate toward those like themselves but also admire those completely different. As for Chi Zhuo, Ji Chenxi didn’t bother trying to fit any “role” here—he just showed a bit of genuine honesty.
He lowered his voice and said to Chi Zhuo, “Let’s set up a few basic words. Simple directional words first. I won’t say things like ‘hundreds of meters’ anymore. Apart from clock directions, ‘up’ means there’s an obstacle—you just need to step over it. ‘Down’ means you need to duck or bend to avoid branches or vines. I’ll let you know right away if anything else comes up.”
“And when I tap your shoulder quickly, it means there’s nothing in the way. If I hook your neck, slow down. And if you have any thoughts, just tell me straight.”
After going through everything, Ji Chenxi felt it was enough—but he still added, “It’s all dark in front of you, but I’m on your back now. I can see, and for both our safety, I’ll guide you properly.”
After saying that, he felt a little awkward. Yeah… he really shouldn’t have added that last part.
That feeling of seemingly peeling yourself open wasn’t exactly pleasant.
In the direction Ji Chenxi couldn’t see, Chi Zhuo’s eyes grew darker and darker, like a bottomless chasm in the deep sea.
After that, their cooperation got noticeably smoother. Ji Chenxi could even adjust their pace a little. But the downside was that their initial period of syncing had been a bit too long. On top of that, Chi Zhuo’s pheromones, for some unknown reason, kept leaking out. This wasn’t something even his suppression ring could fully control—clearly, it was abnormal.
But at this moment, Ji Chenxi had no time to figure out the reason. They had barely walked for over half an hour when they were caught up to.
A massive, reckless photon cannon shot came straight at their position.
“Fall back! They’re here!”
Chi Zhuo reacted instantly, pulling Ji Chenxi back dozens of steps to dodge the first blast. But the second and third blasts followed almost immediately.
Ji Chenxi guided him with directions. They managed to dodge the second shot, but the third and fourth were coming from tricky angles and at lightning speed, nearly cutting off every step Chi Zhuo could take.
Running into the two top attackers at once, the Red Scorpion Star Pirates were probably popping champagne in excitement.
Ji Chenxi wasn’t someone to sit idle, though. Breaking a photon cannon with his spiritual power would have been nearly impossible, but diverting its trajectory slightly, just to use a bit more effort, was easy enough.
After deflecting those two cannon blasts, the Red Scorpion crew dared not fire again. Chi Zhuo had already placed Ji Chenxi in a relatively safe spot, warning him, “If it gets too bad, let your spiritual form out. Don’t die.”
Ji Chenxi felt an odd sense of being taunted. “Copy that,” he replied, almost teasing.
Chi Zhuo quickly returned to the main battlefield, using the sound of slicing through the air to dodge two attacks.
“Give me directions.”
It was clearly meant for Ji Chenxi.
He almost laughed.
Crazy… he was seriously planning to use the people chasing them as practice to sync their teamwork.
“You’re not afraid I’ll give wrong directions on purpose?” Ji Chenxi’s expression carried both teasing and gentleness—a strange, contradictory harmony in those long, sharp eyes that was oddly captivating.
“You speak, I’ll follow,” Chi Zhuo said.
Ji Chenxi clicked his tongue softly and immediately started giving precise directions. Chi Zhuo’s combat ability was terrifying—he neutralized countless incoming threats. Every instruction Ji Chenxi gave was followed without hesitation. Combined with his sense of the surrounding air sounds, even without his spiritual form, he looked far from blind.
Ji Chenxi’s presence had made what was supposed to be a smooth hunt for Chi Zhuo suddenly much more complicated.
Zuo Xian glanced at Ji Chenxi and gently patted his subordinate. “Amis, go take care of him.”
“Just me?” Amis asked. She had heard that the prince ahead was S-class.
“Don’t worry. He won’t dare kill directly. The two people who ran into him before didn’t die,” Zuo Xian said confidently.
It wasn’t hard to guess what was happening. Chi Zhuo’s pheromones were seriously out of control, and to deal with the two previous attacks, he had clearly relied heavily on Ji Chenxi’s help. Ji Chenxi, a young prince raised in an ivory tower and spoiled by countless people, could carry out a kill even in the dark—but if there was even a moment of hesitation in a direct fight, Amis could easily turn the tables and kill him.
This was Zuo Xian giving Amis a chance to climb higher.
Amis, an S-class in physical ability and A-class in spiritual power, was more than capable of taking down the young prince.
Ji Chenxi was still focused on giving Chi Zhuo directions, even as more and more people fell. The smell of blood was strong enough to reach his nose. He wrinkled it slightly—this scent was unpleasant, to say the least.
Then he noticed a tiny figure moving toward him at incredible speed, staying perfectly hidden. A female alpha. If not for her terrifying physical strength, Ji Chenxi might have thought she was an omega. Unlike most alphas, who tend to be physically strong but spiritually weaker, omegas are usually the opposite—high spiritual power, low physical ability.
Even with part of his attention on the approaching woman, Ji Chenxi could still guide Chi Zhuo, almost as if he hadn’t noticed her at all. When a photon bullet shot straight at him from her hand, he simply sidestepped it.
Amis knew he had noticed her, yet she still closed the distance. She hadn’t earned Deputy Zuo Xian’s favor because she was obedient or a good starship pilot—it was her terrifying close-combat skills that made her stand out.
Once the tiny woman was close enough to attack, Ji Chenxi realized she was skilled. He continued giving Chi Zhuo directions at a steady pace while simultaneously engaging Amis in combat.
He casually swung his dagger in a flourish, and Amis felt slightly underestimated. Of course—this young master clearly hadn’t been through much.
She drew a double-edged blade from her lower back and rushed forward for a kill.
The first strike was caught by Ji Chenxi’s dagger, but don’t forget—Amis was using a double-edged weapon.
Ji Chenxi gracefully stepped back. A twisted ankle limited him somewhat, but it was still manageable.
Compared to a long weapon, his dagger with a sapphire inlay was tiny—more like a delicate piece of art than a real weapon.
Yet in the face of absolute strength, even a dagger no bigger than a palm was enough to kill a person.
When the dagger slid into the neck, Amis was momentarily in disbelief. ‘Wasn’t he supposed to not dare to kill?’ And the very person who had just plunged the dagger into someone’s throat was still giving directions to Chi Zhuo, who was finishing up the last of his own tasks.
In an instant, Amis understood—this person might respect life to a degree, but when it came to killing, he was just as decisive and efficient.
“One more,” Ji Chenxi said softly.
A long spiritual whip materialized in his hand, snapping suddenly toward Zuo Xian.
Zuo Xian’s attention wasn’t just on Chi Zhuo—he’d also noticed Ji Chenxi. That’s when he saw the young man almost elegantly drive a beautiful dagger into his subordinate’s neck.
So when the whip came, Zuo Xian reacted immediately. He backed off just in time. The spiritual whip wasn’t like any ordinary whip—it moved according to Ji Chenxi’s will, concentrated at his fingertips.
Projecting spiritual power like this was something every S-class could do. Zuo Xian had seen plenty of S-classes. He himself was nearly S-class. Yet he was certain—Ji Chenxi was far beyond just S-class.
“You’re an SS—” the question barely left his mouth before being cut off.
While dodging Ji Chenxi’s whip, he almost forgot there was another dangerous presence behind him—the person their leader had wanted. One hand gripped his neck and twisted hard. His neck snapped.
Ji Chenxi casually retracted his spiritual whip, smiling. “Not bad. This time you found them without me even giving directions.”
“He was a bit loud,” Chi Zhuo commented.
Ji Chenxi chuckled softly, “Mm-hmm.”
Following the sound, Chi Zhuo came to stand in front of him. He didn’t ask if Ji Chenxi was hurt. Instead, he crouched down and said, “It’s getting dark.”
“Oh?”
Chi Zhuo glanced back. He actually couldn’t see anything, but it was a signal for people to move closer.
“We should find somewhere to stay for the night.”
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)
