This time, Ji Chenxi’s expression was genuinely strange. Gentle?
What a joke.
He didn’t see himself as the ‘gentle’ type. Returning Chi Zhuo’s protective suit was only because he could light his own fire now.
“Are you trying to charm me now…?” Ji Chenxi asked with a hint of a smile, as if joking.
Chi Zhuo didn’t reply, and Ji Chenxi didn’t make any sudden moves either—he didn’t want any weird labels stuck on him.
Gentle, huh?
Ji Chenxi lowered his gaze and fiddled with the fire.
Somewhere deep in his memory, a woman had said something like that once.
Emotions were tricky to read, but Chi Zhuo still caught the dip in Ji Chenxi’s mood in an instant.
“You don’t seem to like that word very much?”
Ji Chenxi chuckled softly. “It’s not that I dislike it… it’s just not meant for me.”
That was where the conversation should have ended—there wasn’t much left to say between them.
“Seems like I really upset you, then.” Chi Zhuo, sensitive to the shift in mood, couldn’t help but add that one line.
“None of your business.” Ji Chenxi’s voice had grown cold now.
“Third Prince, why do you flip so easily?”
“You’re really annoying,” Ji Chenxi said, unsure whether he should laugh or be angry. Was Chi Zhuo trying to pry into his mind?
“Yeah, it’s normal for me to be annoying. No one ever called me likable.”
“Hmph… what’s going on with your pheromones, anyway?” Now that the surroundings were relatively safe, Ji Chenxi finally asked the question that had been on his mind.
“What do you think, Your Highness?”
“I’d say it’s not just your pheromones that are messed up… even your spiritual power is off,” Ji Chenxi said, certain.
Chi Zhuo regretted speaking earlier, but as a temporary ally, he revealed a little. “At that party… they tampered with my drink. It’s one thing that my pheromones got messed up—but right after, I realized my spiritual power couldn’t function properly either.”
No wonder, back then, after he’d marked Chi Zhuo, the other hadn’t immediately come after him. Thinking back to their recent encounter and the condition of Chi Zhuo’s spiritual body, it all started to make sense.
“Your spiritual realm… it’s not about to collapse, is it?”
“Not quite.”
Ji Chenxi wasn’t fully convinced. He even found himself wondering whether Chi Zhuo being caught up in that chase had been by choice or by circumstance.
The final conclusion was simple: this person ran deep waters.
That book had been written entirely from Bai Anran’s perspective, leaving Ji Chenxi completely unable to read this person.
He picked up a stick, snapped it, and dropped it onto the fire.
In the dim cave, the flames danced and flickered.
Ji Chenxi closed his eyes for a short rest, using the cold wind to slow down anyone chasing them. Just a simple pause.
Chi Zhuo’s pheromones had leaked out—sooner or later, someone would come looking. Ji Chenxi didn’t dare sleep deeply. He only drifted into a shallow rest.
The flickering firelight carried him back to an afternoon years ago.
A warm, sun-drenched afternoon. A young Ji Chenxi cradled a tiny snow leopard, basking in the sunlight. He was like a little, curious cub, interested in everything around him—picking up stones, poking at an awkward-looking grasshopper.
Then he found an injured little sparrow. Little Ji Chenxi carefully picked it up, holding it gently, and turned to the graceful woman beside him. “Can we help it?”
The woman bent slightly, touched his head, and in a voice as soft as spring wind, said, “Little Rose, you’re such a kind-hearted child.”
Little Ji Chenxi’s eyes curved into a smile at the praise.
But the woman was always somber, staring into one direction. Young Ji Chenxi’s favorite thing was to hold her gaze on himself.
At night, he’d put on his pajamas, hug the tiny snow leopard, and go find her, saying he was afraid he couldn’t sleep.
Back then, he was like a delicate rose in a greenhouse—someone who needed care and protection. Like his spiritual body, he seemed timid, but he wasn’t truly afraid of the dark. He didn’t really care about the bird; he had picked it up just because he knew she was watching.
Eventually, he let the bird go. He had noticed that the woman’s eyes grew sadder as she looked at the bird trapped in the cage. Once released, she smiled softly, and the way she looked at Ji Chenxi turned even warmer, filled with tenderness.
“Little Rose, you’re such a gentle child. What will you do if someone hurts you in the future?”
The fragments of this dream passed quickly, but he no longer wanted to watch. Little Ji Chenxi wasn’t as innocent as the woman imagined—every action he took was calculated, every move designed to weave a beautiful, unwithering dream for her.
But that dream inevitably shattered. She saw through him, saw his true self.
Like a rose at its peak, the woman lost control for the first time. She shoved him away and repeated over and over, “You’re just like him.”
Confused and helpless, he watched as that true rose slowly withered before his eyes.
Gentle, huh? Hah!
The other person was the truest definition of gentle—but the gentler someone was, the deeper they could wound.
The night dragged on, bone-chilling and endless. Even with the snow leopard curled beside him and the fire flickering in front, Ji Chenxi still felt cold.
The biting chill made him restless, and he caught the slightest movement from Chi Zhuo immediately.
The snow leopard’s ears twitched, and it opened its eyes along with its master.
Ji Chenxi tilted his head to look and saw Chi Zhuo leaning against the cave wall. By most standards, Chi Zhuo was a very alpha presence—just one look made him feel dominant and strong. Ji Chenxi hadn’t paid much attention before, but now, seeing Chi Zhuo flushed unnaturally, there was an unexpected hunger in his expression.
Ji Chenxi frowned and moved closer, intending to touch Chi Zhuo’s forehead—but his hand was immediately caught by the very eyes-closed person.
A hand, unnaturally hot, gripped his wrist tightly. Chi Zhuo’s eyes opened, his lowered gaze tracing Ji Chenxi’s hand upward as he called out a name.
“Ji Chenxi.”
Ji Chenxi responded casually.
By now, he was certain—this wasn’t a fever caused by pheromones. Chi Zhuo was genuinely burning up.
His black hair was damp, and his normally sharp, cold gaze was hazy. That haze, combined with the fever, made him almost intoxicating, the heat turning into raw, unrestrained desire.
Ji Chenxi’s frown deepened. He lightly shook the wrist he was being held by and said coldly, “Let go.”
The hand didn’t loosen—instead, it gripped tighter, drawing the slight coolness from Ji Chenxi’s hand.
Looking down at him, Ji Chenxi repeated, “You’re making me a little sore here. If you don’t—”
Before he could finish, the hand finally released. Chi Zhuo sank back against the cold wall, pressing tightly against it.
“I’m not feeling well.” The chill of the wall brought a little clarity back to Chi Zhuo. He said this calmly, almost matter-of-factly.
“Huh… I can see that.”
Ji Chenxi hadn’t wanted to bother, but the memory of the person’s disappointment from long ago tugged at him. His eyes darkened with a complicated emotion, and he rose to his feet.
He rummaged through the dry sticks he’d brought, and after a short while, Ji Chenxi built a small wooden rack. He placed the water he’d purified earlier over the fire to heat. Once it was warm, he used the container’s lid to bring a little over to Chi Zhuo.
“Drink.”
Chi Zhuo’s glands were constantly heating, pheromones spilling out, and he could feel his scent entwining around that impossibly attractive alpha, just like it had from the start.
The alpha in front of him didn’t have any omega-soothing pheromones, but Chi Zhuo’s own scent wrapped him tightly nonetheless.
The warm water was right there, yet Chi Zhuo didn’t drink. Instead, he made a promise—more solemn than before.
“If there’s any danger later, I’ll protect you completely.”
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)
