When Shadow saw that Chenxi knew the owner of the starship, he let out a small breath of relief.
Unlike the smiling Ji Chenxi and the now-relaxed Shadow, Nether went rigid all at once.
This man gave off a dangerous vibe — just a look and she felt he was more dangerous than those photon cannons pointed at them.
And since he knew Chenxi, he must’ve heard Chenxi’s voice earlier and let them board the ship. Now that they were on board, why were those deadly photon guns still trained on them? Worst of all, the man carried real killing intent.
Even facing that killing intent, Ji Chenxi’s smile stayed perfect, like he’d truly just seen a familiar older brother.
Chi Zhuo didn’t fall for it. His gloved hand rested on his crossed legs with a calm, elegant air as he said coldly, “Didn’t you say my revenge was welcome anytime?”
The unspoken line was: well then, here comes my revenge.
“You heard the rumors and waited here on purpose?” Ji Chenxi frowned slightly — he probably hadn’t expected to be put on the back foot.
Seeing that displeased look, Chi Zhuo actually smiled. “Sort of. You look really…”
After a light, lazy laugh, Chi Zhuo said with a sly edge, “These past few days I’ve been thinking about you every single day.”
He sounded so snide — basically saying he’d been spending every day planning how to kill him.
Ji Chenxi felt he might still be able to salvage things.
There was room to smooth this over between him and Chi Zhuo. If Chi Zhuo truly hated him, he’d have attacked right away, not left him a chance to speak.
Ji Chenxi ran through the banquet in his head fast.
From Chi Zhuo’s side, Ji Chenxi had suddenly pinned him to the wall; later Ji Chenxi had even kindly tracked him down to give him a suppressant. Back then Chi Zhuo had taken him for an omega and tried to mark him — whether because a drug stirred desire or because he’d seen Ji Chenxi’s face and been tempted, Ji Chenxi counted all that as innocent. He’d even asked repeatedly whether Chi Zhuo really wanted the pheromones. The only real problem was Ji Chenxi wasn’t an omega — he’d used alpha pheromones to toy with Chi Zhuo and had marked him. But hey, Chi Zhuo was the one who’d destroyed his earring first.
Makes sense — he could clear his name!
After quickly sorting it all out in his head, Ji Chenxi started his performance. He lowered his brows; his already-handsome face showed a touch of helplessness. “I didn’t expect you’d make such a fuss. If you want revenge, at least come do it yourself.”
Now Chi Zhuo hadn’t even bothered to take out a photon gun to show some respect.
“So Your Highness wants me to get my hands dirty personally! Don’t worry — the final, fatal blow will be delivered by me, personally.”
The moment he called out “Your Highness,” no one on Chi Zhuo’s side moved a hair — even Nether stayed tensed, ready for anything. Only Shadow shot Ji Chenxi an odd look: anyone called “Your Highness” had to be from the imperial family, and the only one who fit being eighteen was the Third Prince.
Ji Chenxi made a soft “hiss.”
Before, the other side had kept saying “you” politely, which left room to maneuver; shouting “Your Highness” so suddenly just proved how murderous they were.
He pulled the black mask off his face. Now that his identity was out, there wasn’t much point in keeping it on.
With the face that the other had admitted was love-at-first-sight fully shown, Ji Chenxi shamelessly put on a pitiful look and said, “Brother Chi Zhuo, I was young and foolish back then. You teased me, you destroyed the keepsake my mother left me — I got angry and behaved badly. You’ll forgive me, right?”
Shadow’s pupils practically shook at that string of words: “Teased… teased?!”
Both of them were alphas, weren’t they? He never guessed Chi Zhuo could be that twisted — not getting someone and getting so shamed he’d fly into a murderous rage!
Compared to that, the people around Chi Zhuo looked much calmer, as if they hadn’t even heard Ji Chenxi speak.
The pretty alpha was saying pitiful things with a voice that almost begged; the one who’d been so bold before was suddenly acting meek. Chi Zhuo looked at that impossibly pretty face and flexed his fingers. He had to admit — just by looks, this was exactly his type. The faint rose scent coming from the gland area, though, was enough for him to set that aside.
“Too bad I’m not really in the mood to forgive,” he said.
“Wait!” Before Chi Zhuo could order his men to act, Ji Chenxi stepped two paces closer. Under the three very watchful stares around Chi Zhuo, he raised his empty hands a little to show he posed no threat.
The middle-aged man who’d been talking with Ji Chenxi scowled like someone trying to crush a fly. He barked, “Step back!”
Ji Chenxi tilted his head and, hands still lifted in a mock surrender, said, “So careful, huh?”
That wasn’t a question — it was a taunt.
So careful, huh? The legendary 3S.
Chi Zhuo read the meaning and showed no sign of offense. Instead he answered, “You have to be careful around Your Highness.”
“So Brother Chi Zhuo never thought of taking it back?” Ji Chenxi asked.
Chi Zhuo raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”
Ji Chenxi had to admit he really disliked people like Chi Zhuo. When they first met, Chi Zhou had been in a mess of pheromones and his moves were easy to read. Now Ji Chenxi couldn’t figure out what Chi was on his mind.
Did he want to kill him? But there was no anger on Chi Zhou’s face, no eager sense of “I can’t wait to kill you.”
Maybe he just wanted to see him frightened?
Ji Chenxi timed everything down to the second — the system’s weapon response, those three people’s reactions — running the numbers in his head again and again, all while keeping up his act in front of Chi Zhuo. “I’m serious about apologizing. If Brother Chi Zhuo can just… take back what you lost, then maybe you won’t be mad anymore. I’d be fine with that too.”
His words were vague, but both of them knew exactly what he meant.
Chi Zhuo asked lazily, “Such humiliation and compromise — doesn’t match what you said before about ‘welcome anytime.’”
“Can’t it be that I couldn’t forget you, and I finally realized I was wrong?”
“Doesn’t sound like it.”
“Then why don’t you tell me what you want? Or what you’re waiting for?”
A cold chuckle. Chi Zhuo finally seemed bored. His gloved hand lifted, fingers about to snap down.
Nether and Shadow couldn’t follow the riddles between the two, but they kept their guard up, muscles tight, ready to shield their employer.
And that’s when everything exploded.
A massive gray-white shadow lunged straight at Chi Zhuo in the center — lightning fast, too fast to believe. The bespectacled female beta pressed the controls of the system’s photon cannon — but it didn’t budge at all.
When had their system been jammed?
The other two — the middle-aged man and the younger one — reacted instantly. One struck at the sudden snow leopard, the other at Ji Chenxi. Ji Chenxi slipped aside like a phantom, tossed a smoke bomb, and in the chaos kicked the younger man’s photon gun clean out of his hands.
The speed stunned the younger man for a split second. He was just about to counter when Ji Chenxi had already dodged the older man’s attack.
Before the younger one could chase, Nether and Shadow jumped into the fray. One moved to pin down the female beta struggling to crack the jammed system, the other intercepted the young man.
In those few seconds, Ji Chenxi’s spirit beast’s first pounce had already been dodged by Chi Zhuo. Of course — at his peak, Chi Zhuo wouldn’t be taken down by a snow leopard. But Ji Chenxi had planned ahead. He flared his pheromones, weaving multiple spiritual attacks to tie Chi Zhuo down. While Ji Chenxi pressed the assault, the older man closed in to guard Chi Zhuo, likely aiming to block the leopard. He never got the chance. Spiritual attacks rained down on him, mixed with photon fire, each strike sharp and precise, locking him up tight.
Chi Zhuo stayed the calmest of them all. It was like he’d known from the start Ji Chenxi would never sit and wait for death. His face barely flickered as he fended off the snow leopard, the layered spirit strikes, and the occasional photon shot.
Not only that, he still found moments to strike back at Ji Chenxi.
And through it all, he sat steady in that chair with wheels, not budging an inch.
What an arrogant stance.
He wasn’t underestimating Ji Chenxi — it was just that his own experience ran deeper, and whether in spirit power or raw strength, he had the edge. Luckily for Ji Chenxi, their gap wasn’t that wide; with spirit power alone, Chi Zhuo couldn’t really hurt him.
But Ji Chenxi hadn’t planned to stop there. Without hesitation, he flared his pheromones. The rolling surge hit Chi Zhuo hard, making him uncomfortable.
The reason a light rose scent could count as an alpha’s pheromones — and a high-ranking alpha’s at that — was because his “rose” came with thorns.
Sure enough, a sudden sharp sting in his gland slowed Chi Zhuo’s smooth glide across the chair. In that instant, Ji Chenxi’s two-hundred-jin “big baby” slammed him down.
It all happened fast — the smoke hadn’t even fully cleared before Chi Zhuo was pinned under Ji Chenxi’s snow leopard, its sharp teeth poised dangerously close to his throat.
“Is this the ending Brother Chi Zhuo was hoping for?” Ji Chenxi asked, smiling.
This smile was far more genuine than the ones before, and the word “Brother” now carried a mocking bite.
“What did you do to my gland?” Chi Zhuo pressed one hand against his neck. He wanted to look at Ji Chenxi, but when he raised his eyes, the first thing he saw was the snow leopard looming at his throat.
Ji Chenxi’s snow leopard was far larger than any ordinary one — a true giant cat, but beautiful. Pale fur dusted with faint spots, eyes the same piercing blue as Ji Chenxi’s own, round and brilliant like cut crystal, or maybe like a vast starry nebula. At the edges, a shimmer of violet-blue glow. The master was striking, and even his spirit beast was a beauty among cats.
Ji Chenxi didn’t care that Chi Zhuo was staring at it. He was already answering the question. “That’s not something I’ll spell out. Everyone’s got their tricks to stay alive.”
He twirled the high-grade photon gun he’d picked up off the ground, lifted it toward Chi Zhuo’s head, and even made a childish “biu” sound with his mouth, just to mess with him.
“I’m actually curious about one thing,” Chi Zhuo said, waving off the middle-aged man who wanted to rush in to help. Even pinned like this, he still had the breath to talk.
Ji Chenxi tipped his chin up, signaling him to go on. Whether he’d answer or not was another matter.
“Does Your Highness really dare to kill?” Chi Zhuo asked. He knew Ji Chenxi had the ability — but having the ability, having the intent, and actually pulling the trigger were three different things.
Ji Chenxi froze for a moment, almost fumbling the photon gun he’d just flipped. “You’re trying to piss me off?”
“No. Just buying time.”
Then Ji Chenxi felt something strange at his leg. He lowered his gaze and saw it: a black mamba, shrunken to a fraction of its usual size, had coiled itself around him. Its venomous fangs glinted as it watched him just like his snow leopard was watching Chi Zhuo.
“Everyone’s got their tricks to stay alive,” Chi Zhuo repeated his words back at him.
Ji Chenxi wasn’t the only one with a spirit beast. Most people avoided showing theirs — spirit beasts revealed too much of one’s real emotions, and forcing them into a physical form drained a lot of spiritual energy. Anyone with low spirit power wouldn’t bother with something so thankless. But clearly, Chi Zhuo wasn’t “most people.”
“…Look, I really am sincerely apologizing,” Ji Chenxi said. “But why’d you have to be so fierce just now? I was only teasing you a little. Can you tell your snake to let go? I’m scared.”
By the end, his voice really did carry a pitiful note.
“Does Your Highness think I believe that?” Chi Zhuo asked.
Obviously not.
Ji Chenxi fell quiet for a moment. “So you plan to just keep locking horns with me like this?”
Chi Zhuo chuckled, while the black mamba wound tighter around Ji Chenxi’s leg, flicking its tongue menacingly.
Ji Chenxi’s snow leopard mirrored it — jaws opening wider, teeth gleaming, just waiting for his command. In the end, both sides froze.
The leopard’s wide-open mouth slowly closed a little. Chi Zhuo, who’d been watching it carefully, laughed again. “You’re adorable.”
Then his hand came down, stroking the big cat’s head.
The snow leopard, feeling no danger, let him.
Chi Zhuo treated the beast better than he treated Ji Chenxi himself. He even pressed its massive head lower, lining its fangs right up against his throat, as if to say, ‘go on, do whatever your master wants.’
Meanwhile, with a snake coiled on his leg, Ji Chenxi was thinking only about blasting Chi Zhuo’s head off with one photon shot.
So damn annoying.
Before their standoff could go anywhere, their starship was surrounded by Red Scorpion’s pirate fleet. The clash between Ji Chenxi and Chi Zhuo had flared too fast, and trust between them was nonexistent. Worse, Chi Zhuo’s ship was still sitting not far from the one Ji Chenxi’s group had just boarded.
“Third Prince, looks like even if I don’t take your life, plenty of others are waiting to,” Chi Zhuo said casually, glancing at the swarm of ships on the screen.
“Shut up!” Ji Chenxi snapped, furious — if not for this guy, he’d have already escaped.
The massive snow leopard mirrored its master’s anger, glaring at Chi Zhuo before flicking out its tongue and giving his neck one hard lick.
Lick. Just one lick.
And everyone knew what that meant — animals licked people to show closeness and trust.
Chi Zhuo: “…”
Ji Chenxi, staring back at Chi Zhuo’s unreadable gaze: “…”
‘Shit. He could explain!!’
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)
