Yun Chuji woke up at home.
Looking up at the familiar ceiling, she remembered that she hadn’t been back for nearly three months.
However, aside from looking up, she couldn’t manage any more complex movements.
To be precise, she had been shot twice by John’s father—once below the collarbone and once above it. As a result, she was currently in a state of partial paralysis, unable to even sit up on her own.
But this was already very good. In her past life, her family would have been preparing for her funeral by now. But now, when she opened her eyes, she could see another pair of bloodshot ones.
Yun Chuji opened her mouth slightly and let out a sigh first. The person was still staring at her, filled with a resentment that was hard to place.
“How are our flowers doing?” the patient asked weakly.
Tang Jianxi froze for a moment, not even registering the meaning of the question at first.
Flowers?
After a moment, she remembered the two pots of begonias they were raising. They had been left in the care of the AI while they were away. Before leaving, Tang Jianxi had specifically adjusted the AI’s program, preventing it from using the accelerated growth methods common in the Empire. As a result, they were still just small seedlings.
But— “What does this have to do with flowers?”
Yun Chuji’s pale lips curved into an innocent smile. “I was thinking that if the flowers are growing well, I hope you can, for their sake, be a little happier.”
Don’t resent anyone, especially not yourself.
Tang Jianxi heard the unspoken words, which made her eyes, already raw from crying, look even more miserable.
“But you collapsed right in front of me,” she said.
“But I’m fine now.”
“But it was so dangerous. It was so close,” she said, beginning to cry uncontrollably again.
Yun Chuji lifted her right hand, which could still move a little, and held it suspended in the air, waiting for Tang Jianxi to take it.
Instead, Tang Jianxi carefully gathered her entire arm into her embrace, looking as if she were completely drenched in fragility.
Ironically, she had become the very thing she had always feared: she had been tamed by an alpha. The thought of losing her was as unbearable as losing life itself, and her reason and intellect were utterly useless against it.
She had lost control.
But the greatest loss of control was that she no longer cared about this level of losing control.
Yun Chuji sighed again. She blinked pitifully and said to Tang Jianxi, “Seeing you like this makes me really want to kiss you.”
“But I can’t move right now. I don’t have the strength.”
“In that case, Miss Tang Jianxi, could you kiss me?”
“Just one will be fine. Though, if you find the kiss satisfactory, a few more would also be acceptable.”
This Yun Chuji has become quite the smooth talker, at least with me, Tang Jianxi thought in the split second she leaned in to kiss her. In that moment, it was the only thing she could think about.
She only brushed her lips against hers a few times, not daring to hold a long kiss. This was an injured person, after all, even if the patient herself had come up with this method to comfort her.
But Tang Jianxi knew that the fear left by the sound of the gunshot would linger in her life for a long time. With every breath, she would catch the scent of gunpowder and blood. Only by gazing into Yun Chuji’s still-bright eyes could that fear be eased.
Yun Chuji’s hand was still held in her embrace, and the two of them looked at each other, poised as if about to kiss again.
Yun Chuji managed to move her neck, finally planting a kiss on Tang Jianxi’s chin.
“Be happier, Jianxi.”
Tang Jianxi lowered her gaze, her eyelids red, and said fiercely, “That’s because you’re the one lying here!”
Before Yun Chuji could offer a proper rebuttal, Xie Xiaoxiao and Gu Yun, who had been standing by the door for a long time, knocked awkwardly.
They had assumed it would be a brief reunion between lovers, but it was threatening to develop into a feature-length film. It seemed that if they didn’t intervene, the two would spend hours discussing how much they loved each other, punctuated by countless kisses.
In such a situation, bystanders would constantly be struck by a thought called 【I am completely redundant】, which was clearly not conducive to one’s mental and physical well-being.
The knock startled the couple, who had been acting like inseparable lovebirds even before the anesthetic had fully worn off. It also reminded Tang Jianxi of what needed to be done, and she quickly called in the doctor, who had taken one look at the scene and, not being a close acquaintance, had hastily retreated from the room.
Although the doctor had repeatedly assured Tang Jianxi that Yun Chuji’s life was not in danger and that she would not be left with any permanent disabilities, Tang Jianxi had fallen into a state of overprotectiveness. This state had led her to move both patient and doctor back to their home, which had been converted into a hospital room, as soon as the surgery was over. This state had kept her from sleeping for dozens of hours. This state also made her, a 31st-century woman with a strong scientific background, feel a strange kinship with the wives from Yun Chuji’s old hometown who would endlessly pester the village’s barefoot doctor.
The doctor carefully examined Yun Chuji’s vitals. Under Tang Jianxi’s tense gaze, he stated calmly, “The bullets have been removed, and Miss Yun’s body has shown no complications since the wound was sutured. With proper rest, she will recover in due time.”
“How much time is ‘in due time’?”
Normally, a doctor wasn’t obligated to answer such a question, as everyone knew medicine wasn’t omnipotent. But the patient and her family were no ordinary people. So the doctor pondered for a moment, drawing on his professional experience, and finally gave a less vague answer: “About two months.”
Tang Jianxi relaxed. Two months. That was enough time for her to catch the person pulling the strings.
Yes, Tang Jianxi was convinced this was no mere accident or a crime of passion.
She could smell the scent of conspiracy, even though she knew this feeling was partly fueled by her own anger and desperate need to find a true culprit.
But even setting that factor aside, she still felt it was all too coincidental. They had visited many victims and their families. John wasn’t the only one who had died in that incident; two other alphas and four omegas had also lost their lives.
John’s death had garnered so much attention only because, compared to the other deceased, he was more innocent.
He wasn’t a gender extremist; he didn’t even care about the gender conflict. For him, the disaster was completely undeserved. Furthermore, he had driven his car into the crowd only after the marchers had knocked several people down with wine bottles.
All of this made him look like a tragic hero.
In fact, John was now widely mourned within the alpha community.
But the pain a death brings to a family doesn’t change based on how noble the death was. The people they had visited before were in no less pain than John’s father, yet none of them had resorted to violence.
And then there was the gun. That gun shouldn’t have been in the hands of a retired veteran. John’s family didn’t have the military connections to acquire a weapon of that model. Nor did they have the means to obtain equipment that could block Tang Jianxi’s security monitoring devices.
It just had to be John’s father, and his actions just happened to crush the morale of both alpha factions.
This method of killing two birds with one stone… it gave her a sad sense of familiarity.
Tang Jianxi stared at the electrocardiogram beeping beside the bed. Xie Xiaoxiao hesitated, then patted her on the shoulder.
“It’s not your fault.”
Tang Jianxi turned her head and said quietly, “But I’m the one who led her down this path.”
Under the effects of the anesthesia, Yun Chuji had drifted back to sleep. She looked serene and gentle, the white hospital gown accentuating her slender, graceful frame.
Watching this scene, Xie Xiaoxiao slowly raised her right eyebrow. To this extent, she thought, bewitching Tang Jianxi like this seems almost reasonable.
What was unreasonable, however, was happening on Clarence’s end.
“Why use a gun?” The omega prince lifted his eyelids, his azure eyes fixed on his subordinate, who was also one of Spartacus’s leaders.
The female omega bit her lower lip, cold sweat beading on her forehead. “The original plan was to use the drug, but the person delivering it ran into an accident, so…”
Clarence repeated, word by word, “Ran into an accident?”
“His child got into a fight that day and was taken to the police station. He’s divorced and his parents aren’t around, so he had to come back from the station. On the way, he tripped, and the drug was destroyed.”
“And then?” Clarence asked, his voice soft. “I don’t recall giving you the authority to change the plan, did I?”
The curtains were drawn tight, and the air in the spacious conference room was so still it felt suffocating. A drop of sweat from the female omega’s temple fell heavily, hitting the gray floor and leaving a dark mark.
“We thought… that this kind of failure would disappoint you. As it happened, we had a gun, and one of the Empire’s top hackers.”
Clarence tapped his forehead and gave a gentle smile. “Lele, you’ve finally gotten to the point. Tell me, who made you think that this matter would disappoint me?”
Another drop of sweat fell.
After a moment, the female omega named Lele uttered a name.
“Ah, I remember he just arrived not long ago, right? I believe he’s Marco’s cousin.”
Clarence rose from his chair and walked past the woman, who was already on the verge of collapse from fear and guilt. His final words to her were, “Without a doubt, you’ve screwed everything up.”
At his words, Lele crumpled to the floor.
Spartacus. After enjoying its glory in the sun, it seemed the organization would now face its judgment in the sun as well.
And the person who had set this judgment in motion was currently basking in the warm afternoon sun, eyes narrowed, feeling a new life gradually growing within this body.
How disgusting, he thought faintly.
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