Long after she hung up the phone, Tang Jianxi still couldn’t collect herself. The gland on the back of her neck was faintly hot—despite the fact that she had already been marked.
Tang Jianxi felt something was wrong. Very wrong.
This defied science.
She was a graduate of S University with a double major, and had even been the valedictorian of her class. Her two degrees were in finance and omega physiology.
Tang Jianxi was confident that she understood her body well enough to control all its changes.
However, something was now happening that went beyond the scope of omega physiology. With her worldly experience, she naturally knew what it might be.
Tang Jianxi glanced at the uniform hanging to one side, sighed, and swallowed all that was left unsaid.
She turned and called her assistant. “Go to the Imperial Botanical Academy and buy me some orchid seeds.”
Flowers and plants were no longer in fashion. Simulated environments could create any scenery one desired. These days, only imperial public spaces planted flowers and greenery as decoration, to highlight their “quaint and noble” imperial style. Therefore, rather than searching through shops of varying quality, going directly to the Imperial Botanical Academy was the most efficient method, though it required calling in a small favor.
On the other end of the line, a bewildered Assistant He agreed.
Then she heard her boss abruptly change her mind. “No, buy crabapple flowers. Buy beautiful ones.”
With that, her boss hung up.
Assistant He remained completely bewildered. As far as she knew, President Tang was not the type to indulge in romantic whims.
Then she thought of that cunning alpha, and her heart sank. For some reason, she had a bad feeling.
A day later, Assistant He delivered the seeds to Tang Jianxi and asked casually, “President Tang, have you taken an interest in gardening recently?”
Tang Jianxi paused for a moment before continuing to remove her sapphire earrings. “They’re a gift.”
“For Miss Yun?”
Tang Jianxi placed the earrings in her jewelry box and began to unclasp her necklace. The glamorous air of the banquet still clung to her, a faint scent of alcohol mingling with the tuberose and cedarwood of her perfume. It made her skin seem fairer, her lips redder, like a tulip blooming upon a crown, meant to be admired by all.
Her expression remained serene as she said softly, “Yes. It’s a gift for her.”
Struck by this beautiful sight, Assistant He forgot to reply. Only when the beauty herself looked at her with a questioning gaze did she hastily lower her head.
Even she, an omega, was moved by President Tang’s beauty—to say nothing of that alpha with ulterior motives.
Assistant He pinched her palm hard before looking up to offer a cautious reminder. “President Tang, are you becoming too invested in that alpha?”
Tang Jianxi had already removed the necklace. Her eyes, flickering between light and shadow, seemed to mirror the brilliant diamonds. She calmly placed the necklace back in its box, then turned slightly and said softly, “I know what I’m doing.”
Realizing she had overstepped, Assistant He quickly unclenched her fist. “I’m sorry, President Tang. I was just…”
Tang Jianxi cut her off with a small smile. “I know. You’re just worried about me.”
“Xiao He, did you know? In reality, that alpha isn’t dangerous at all.”
Hearing this, Assistant He’s disapproval was so strong it nearly twisted her face into a bitter melon. How could she not be dangerous? The scene at the hotel, the backup plans that alpha had revealed, the occasional alpha scent on President Tang… all common sense told her that her boss had been ensnared by that alpha’s insidious schemes.
One could even say the alpha had succeeded, with President Tang’s reluctant compliance.
Perhaps Assistant He’s expression amused Tang Jianxi, because her smile widened, her crimson lips as captivating as a morning rose.
“Xiao He, you’ve been with me for two years. You probably know I’m not the preachy type.”
“But today, I feel I must tell you something. Often, the moments we feel most certain of our own righteousness are precisely when we should be most cautious. That sense of certainty can lead us to judge another’s fate without scrutiny, to impose what we believe to be a moral sentence, only to realize afterward that we’re no different from an executioner.”
“Are you saying that alpha did nothing wrong?”
Tang Jianxi shook her head. “Of course not. But she has already been sentenced for her mistakes.”
“So, you don’t need to worry about her.”
This speech was less for Assistant He and more of an analysis Tang Jianxi was performing for herself. She was desperate to neatly categorize her relationship with Yun Chuji, to keep it from becoming chaotic. Chaos, after all, gives birth to new emotions.
Assistant He lowered her head slightly, the fog of confusion in her mind not yet fully dispersed. But a subordinate could only offer so much advice.
“Good night, President Tang.”
She left, leaving the vacuum-sealed bag of expensive seeds behind.
Alone in the villa, Tang Jianxi changed out of her elaborate evening gown, her body swaying gracefully under the warm yellow light. As she sank into the warm bathwater, she cast a distant glance at the bag of seeds.
I’ll just consider it a gift for my little sister.
She settled on this decision for her own peace of mind.
Thousands of miles away, Yun Chuji was helping her parents pack. After a long period of observation, they had finally let their guard down around the daughter with whom they had reconnected.
There was also a pleasant surprise: they no longer found any extreme alpha-supremacist propaganda materials tucked away in the nooks and crannies of the house.
It seemed that during this period of isolation from the outside world, Yun Chuji had finally managed to clean up her own sordid personal world.
Qin Wan was very pleased by this.
Yun Cheng, too, began to see his daughter in a new light.
The Empire had hidden many of the sensational details of the Activation War securely behind the curtain of history, leaving the public with only the impression of an extremely brutal conflict that must never be repeated.
But as a scholar of Federation history, Yun Cheng was deeply familiar with that sordid past. He knew that the current secondary genders were born from a mad fantasy. The man responsible, William James, had originally been nothing more than a lackey for the upper class. He won their favor by developing the most disgusting, yet nutritionally perfect, food in the Federation’s history.
How disgusting was this food?
To be specific, people at the time called it fodder.
And this Mr. James’s diary revealed that he truly saw all of humanity as livestock to be raised, which was why he was so eager to use extreme measures to achieve a massive leap in the human birth rate.
In the future he envisioned, humanity would breed like rats, and the fodder he developed would raise them to be tall and strong.
By any measure, he would become the Holy Father of humanity.
Unfortunately, after discovering he himself had become an omega, this “Holy Father” seemed unable to bear the glory of being a “Holy Mother” and promptly committed suicide.
For this reason, the recent clamor over so-called extreme alpha-supremacy was merely laughable to Yun Cheng.
The notions that alphas naturally belonged in the upper echelons of society, that omegas should obediently bear children for alphas, and that betas should be content with their role as cheap labor—they were all utterly absurd.
To believe one deserves every advantage simply because of one’s secondary gender was a level of foolishness even an animal wouldn’t display.
And the so-called “natural destiny” was even more ridiculous. History books didn’t detail the lives of the first generation of all-female alphas, but a little digging revealed that under the dark rule of the late Federation, these proto-alphas, before they differentiated, lived the very lives that alphas now wish upon omegas.
The irony was staggering.
So, while he had never said it to his daughter’s face, in his heart, Yun Cheng had always thought of the old Yun Chuji as a stupid pig—one that simply couldn’t be taught.
The more information he gave her, the more extreme the alpha-supremacist pamphlets in her room became.
In the end, Yun Cheng gave up.
He figured only a harsh dose of reality could teach her what true ability was, rather than relying on bloodline or gender to get by without effort.
But before she had even faced a real setback, she seemed to have an epiphany, leaving all those ridiculous ideas behind. Yun Cheng watched the alpha before him, packing with a meek and downcast gaze, and took a shallow breath.
Not only had the gloomy fire in her eyes vanished, but unlike her previously feigned demureness, she was now genuinely quiet—quieter, even, than the omegas she had once so deeply despised.
To be honest, Yun Cheng felt that after more than a decade of being stuck, his daughter had finally turned a corner—and perhaps turned it a bit too sharply.
One example of this was on their third day there, when Yun Chuji brought out two basins of water to give them a foot soak.
At the time, Yun Cheng’s opinion of her hadn’t yet changed, and he almost suspected she had poisoned the water, planning to seize their inheritance.
Before Yun Cheng could refuse, Qin Wan, completely overwhelmed by her daughter’s sudden display of filial piety, eagerly put her feet in the water.
Under the intense gazes of both mother and daughter, Yun Cheng had no choice but to brace himself and soak his feet.
As it turned out, it was… quite comfortable.
“I bought some medicinal herbs on the Starnet and made some foot soak packets,” Yun Chuji, who was attending to them, explained softly.
Qin Wan asked in surprise, “When did you learn this?”
Yun Chuji lowered her eyes and said, “I learned it from someone in the past.”
She had learned it from her mother, who came from a family of imperial physicians, but she had only learned the basics. Her mother, too, only knew the basics. In her mother’s family, medical arts were passed down to sons, never to daughters. A daughter who married out could only learn a few simple wellness remedies, but that was enough to ensure the daughters of the Qin family made good marriages.
Qin Wan just said, “Oh,” and didn’t press the matter. Instead, she asked, “Why is it just us? Aren’t you having one?”
“I didn’t make many packets. I wanted Father and Mother to test the effects tonight. If you like them, I’ll make more tomorrow for you to take home.”
At that moment, looking at this daughter who was the very picture of a “little padded jacket,” Yun Cheng’s suspicion that she had poisoned the water grew even stronger.
How could a person become so considerate all of a sudden?
Then that night, his insomnia greatly improved.
And now, he couldn’t do without them.
Yun Chuji placed a gift for her younger sister—a signed album by Ye Lingyu—into the luggage. She had found it in the original owner’s closet. Based on the gift wrap, it had been intended as a present for Yun Chuwan last year but was never given for some reason. Yun Chuji rewrapped it for her parents to take back, figuring she might as well fulfill the original owner’s rare display of kindness.
She also had the foot soak packets for her parents, formulated to treat insomnia and boost energy. For Yun Chuwan, considering she was busy preparing for her major exams, she prepared packets designed to nourish the body and clear the mind.
The Qin family’s secret recipes were not to be shared, and even in this new time and space, Yun Chuji had no intention of breaking that rule. She simply told Qin Wan and Yun Cheng to contact her when they ran out of packets, and she would immediately prepare more and send them over.
After everything was packed, Yun Chuji said good night and planned to return to her room to continue reading.
Just then, Yun Cheng suddenly stopped her. “You’ve changed a lot.”
Yun Chuji’s back stiffened. Her disguise, she admitted, had been rather clumsy lately.
But his next words were, “You seem much better now.”
Yun Chuji pressed her lips together, her expression complex. She turned back to him. “Thank you for the compliment, Father.”
“It’s just, calling us ‘Father’ and ‘Mother’ is a little strange. Is it because you’re studying ancient culture?” As a renowned historian of the Federation, Yun Cheng might have a stern exterior, but he wasn’t one for strict formalities.
So he said, “It sounds respectful, but it’s too distant. From now on, just call us Dad and Mom, like you did when you were little.”
“…”
“Um… Dad.”
A smile imperceptible to others touched Yun Cheng’s sculpted face. “Yes, Xiao Ji. Good night.”
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