ALSACW – Chapter 79

Yun Chuwan was seventeen this year. The Imperial Examination was six months away, and her differentiation was eight months away.

This timing was a result of the Empire’s deliberate planning. Alphas and omegas generally entered their differentiation period three months after reaching adulthood. While individual cases varied based on constitution, the fluctuation was typically no more than a month.

Newly differentiated alphas and omegas found it difficult to control their pheromones. If differentiation occurred before the examination, it could significantly affect their scores. In the Empire, academic qualifications were a crucial credential. For instance, to move from an outer ring to an inner ring, proof of education was a required document in addition to proof of assets.

After the examination, the Empire granted these adolescents on the verge of differentiation a five-month holiday, allowing them to either adapt to their newly differentiated bodies or find a suitable partner within that time.

Yun Chuwan wanted neither.

Right now, she wanted to differentiate into a beta.

After all, her sister’s genetic test had been wrong, so it didn’t seem impossible for hers to be wrong too.

That live broadcast had terrified her. She had originally wanted to get a good look at the sister she hadn’t seen in so long, even using a stomachache as an excuse to skip half a day of class. Instead, she had glimpsed the absurdity and cruelty of the adult alpha and omega world post-differentiation.

What kind of person would she become in the future? Prey? Or food?

Yun Chuwan didn’t know, but she was already beginning to feel a premature sense of dread.

To combat this disquieting fear, Yun Chuwan followed those charismatic and powerful omegas, becoming a reserve member of Spartacus. There, she learned things she had never been taught before, came to understand the dark history of the Empire, and developed an even deeper aversion to the alpha gender.

But this did nothing to curb her fear.

She still woke from nightmares every night. In her dreams, she would fall into a bloody trap surrounded by flowers and candy. Inside the trap were the bodies of her predecessors. She was engulfed by rotting flesh, suffocating to death before she could die from her wounds.

Her grades plummeted.

Yun Chuwan didn’t dare tell her parents. If she did, they would surely forbid her from using the StarNet to participate in Spartacus activities.

But it was the only place she could feel even slightly better.

Although she vaguely sensed that it was also making her worse; her fragile mind couldn’t bear so much darkness and sin.

Yet it was truly her only sanctuary. Even if it was like drinking poison to quench her thirst, it was better than surrendering on the spot.

Then, her sister came back.

She seemed to have changed a lot. The change wasn’t very obvious during their comm calls, but face-to-face, her aura was on full display. You could clearly feel that she had become more likable; she had a comfortable, approachable air about her.

Yun Chuwan had never dared to initiate a conversation with her before, afraid of angering her. But now, even though Yun Chuwan was filled with disgust and rejection for alphas as a group, she couldn’t feel the slightest bit of ill will toward the woman smiling and putting food on her plate.

Besides, Yun Chuwan then remembered, she had proposed A-Virtue.

And she was going to marry Miss Tang. Miss Tang! The omega warrior who had exposed the Glory conspiracy!

A great senior of Spartacus!

So, Yun Chuwan mustered her courage. After dinner, while her father was still reeling from the shock of the marriage announcement, she invited her alpha sister for a walk outside.

The Yun family was well-off, having purchased a sizable villa in the fifth ring of A-District. The money came partly from her parents’ salaries—the Empire had always treated its civil servants and professors well—and partly from dividends from the family business.

Yun Cheng’s father had been quite successful in business, making him an oddity in the Yun family’s academic atmosphere. To cover up his own insecurities, he had forcefully pushed all his children down the academic path, leading to the current awkward situation where there was almost no one to succeed him. The only person helping to manage the business now was Yun Chuwan’s omega cousin from her second aunt’s side.

The old man had favored alphas over omegas his entire life, but in his old age, he had no choice but to hold his nose and teach his only reliable omega heir.

But compared to those who sold off their shares for research funding, an omega seemed tolerable.

Yun Chuwan used to admire this cousin the most, but now she admired Tang Jianxi above all. As for the gentle sister walking beside her, Yun Chuwan’s feelings were a bit complicated, caught between wanting to be close and not daring to be.

Yun Chuwan tried to recall her thought process when she had asked her sister out, hoping to find the courage to say what she really wanted to say, instead of focusing the conversation on empty pleasantries like how her studies were going.

Yun Chuji saw her struggle. She stopped in front of a snow-white statue and asked gently, “Chuwan, is there something you want to say to me?”

The person before her was a rare S-rank alpha, yet she exuded no threatening aura. Her posture was upright and elegant, like an orchid Yun Chuwan had once seen in biology class. The young girl’s eyes were rimmed with red. The fear of the past several days had become unbearable. Her face, which resembled Yun Chuji’s, trembled slightly as she described the dream that had been tormenting her.

“Sister, I don’t want to differentiate.”

The girl concluded.

The night breeze was gentle. The fence outside the house was equipped with an excellent sound-absorbing device, so none of the clamor from the ongoing festival preparations penetrated the residence, which was built in a style typical of the Federation era. Every part of this place embodied the word ‘efficiency.’ There were no plants where they walked; besides the Federation-era statues, there were only suspended pathways leading to every door and window of the house. The entire structure resembled a large animal bound by layers of a net.

There was no chirping of insects, no calls of birds. It was as tranquil as the purest night.

Even though the lights here were bright.

Yun Chuji sighed, adding a bit of sound to the silence. She bent down and looked earnestly at this sister from another world. In the original owner’s memory, she was a smart and well-behaved girl. Yun Chuji hadn’t expected the repercussions of this turmoil to be so widespread that even undifferentiated adolescents were plagued by nightmares. She placed a hand on the girl’s thin shoulder and said with a smile, “Don’t worry. By the time you grow up, the world will be a better place.”

“Jianxi, Marshal Chu, myself, and many, many others—we are all working hard to eliminate this nightmare. The bad people have been exposed now, and many of them will receive the punishment they deserve. By the time you grow up, these things won’t happen anymore.”

“What you need to do now is eat well, study hard, and grow up to be outstanding enough to help make this world even better.”

Yun Chuwan was stunned for a few seconds. She blinked, and the tears that had been welling up slid down her smooth, delicate face, but no new ones formed. In her best-case scenario, she had imagined Yun Chuji would promise to protect her, that no evil alpha would be able to interrupt the beautiful, free life she was meant to have. That would have fit the image of excellent alphas as heroes and knights. But Yun Chuji gave a completely different answer. She said the world would get better.

In that instant, Yun Chuwan felt as if she were enveloped by something vast and warm, something that pointed toward a vast and warm destination. Her sister and her sister’s partner were striving to pave the road that led there.

Spartacus had made her confront the darkness, but Yun Chuji was guiding her toward the light. Now, in Yun Chuwan’s heart, Yun Chuji’s image was even grander than that of Spartacus. The fickle and restless mind of an adolescent made her previous melancholy vanish completely.

She said excitedly, “So, Sister, did you propose A-Virtue to make the world a better place too?”

Yun Chuji nodded. “Our world lacks a virtue for the strong toward the weak.”

“But I haven’t done enough. I was too timid before. Now, I can do more.”

Yun Chuwan’s eyes lit up. She felt a surge of power, not the kind born from a stress response to fear, but a passion to strive. She blurted out, “Can I help you with anything?!”

Hearing this, her sister smiled faintly. The hand on her shoulder guided her to turn around, leading her toward the path to the villa’s second floor. Her gentle voice drifted on the wind, “You just said your studies have fallen behind quite a bit?”

Yun Chuwan’s expression stiffened. “…Sister, everyone is celebrating during the festival. It’s too despicable to study at a time like this.”

“My dear sister, studying is far nobler than celebrating.”

“…”

After taking Yun Chuwan back to her room, Yun Chuji sat in the original owner’s large, comfortable chair. In front of her was a new desk she had acquired that day. On it was a stack of papers containing her completed thesis and some short essays assigned by Professor Chu. What she was currently writing was the A-Virtue system she was constructing, a fusion of the Four Books and Five Classics, traditional texts on female virtue and conduct, and the history of the Federation and the Empire.

In Yun Chuji’s view, establishing a moral code for all living beings was the work of a sage. As a woman who, just three months ago, had read nothing besides the Admonitions for Women and a few poetry collections, for her to undertake such a task was both an overestimation of her own abilities and an act of presumption.

But under the light, a sharp intelligence began to bloom on Yun Chuji’s young face. It didn’t make her gentle disposition severe; rather, it created a convincing aura. She had no ambition to become a sage. She only hoped to introduce a new way of thinking for alphas.

Over the past few days, she had read many comments from alphas on the StarNet. Admittedly, there were some reasonable people among them—for example, Feng Ling, whom she had met at the training camp, had once pulled her into a flame war against a group of extremist alphas, furiously denouncing them for siding with villains. But the majority of them subconsciously displayed an anger rooted in the fear of losing control over their possessions.

It was strange. Given the current alpha-omega ratio, even with Yun Chuji’s rudimentary math skills, she knew that at least half of these indignant alphas would never have an omega partner. In reality, cracking down on the Glory conspiracy, condemning the upper-class alphas’ practice of buying and selling omegas, and expanding omegas’ autonomy and freedom in choosing a partner were all beneficial to alphas as a whole.

So, were they angry because they didn’t have an omega partner?

Or because they didn’t have an omega partner who was beneath them?

Yun Chuji sincerely posted her question, only to be reported and muted. Thus, the real StarNet account of the Yun Chuji who had a high-priced bounty on her head across the entire network was forced into silence within an hour of its appearance.

For this, Feng Ling praised her for her high-level trolling.

In another three days, she should be able to finish organizing this system. There wasn’t much original content; her work was more about summarizing, synthesizing, and elevating existing ideas—Professor Chu’s training in writing papers had indeed been a great help.

However, this was actually what most people were doing these days—if they were thinking for the sake of truth, that is. After all, human civilization had progressed for so many long years. With today’s excellent data preservation technology, the sheer number of cultural classics undoubtedly represented the zenith of human civilization. Everyone had to admit that when it came to the question of human nature, the wall had already been so densely covered by their predecessors that there seemed to be little room left for them to write.

An alarm sounded. Yun Chuji put down her pen. Her work for the day was temporarily finished.

The alpha opened her comm, clicked on the familiar name, and sent her love letter for the day.

The omega who received the love letter was half-reclining in bed. It was 12:16 AM. 12.16—the date of the day they first met.

Tang Jianxi printed out the love letter. The bright, clear regular script was beautiful to look at.

It would have been even better if the content wasn’t classical Chinese poetry.

Tang Jianxi was very touched, but she couldn’t understand it.

This was the third such love letter she had received. Since they had parted, Yun Chuji had sent her a ‘brocade letter from afar’ at this time every day. She couldn’t understand a single one.

Tang Jianxi had once taken one to her father for analysis, wanting to see what meaning these familiar characters expressed that could make them feel so foreign to her.

After careful consideration, Professor Chu had said it was a love poem expressing the poet’s longing for their lover, supported by such-and-such imagery, and he praised the sincerity of the poet’s emotions.

And so, Tang Jianxi knew it was a love poem.

Then she quietly began studying ancient poetry.

Tang Jianxi sent a long, passionate, and clingy message on her comm, using the Empire’s way of confessing love. She guessed Yun Chuji must be feeling shy again. Miss Tang maturely stroked her chin. When dating a little maiden from ancient times, no matter how you looked at it, she ought to take the initiative to bridge the generation gap.

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