Facing Yun Chuji’s surprised and innocent face, Tang Jianxi leaned in and bit her cheek, leaving a faint mark. Then she asked, “Do you think S-rank alphas are invincible?”
Yun Chuji recalled the crowd of alphas she (and her pheromones) had once taken down, and she nodded hesitantly.
Tang Jianxi bit her other cheek.
“Alphas might not be able to beat you, but are the AI bodyguards just for show?”
Right, there were also those beings of steel.
That was something on a completely different level.
Yun Chuji’s face fell, but her mind had been much quicker lately, and she soon thought of a solution. “The AI bodyguards can only act if they detect an attack, right? I just have to gauge my counterattacks carefully and hold off anyone who starts trouble until the police arrive.”
Still, Tang Jianxi said, “No.”
“It’s too dangerous.”
If it were just a matter of dealing with alphas, it would be manageable. However, from her cool observation of Spartacus’s internal affairs, Tang Jianxi had noticed their rhetoric growing increasingly radical. Even after the Empress agreed to release the list of names, this extremism showed no signs of abating; instead, it was intensifying.
These people were irrationally ignoring the objective circumstances, intending to use the same methods to achieve an even greater victory, unaware that this was already the other side’s final compromise.
And their leader, Clarence, should have sensed this with his royal political acumen and adjusted their direction in time.
But he hadn’t. He was also watching from the sidelines—not because he was busy with more important matters like Tang Jianxi, but with a posture that was almost encouraging.
Tang Jianxi could see that A-Virtue, as a theoretical system attempting to bridge the conflict between alphas and omegas, would not only strike a blow to the lofty pride of alphas but also hinder the intentions of certain omegas to stir up more trouble.
And Spartacus had an endless arsenal of methods for dealing with alphas. Even for an S-rank alpha, the organization had ways to capture them by using omegas as bait.
Tang Jianxi didn’t want Yun Chuji to take that risk, but that didn’t mean the idea itself had no merit.
At the very least, the introduction of A-Virtue would quell some of the omegas’ fanaticism. What omegas should be doing now was using the freedom they had fought for to develop themselves, not expand their influence blindly.
After all, the alphas had an army too.
“Live stream. You can do a live stream,” Tang Jianxi said.
Hearing this familiar term, Yun Chuji instantly remembered Jiang Xiu’s previous invitation. She had been planning to discuss with Tang Jianxi how to use it to earn money and invest in her pharmaceutical research, but now that Tang Jianxi had brought it up first, Yun Chuji immediately pushed all thoughts of Jiang Xiu to the back of her mind.
Ah, she was just a relative she saw once a year, anyway.
And she had pursued Tang Jianxi for two years.
Heh.
“I’ll be giving lectures on the live stream?”
“Yes.” Tang Jianxi nodded. “I’ll set you up in a secure location to broadcast, or you can pre-record the relevant lessons, and then I’ll hide you somewhere safe.”
Like the Omega Legion headquarters, for instance.
Coincidentally, the Third Princess was there, which meant Yun Xuan, who was suspected to be Yun Chuji’s brother, should be there as well.
Two birds with one stone.
By the time Yun Chuji realized what was happening, she was already on a spaceship bound for Golden Phoenix Star.
All she could say was that the distance she had traveled recently was ten times more than the total distance she had traveled in her entire past life.
Yun Chuji still couldn’t wrap her head around it. Wasn’t it the middle of the celebration period?!
Nearly everyone in the Empire was flocking to the Imperial Capital Star; hotel prices there had already quintupled.
And here the two of them were, heading out. No matter how urgent things were, this seemed a bit much.
The live stream wasn’t happening that soon, was it? She hadn’t even finished writing her book.
Hearing this, Tang Jianxi made a small sound of realization. “Ah, I forgot to tell you. Winona decided to enlist. Also, a third of the omegas who were rescued have submitted applications to join the military.”
“They’re currently undergoing physical recovery and stamina training, but Xie Xiaoxiao had already nursed Winona mostly back to health, so her application has been approved.”
“If we go now, we can make it to her farewell party.”
Tang Jianxi reached out and gently closed Yun Chuji’s gaping mouth. “I didn’t deliberately hide it from you this time. I only got the news last night and was planning to tell you today.”
At this, she winked, her eyes crinkling with a smile. “But then I got distracted by kissing and forgot.”
Yun Chuji: “…”
“Ah, speaking of which,” Tang Jianxi leaned in a little closer, her gaze fixed on Yun Chuji’s trembling eyelashes. “You still haven’t given me last night’s poem.”
They hadn’t taken the Tang family’s private ship this time. After all, running off-world during the celebration period would likely earn them a scolding from Tang Ji for “siding with outsiders.” However, since practically no one was traveling away from the capital, the ship bound for Golden Phoenix Star was carrying a full load of cargo but only two passengers: them.
It was practically a private ship.
Yun Chuji and Tang Jianxi had taken over the small garden on the ship. After an AI delivered their desserts, it intelligently retreated from their line of sight.
The two of them sat on a swing chair next to a peach tree that bloomed in all four seasons. Before them was a transparent porthole, and beyond it, the glittering stars of the cosmos.
The time and place were perfect for writing poetry.
But no matter how you looked at it, in any era, writing a love poem in front of the person it was for was an act of excessive self-consciousness, wasn’t it?
Yun Chuji found this difficult, very difficult. Last night, her mind had been completely consumed with the thought of seeing Tang Jianxi soon, leaving no room for poetry. She had only managed to write half a poem, and a rather unsatisfactory one at that.
Miss Yun did not believe such an inferior poem was sufficient to express her feelings.
Seeing Yun Chuji’s hesitant expression, Tang Jianxi guessed what was going on. Although she still only half-understood the poems she had collected so far, that didn’t stop her from putting on an act to tease her. “But I read your poems every night before I go to sleep (by looking up allusions in classical texts until it quickly puts me to sleep). If I go one day without one, my heart feels so empty.”
Yun Chuji viewed Tang Jianxi through a filter thicker than Tang Jianxi herself. She believed there was nothing Tang Jianxi couldn’t do, and even if there was, she would learn it quickly. After hearing Tang Jianxi’s feigned words, a certain honest person with the surname Yun who wished to remain anonymous was on pins and needles, feeling she was truly a terrible person for making Tang Jianxi wait in vain.
It was true. She had been corrupted by the ways of the Empire. Spoiled by freedom, she was no longer the virtuous and praised Young Miss Yun, the shining light of Qingling County.
The young miss, habitually prone to excessive self-reflection, failed to notice that Tang Jianxi was about to burst out laughing. After subjecting herself to a round of intense moral condemnation, Yun Chuji, the contemporary sage of A-Virtue, lifted her determined face, as if she had turned over a new leaf.
And then, she ran off.
Yes, she ran off.
The snort of laughter that escaped Tang Jianxi became the unnoticed soundtrack to a one-act play. Yun Chuji’s suddenly departing back slammed a rusty iron door on Tang Jianxi’s impending fun, and locked it.
The regularly patrolling AI detected that the latte on the table had grown cold and replaced it with a fresh one.
Tang Jianxi stared at the corridor where Yun Chuji had disappeared and said languidly, “Tell me, why do you think that is?”
As the only intelligent physical entity present besides Tang Jianxi, the AI analyzed in less than 0.1 seconds that the human was speaking to it. It then searched its database in another 0.1 seconds and provided a proper response: “Your companion likely has an urgent matter to attend to.”
“While you wait, we recommend you try our company’s newly launched Starry Napoleon. According to user feedback, it has a certain effect in alleviating loneliness.”
Tang Jianxi turned her head and looked at the AI’s face, which, though expressionless, was trying its best to convey goodwill with emoticons. She chuckled softly and said, “Bring me two, then. My companion who is handling an urgent matter might need to try some as well.”
No sooner had she spoken than Yun Chuji, who had run off like a gust of wind, returned just as quickly. She was holding something in her hand; it seemed that was her urgent matter.
Tang Jianxi waited for her with leisurely composure. Then, she was handed a handkerchief embroidered with an iceberg.
Tang Jianxi stared at the iceberg on the handkerchief, the corners of her lips curling slightly. It was actually quite pretty. She slipped it into her pocket without a fuss and asked, “You embroidered this?”
Yun Chuji’s face was still flushed from her run. She nodded, took a moment to catch her breath, and said, “As an apology.”
Then she added, a little nervously, “I embroidered it a while ago. Back then, I didn’t know what an iceberg symbolized.”
So she hadn’t meant to offend!
“It doesn’t matter.” Tang Jianxi took a sip of her latte. “I’m the one using it, anyway. At worst, it just makes me look a little narcissistic.”
Narcissistic?
The thought pricked Yun Chuji’s mind. She couldn’t let Tang Jianxi’s reputation be tarnished.
“Then why don’t you give it back to me? I’ll embroider a new one for you in a few days.”
“We can’t have people calling you narcissistic.”
Tang Jianxi set down her coffee cup and watched Yun Chuji quietly for a moment before giving up on the possibility of reaching a silent understanding with this person who failed to be subtle when subtlety was called for.
“I love it.”
To prevent Yun Chuji from misunderstanding her as narcissistic, she emphasized, “I love it because you embroidered it.”
Yun Chuji’s eyes curved into a smile. She then produced another item, saying with complete confidence, “And here’s something you’ll like even more!”
She presented the love poems she had just dashed off.
Three of them.
She’s so prolific, Tang Jianxi thought with a sense of dread.
Then she met Yun Chuji’s expectant gaze.
Tang Jianxi forced a smile and carefully took the poems, studying the indecipherable text with the same seriousness she would a business proposal.
Yun Chuji was deeply moved and a little proud. So this was how joyful it was to write poems for the one you loved. To think she used to secretly complain that her elder brother was too much of a show-off.
She had left a little surprise in the poems. With Jianxi’s intelligence, she was sure to discover it right away!
Well, it was fine if she discovered it in a little while. She was probably just soaking in the poetic atmosphere.
Yes, waiting a bit longer was also fine. She was probably… correcting her own understanding of the allusions.
Mmm…
Before Yun Chuji could come up with a third reason for Tang Jianxi’s sudden silence, she saw the mask of agony on her face.
Maybe, just maybe, the allusions I used were too egregiously wrong, Yun Chuji thought, continuing her cautious self-reflection.
Tang Jianxi’s voice, spoken through gritted teeth, shattered her fantasy. “Just how many allusions did you cram into this?”
Yun Chuji asked cautiously, “Are there any mistakes?”
Many ancient books had different versions due to their age. Perhaps the version she had read was different from Jianxi’s, or maybe she had simply misremembered.
Tang “Pretend Poetry Enthusiast” Jianxi: “I can’t understand a single line now.”
“Ah?”
After Yun Chuji’s explanation, Tang Jianxi learned that in the poem titled “Message of Spring”—which on the surface was a landscape poem, but whose literal meaning was self-contradictory—the historical figure alluded to in the first line was named Xie Wu, the one in the second line was Ouyang Xin, the one in the third was named Cheng Yue, and the one in the fourth was named Cheng Ni.
Put together, it was—
“Wú xīn yuè nǐ.” (My heart delights in you.)
Tang Jianxi covered her face and gave up the struggle. “Teach me classical poetry.”
Otherwise, she wouldn’t be able to understand her wife’s confessions of love.
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