“Tsk… I underestimated him.” Bai Chunian recalled details from the ATWL exam. He had instinctively treated Lu Yan as a protected target, letting him sit back and collect kills, giving him almost no chance to truly show himself.
A person’s differentiation level isn’t as immediately obvious as their gland-based traits. Only when someone uses their level-specific abilities or intentionally displays their rank via pheromones can it be recognized. If someone intends to hide their level, an ordinary observer wouldn’t notice it at all.
Glands can be preserved separately or transplanted for pairing. While gland hunters have nearly disappeared under strict Alliance enforcement, the lure of high rewards ensures some still dare to risk their child’s life. Parents likely instructed their children repeatedly, especially in chaotic exams like ATWL, not to reveal their differentiation level. If targeted, even if the opponent is also m2 differentiated, differences in age, experience, combat skill, psychological resilience, and mastery of abilities often decide the outcome—factors beyond mere talent.
Calming himself, Bai Chunian thought: even if Lu Yan is m2 differentiated now, it doesn’t change much. In the training base, there are few but some m2 differentiated trainees. Though Lu Yan is young and highly moldable, his identity places restrictions. Not even Jin would allow his own son to participate in such harsh and dangerous training.
After weighing it, Bai Chunian decided to continue teaching Bi Lanxing overall tactics. He lowered the electronic screen and drew a team formation diagram.
Bi Lanxing grabbed a pen and notebook, leaning over to take notes.
Bai Chunian pointed at the diagram: “Your j1 ability, Poison Vine Armor, is a defensive-type power. Its activation is sequential and instantaneous, which means you must clearly identify which teammate is closest to danger. I’ve prepared diagrams of different team formations for you to reference.”
Bi Lanxing nodded vigorously.
Bai Chunian: “Stop staring at me. Look at your diagram.”
Bi Lanxing hurriedly studied the sheet, jotting down the key points.
Bai Chunian: “Even with defensive powers, there are differences. The j1 ability, Lunar Eclipse, is an area defense. Its shield only covers yourself and one or two teammates. So when your teammates face such an enemy, don’t first protect those nearest the shield—because while blocking, the shield also obstructs their attack path. You should equip armor for teammates whose attack routes aren’t blocked.”
Bi Lanxing scribbled frantically, flipping the diagrams.
Bai Chunian tapped the screen: “Stop staring at diagrams. Look at me! There’s nothing written there.”
Bi Lanxing was dizzy, stars practically flashing before his eyes.
By evening, Bai Chunian shut down the screen covered in cryptic marks and took a sip of water. Since Bi Lanxing had swapped in a fresh pen refill, he barely understood the remainder of the lesson.
Bai Chunian closed the stack of diagrams. “Today, I taught you sixteen team formations and forty-five strategies for handling defensive powers. Tomorrow, you’ll practice with senior students.”
Bi Lanxing, astonished: “There’s no way I can memorize all that in one night…”
Bai Chunian patted his head. “Even if you memorized it, it’d be washed away by your little brain. You need to understand it. For every battle, make your own analysis. During the encounter with the Snake Woman, if you’d applied Poison Vine Armor to Lan Bo first, our gun lines against the Ghost Search Team would’ve been completely open. No need for AC accelerators or rapid recovery injections. Winning alone isn’t enough. Perfect every detail, and losing becomes impossible.”
His phone buzzed. Bai Chunian glanced—it was a short video from the homing pigeon omega. The island’s network was poor; the video took time to load, but a faint blue-tailed mermaid figure was visible in the paused frame.
“Go home. No combat class tonight,” Bai Chunian absentmindedly waved at Bi Lanxing.
Bi Lanxing packed up and left, while Bai Chunian remained, fiddling with the phone, waiting for it to load.
Finally, the video played: it showed the homing pigeon and his partner’s bedroom. Lan Bo sat by the crib, gently rocking their baby to soothe it.
In the background, the omega’s voice was flustered: “Oh no, oh no! The entire house is filled with calming pheromones now. Not only is our baby asleep, but every home in the building with a baby is asleep. The unit chat is all asking if a ‘Saint Omega’ has come to rescue tired parents from their children.”
The video shook slightly. Lan Bo, side-sitting by the crib, gold hair partially covering his face, revealed a strong, elegant nose and delicately curled lashes. Through the soft light of the crib’s curtain, his pale skin glowed. The baby sucked its thumb, sleeping peacefully in his arms. Bai Chunian was captivated.
After a while, he sent a message to Lan Bo: “What are you doing at my colleague’s place?”
A moment later, Lan Bo’s slow, unhurried voice replied: “buligi aino berta. (Nurturing your child.)”
Bai Chunian frowned at the phone.
Immediately, he called the homing pigeon.
Bai Chunian: “Damn it, have you been saying useless nonsense with him?”
The omega, dumbfounded: “No! He asked if he was sleeping in the same breeding box as you. I said no, only ever shared a tent. Then he came over to help care for the baby. High-level soothing pheromones are strong—even I felt sleepy.”
Bai Chunian rubbed his face in exhaustion.
The omega: “What’s wrong?”
Bai Chunian: “Nothing. Just do your lab work. Don’t try to transfer to my investigation department—you’re not cut out for it.”
Lan Bo stayed at the homing pigeon’s home. The omega’s alpha partner, a painter, returned from sketching and was stunned to find a mermaid in the house, circling in amazement as he examined him.
By 9:30 p.m., night had fully fallen. Messenger Dove politely indicated that he and his partner were going to rest, but Lan Bo paid no mind, holding the baby close as he released calming pheromones.
Messenger Dove, startled by Lan Bo’s intense gaze, anxiously took the baby back into his arms. “Lan Bo, it’s too late tonight. Let my partner take you home.”
Lan Bo, cold and indifferent, sat sideways on the edge of the bed, staring at him without expression. Then he rose, transforming into a streak of lightning, leaving the apartment in an instant. Before disappearing, he threw Messenger Dove a disdainful look that seemed to say, I don’t need your concern.
After Lan Bo left, Messenger Dove sent his partner to see if he could catch up with him, while he stayed to change the baby’s diaper. To his surprise, he noticed the small allergic rashes on the baby had vanished, and the skin now appeared visibly softer and fairer.
“This… what just happened?”
As he settled the baby and rushed out to find Lan Bo, the alley was empty; Lan Bo was gone.
Lan Bo sat alone on the rooftop. The night sky hung over the city like a cage, clouds shrouding the stars and moon. His luminous fish tail shimmered in the darkness, every bone segment visible.
He gazed southeast, looking through the haze at the outline of a tall building, as if he could see the faint blinking lights of aircraft belonging to the upper levels of Research Institute 109.
“What did you leave over there?”
The alpha’s voice suddenly appeared at his ear. Startled, Lan Bo lifted his head, finding someone standing beside him. Bai Chunian was wearing his training base instructor uniform, hands in his pockets, perched at the edge of the rooftop above the hundred-meter drop, lights and traffic bustling below.
“Nothing. It’s already… useless. I just… wanted it back as a memento,” Lan Bo said, idly flicking his tail, sparks arcing in the dark. “And… to kill them while I’m at it.”
“I’ll help you,” Bai Chunian crouched, eyes on the flowing traffic below. “But there’s a condition.”
“You and I alone aren’t enough,” Lan Bo’s gaze was cold. “Too many test subjects.”
Bai Chunian chuckled, tapping a rhythm into his palm while scanning southeast.
“Let’s talk about something else first,” Bai Chunian said suddenly, turning to ask, “Why were you at my colleague’s house?”
Lan Bo glanced at his nails, unconcerned. “What do you think?”
Bai Chunian, exasperated, barked, “You think that child came from me and him?”
Lan Bo raised an eyebrow. “One… breeding chamber… all have slept there. A baby’s nothing.”
Bai Chunian’s expression darkened. “You’re not angry?”
Lan Bo flicked the tip of his tail along the alpha’s jaw. “Raising the child is the king’s responsibility.”
“King? You want to be king, huh.” Bai Chunian grabbed Lan Bo’s wrist, hoisting the entire fish onto his shoulder. They leapt off the rooftop together, descending rapidly. He deftly bounced off a nearby canopy, jumping several times between buildings, finally landing safely using a car roof for leverage, then sprinted toward home.
Inside the apartment, Bai Chunian kicked open the door, threw Lan Bo onto the bed, and bent the headboard’s ironwork as if folding paper. He locked Lan Bo’s hands above his head with the sturdy iron bars.
Lan Bo struggled, frowning at the alpha pinning him.
Though they had known each other a while, Bai Chunian often showed Lan Bo more taming and reliance than raw power, making it easy to forget he was a fierce alpha.
Bai Chunian asked calmly, “Where are your receipts and documents? Give them to me.”
Lan Bo was surprised. “Why?”
“I’ll keep them for you,” Bai Chunian said, rifling through the nightstand drawer. “Where are they? Give them to me.”
“Why should I?” Lan Bo tilted his head.
“Give them!” Bai Chunian snapped unintentionally. Lan Bo shivered, narrowing his eyes. “Are you… ordering me?”
Lan Bo’s hands were restrained, but his tail remained free, arching between them, sparks gathering at the tip, pointing at Bai Chunian’s throat like a taser.
Bai Chunian grabbed the crackling tail.
The high-voltage electricity didn’t burn him—it extinguished in his palm, leaving Lan Bo’s tail dark and powerless.
For the first time, fear flickered in Lan Bo’s normally unreadable eyes.
Bai Chunian pressed his leg against the thrashing tail, leaned over, and kissed him, roughly parting Lan Bo’s clenched jaw with his tongue.
“Mm…” Lan Bo squirmed, drool escaping his lips. “Hot…”
“Then take responsibility as the king.”
“…It’s so hot…”
“What kind of king are you?” Bai Chunian licked the drool from Lan Bo’s lips, smirking. “Like the ones in storybooks? A throne with coral and pearls?”
“There is…”
“Then can I… on it?”
Lan Bo’s body trembled at the words, a mix of outrage and panic, tail trembling weakly around the alpha’s arm.
They remained in a tense standoff for over an hour. Lan Bo’s fair skin bore faint red teeth marks, eyes half-closed as he lay on his back, gasping.
Bai Chunian, exhausted, lay beside him, arm resting along the iron bar to avoid scraping the omega’s skin.
He had traveled from the island by speedboat, driven back to the city, spent over four hours without even a bathroom break, and taught at the training base all day—physically and mentally drained.
Curled on his side, forehead pressed to Lan Bo’s shoulder, arm around his waist, Bai Chunian inhaled the omega’s scent and drifted into a deep sleep, eyelids tinged red.