After the car left, the abandoned factory fell silent again.
A small explosion at the seafood factory drew media attention. By morning, reporters flooded the site, eager for first-hand coverage. Employees were unharmed, but some mercenaries had died in the blast. The cargo remained intact; ships carrying seafood and canned goods had already left the port before the explosion.
Police set up a perimeter, and a few onlookers gathered. Fortunately, this area was away from the city center, so the crowd was small.
A scruffy black omega with messy mid-length curls squeezed through the crowd. He wore an oversized hoodie and held a delicate notebook and recorder.
He approached a senior officer overseeing the investigation. Squinting with a mischievous smile, he asked, “Sir, do you have any guesses about who caused the explosion?”
The officer glanced at him: “Are you a reporter?”
The omega’s eyes curved in a grin. “No, no—I’m a writer. Very curious about this case.”
“Civilians stay back!” The officer shooed him away.
The writer wasn’t bothered. Good-natured, he wandered around, picking up a glass sphere from the ground. The sphere was cloudy, poor quality.
“Ah, found something,” he said cheerfully, spinning the sphere and strolling back to the abandoned factory. Walking around the racks, he noticed the charred bodies from the high-voltage burn.
“Ugh,” he muttered, kicking at the stinking corpses. Supporting himself with his right hand, he carefully climbed down the rack, inspecting every corner.
In a crack in the cement floor, he found a glossy round bead. Prying it out with his fingers, he revealed a black pearl with a bluish iridescent sheen.
A calm voice came through his tiny earpiece: “Domino, any discoveries?”
The writer held a pearl in each hand, raising them to the sunlight. “Ah, you’ll like these.”
A sleek black Bentley slowly pulled up. The writer waved and ran over, slipping into the passenger seat, buckling in.
In the driver’s seat sat an alpha in a black long coat. His knuckles, sharp and defined, rested on the leather steering wheel, a Kashmir sapphire ring on his index finger. The deep blue accentuated his refined, commanding presence.
The writer pulled back his hood, revealing two delicate antennae among the messy curls, lightly touching the black pearl.
“This is the most talked-about in the circle—857, the Electric Phantom,” he said, eyes closed. “857’s value has been driven up to $4.6 billion. Market price is nominal; the research institute transferred him to the Omega Alliance to avoid trouble. Given the president’s style, he’s likely already in collaboration with 857. No further sales.”
The alpha in black tapped the wheel lightly. “And the other one?”
“This one is truly remarkable, but few know. True treasures often get overlooked by opportunistic merchants.” The writer’s antennae lightly brushed the pearl. “9100, the Divine Envoy. When he was at his lowest, why didn’t we grab him first? Sir, reflect on your short-sightedness, haha.”
“Domino.”
The writer laughed. “Sorry, sir. I tend to speak the truth without meaning to.”
The alpha’s gaze shifted to the car’s display, where edited footage had been stitched into a complete video.
The screen showed a large ecological enclosure. Blood smeared the glass, and inside, creatures fought brutally, collapsing one after another into pools of blood.
It was clear that the two strongest test subjects had formed a temporary alliance, trusting one another to survive this life-or-death, almost parasitic-style battle. Having a reliable partner in such a scenario was an enormous advantage.
The camera zoomed in on the two battered survivors in the enclosure—Bai Chunian and Lan Bo.
The mature alpha had consistently protected the omega during his developmental phase, cradling him carefully to monitor his condition at all times.
Bai Chunian’s body was covered in wounds, so numerous that each one would take time to heal individually. Lan Bo, on the other hand, was virtually unscathed, having been shielded from the start.
But just as they were about to leave the enclosure, Lan Bo suddenly spun, claws slashing through the air with a streak of blue light and afterimage.
Bai Chunian, exhausted and near his limit, was caught off guard. Lan Bo’s strike hit a vital point, cutting a deep gash from chest to side. Internal organs and intestines spilled out, mixing with the debris-strewn floor.
The footage was silent. Only the sight of the alpha lying there, barely alive, reaching desperately for Lan Bo, could be seen. Lan Bo, however, ignored him and climbed into the research institute’s transport crate. The researchers applauded, celebrating the acquisition of the strongest test subject.
Everyone assumed Bai Chunian would die like the other subjects, but he didn’t. Despite severe injuries, he continued to breathe.
Cultivating a viable test subject was extremely costly, and the researchers were unwilling to give up on him easily. They rushed to stitch him up.
Originally, Bai Chunian had been the institute’s favorite. This outcome was unexpected: if they could save him, the institute would likely purchase him at a high price. Unfortunately, severe infection had set in, compromising his future combat assessment. In the end, he was abandoned and sold cheaply to interested merchants to fend for himself.
The footage ended with Bai Chunian chained by neck and limbs, huddled helplessly in an iron cage. His wounds festered, and with the researchers abandoning treatment, maggots crawled over the infected sutures.
Later, a merchant who scouted fighters purchased Bai Chunian for under $200. Recent clients sought extreme spectacles, and only homeless people or those with no witnesses could be used. Bai Chunian’s striking appearance made him especially appealing, so paying slightly more for him was worth it.
Unexpectedly, Bai Chunian became the victor of these brutal shows.
Despite severe injuries, no opponent could kill him.
The arena owner was thrilled, using Bai Chunian as a draw to various matches. The audience’s twisted fascination with fragile, pale, injured boys overturning their opponents drove his fame and value upward. To prevent him from dying too quickly, the owner spared no expense on anti-inflammatory treatments. Bai Chunian survived, muddling through on minimal care.
When Lu Shangjin of the Falcon Group was invited to an event, he noticed Bai Chunian. A connoisseur at heart, he acquired him, unable to bear seeing a “treasured child” treated like this.
Initially, the arena owner resisted selling his golden goose, but Lu Shangjin’s persistence, coupled with purchasing the entire arena, forced the owner out.
The morning sunlight filtered through swaying maple leaves outside the window, the air damp and heavy. A few sparrows chirped among the branches.
Bai Chunian awoke. The ceiling light above was a plain tube, not the decorative crystal blue fat fish he would have chosen.
He lay in bed, a third of the calming infusion left in the IV.
Sitting up, he saw the room empty. Rubbing his aching head, he removed the IV needle from his hand, intending to go to the bathroom.
Reaching into his pocket, he found only scraps of tissue. “…Dropped it?” he muttered, recalling last night’s chaos. In his poorly controlled heat, losing the glass sphere was an oversight he shouldn’t have made.
Before he could leave, Han Xingqian entered with the rounds book. Noticing the dangling IV line, he adjusted his glasses: “Who told you to remove it? Finish the remaining half first.”
“No need. I’m fine. I’m going home,” Bai Chunian said, dismissive.
Just then, Lan Bo descended from the ceiling.
The medical hallway lacked railings, leaving Lan Bo no way to climb—he relied on electromagnetic adhesion to navigate the steel pipes overhead.
He dropped to the floor, tail supporting his stance, carrying a thermal bag.
Bai Chunian’s eyes lit up. “Where have you been?”
“Cooking,” Lan Bo said, raising the bag.
He curled up against the alpha, naturally letting Bai Chunian lead him into the room. At the bedside, Lan Bo glanced at the remaining third of the calming infusion: “Not finished yet.”
Bai Chunian grabbed Han Xingqian: “Clueless, aren’t you? Just hook it up.”
“Ha, I really came at the wrong time,” Han Xingqian said, replacing the needle, donning gloves, disinfecting Bai Chunian’s hand, tying a tourniquet, and securing the IV. Then he picked up the rounds book and left.
Bai Chunian called after him: “What about the little dog I brought back?”
“Next door. Nothing serious. I’ll check on him.”
Bai Chunian finally settled. “Lock the door. Don’t let him escape. Keep an eye on him.”
“Don’t do anything reckless.” Han Xingqian closed the door as he left.
Lan Bo sat on the bed, pulling out lunch boxes from the thermal bag.
Jellyfish scrambled eggs, jellyfish lean meat porridge, and a jellyfish salad—all of them glimmered intermittently with a faint blue light.
Bai Chunian stared at the cyberpunk dishes and swallowed.
“Are you going to feed me?” he asked.
Lan Bo turned his face away, still clearly sulking.
Bai Chunian’s eyes curved into a gentle smile as he lifted his bowl to eat.
It wasn’t hard to eat—jellyfish itself had little flavor besides salt and a crisp texture.
Lan Bo held the lid of the lunch box, sitting with his back to the alpha, refusing to turn around.
Bai Chunian gently tapped his shoulder. “I’m on an IV. My hand hurts. Just feed me one bite. Only one.”
Lan Bo slowly turned, awkwardly scooping a bit with the small spoon. Half of it spilled as he handed it over, smearing on Bai Chunian’s lips.
“You really have no experience taking care of someone…” Bai Chunian picked up the fallen egg and popped it into his mouth. Using his own spoon, he carefully scooped a piece, blew on it to cool it down, and fed it to Lan Bo steadily with his hand. “Like this. Got it?”
He didn’t want to bring up last night’s conflict or dwell on the details; his attention was entirely absorbed by the bite Lan Bo had fed him.
“I want more,” Bai Chunian said, watching Lan Bo’s small hands on the spoon.
Lan Bo handed him the bowl, but he didn’t take it—he just opened his mouth. Lan Bo continued feeding him until all three dishes were finished. Normally, Bai Chunian wouldn’t eat so much.
After tidying up the empty bowls, Lan Bo turned to place them on the table, only to be hugged from behind. Bai Chunian wrapped him in his arms, holding him without any lustful intent, resting his chin on Lan Bo’s shoulder, pressing their cheeks lightly together.