The gun barrel was wrapped by three or five jet-black vines and ripped from Lu Shangjin’s hands.
Bi Ruijing caught the sniper rifle, aiming the muzzle at the hollow of Lu Shangjin’s collarbone, pressing hard. “Shut your mouth, close your eyes, take two deep breaths to calm yourself before talking to me.”
Lu Shangjin didn’t comply. His hands hung awkwardly by his sides, teeth clenched so tightly that loosening them even slightly hurt his jaw. His eyes were red and swollen.
“He only has a week left,” Lu Shangjin murmured hoarsely, sweat beading on his forehead. “If I don’t save him, who will?”
Xia Jingtian interjected at the right moment, “What about his parents? Maybe they match his gland type.”
Mentioning Yan Yi’s parents made Lu Shangjin’s clenched fists go limp.
“He doesn’t have parents. He’s just an experimental subject—an ear-flopped rabbit clone guided to differentiate.”
Under Lu Lin’s direction, the PBB laboratory mass-produced living combat machines, filtering out the strong from batch after batch of failed experiments—a plan called the Pyramid Project.
When Lu Shangjin was ten, he accidentally entered the underground lab of the Lu family’s old mansion.
He immediately recognized that little rabbit eavesdropping outside the music room.
The lab reeked of acrid blood. The little rabbit trembled as it crawled down from a mountain of cloned corpses, covered in blood stains, eyes full of fear, extending its tiny hands toward Lu Shangjin.
Lu Shangjin ran over, scooped him up, and carried the small, ear-flopped rabbit out of the blood-soaked lab. He didn’t mind the filth or the stench on him. He wrapped the little rabbit under the covers, hugging him tightly, and only then did fear hit.
Two children huddled together, trembling, too scared even to cry, silently shedding tears in the dark.
He was three years older, so he forced himself to act like an older brother, stroking Yan Yi’s shrinking body with small hands. “I’ve got you.”
Yan Yi wriggled desperately into Lu Shangjin’s arms, hiccupping through his sobs, thanking his “brother,” clinging as if holding onto him meant holding onto the sun itself.
“The PBB lower-level cryogenic chamber has a high-level stem cell bank. All M2-level or higher PBB members have been sampled,” Lu Shangjin said, gripping the gun tightly, his dry lips twitching. “Help me look after Yan Yi for a few days.”
Both Bi Ruijing and Xia Pingtian were PBB members, each with a serial number. Unauthorized entry into the base would automatically mark them as traitors; their serial numbers would enter the assassination blacklist.
Xia Jingtian raised his chin thoughtfully.
Dr. Zhong walked over and asked Lu Shangjin to leave his contact information, promising that once the patient stabilized, he could visit.
Lu Shangjin waited outside the ICU for an hour, writing seven notes, one for each of the next seven days, folding them, and giving them to the assistant. If Yan Yi didn’t wake, the assistant would read one each day.
He wanted the little rabbit to know he had not been abandoned.
Lu Shangjin left the assistant to watch over him and drove back to the villa. The streets along the way were dim, the dawn wind shrieking sharply.
In the chest pocket of his front coat lay Yan Yi’s notebook, pressed close to his heart, so that the little rabbit’s grievances and joys were etched into his chest.
Back at the villa, Lu Shangjin went to the deepest part of the underground garage, opened the iris lock, and entered a string of codes.
Mechanical sounds filled the enclosed space as the weapon auto-loading system activated.
Lu Shangjin rode the elevator to the third-floor studio. Sixteen computers were running in the computer room.
He typed a set of codes and tapped the mic.
All sixteen computers projected 3D images in the workspace. Several company executives, wearing the Feiying Group emblem, dressed neatly, accepted Lu Shangjin’s meeting invitations from different locations.
“President Lu.”
“Good morning, President Lu.”
…
After nearly an hour of delegating and verifying company affairs, the meetings concluded. Lu Shangjin emailed the board, destroyed confidential data on the computers, locked the copies in underground safes, and finally cut the power to the workspace.
The weapons finished auto-loading, and the elevator automatically delivered the arms and ammunition to the rooftop. Lu Shangjin changed into a camo combat suit and loaded the weapons onto the helicopter.
Hopefully, he wouldn’t have to use them. Once in a firefight with the PBB, the outcome could be catastrophic. Worst case, he could snatch what he needed. Being blacklisted? That’s nothing.
If Yan Yi woke up, it was best if he forgot everything. He was willing to wander for him, as if repaying the years lost.
The helicopter, painted with the Peregrine Falcon emblem, roared into the air, the strong downdraft scattering the garden shrubs.
Autopilot engaged, Lu Shangjin relaxed slightly, occasionally glancing at Yan Yi’s notebook.
Flipping through the pages, the sorrowful parts were deducted point by point, while small joyful moments were given extra points.
One page had a printed chat log, possibly kept separate from the phone to avoid loss.
An entire page of trivial sweet words.
Following the dates, the first message was after Yan Yi bought his first phone, lying in bed trying to message Lu Shangjin.
Yan Yi: I love you, Jin-ge.
Dear: You silly, we’re less than half a meter apart now.
Yan Yi: Can I send more messages in the future?
Dear: Send when we’re apart; now, come over for a kiss.
Yan Yi: Haha.
Later, Yan Yi learned to use little emojis, making his cute antics even more frequent.
The little rabbit was already adorable; a little more and it could melt anyone’s heart.
Later, the address in the notes changed from “Dear” to “Jin-ge.” The chat records ended in 2016.
Perhaps the little rabbit had been hoping to receive a message that would make his heart skip a beat.
The notebook’s score totaled nearly 600 points. The last note read: “Jin-ge looks really good on video call. +10 points.”
Nothing followed, likely because Lu Shangjin had taken Yan Yi home and the notebook wasn’t with him.
He suddenly gripped his collar, tugging hard, a panic knotting his chest.
In Yan Yi’s heart, he had personally forced the fake pregnancy—how many points did that deduct?
Down to zero?
Negative?
Or unforgivably negative infinity?
He clung to the hope that, when Yan Yi woke, he could have a chance to make amends.
Lu Shangjin tucked the photos and chat logs into the notebook, placed it back in his inner pocket, and zipped it up.
He caught a faint sound and whipped around.
Xia Jingtian was sitting on a folding board, putting on a bulletproof vest. “You look like a fearless hero in the movies.”
Lu Shangjin raised an eyebrow, unconcealed. “How did you get up here?”
“Gravity manipulation. My J1 ability comes in handy,” Xia Jingtian said, legs crossed as he loaded a camo M16, headset on. “I bet you were focused on the notebook while I was crawling under the helicopter.”
Lu Shangjin turned his head. “Roll off at the next landing point.”
Xia Jingtian frowned. “If you die, I’ll take the sample for you, watch over Yan Yi for you. If you survive, I won’t compete with you. Do you dare to bet?”
Lu Shangjin asked, “Does your brother know?”
“Yes…” Xia Jingtian rested against the bulkhead, hand under his head.
Yeah, right.
Near the landing zone, Lu Shangjin gave a twist, trying to toss Xia Jingtian off.
Xia Jingtian snapped his fingers; his gravity always stayed perpendicular to the helicopter, centrifugal force zeroed, and he sat steadily on the folding board.
Lu Shangjin no longer had enough mental bandwidth for anyone else’s child.
“What’s your plan? How do two of us take on PBB elite? If we meet an A3-alpha, it’s over. Does PBB have A3-alphas?” Xia Jingtian opened a PBB map obtained through his brother’s permissions. “I heard Lu Lin is in the PBB lab. Do you think he’d hand it over if you asked?”
Lu Shangjin had thought of it.
But A3 gland stem cell samples were precious. For Lu Lin, a damaged experimental subject had no value. He probably wouldn’t waste a sample saving a possibly irretrievable rabbit omega.
Instead, he’d likely guard the samples tightly to prevent Lu Shangjin from taking them.
The best plan was infiltration—steal the sample. Even if there was a small skirmish, as long as they retreated before the entire unit surrounded them, escape was feasible.
The helicopter hovered over an ocean for a full day.
Lu Shangjin checked his gear, glanced at the eager little lion. If this weren’t Xia Pingtian’s cherished younger brother, he wouldn’t waste a word.
The helicopter deployed bulletproof glass around the perimeter; the rotor moved aft along its track, the front extended and tapered, piercing the water.
The modified sub quickly approached the underwater base, hovering a few meters behind a reef at the tunnel entrance.
Xia Jingtian put on the oxygen mask, then Lu Shangjin suddenly grabbed him from behind, injecting a tranquilizer into his neck.
Lu Shangjin released him; Xia Jingtian collapsed unconscious at his feet.
This kid definitely hadn’t gotten parental permission to come. If he lost a finger during retrieval, his brother would destroy his house and company—any future encounters with anyone surnamed Lu would be deadly.
Truly troublesome. In the future, better to have sons and daughters as omegas; if an alpha like this came along, he’d be driven mad.
Besides, he didn’t need a young rival as a partner.
Lu Shangjin gently held his chest; the notebook inside the inner water-resistant pocket pressed against his heart. His gaze softened with longing, concealing the deep grief in his eyes.
Yan Yan…
Our future children will probably look a lot like you.
He pulled himself together and exited the sub.
Lu Shangjin had partial external access; opening the entrance was easy and wouldn’t trigger alarms.
Passing through three waterlock doors, he climbed a spiral staircase to a vantage point.
Xia Jingtian suddenly appeared beside him, carefully scouting the area.
Lu Shangjin glanced at him, expression cold and complicated.
“Gravity control can regulate blood pressure; the tranquilizer won’t penetrate,” Xia Jingtian whispered while scouting. “There’s a patrol ahead. Can your raptor-type alphas fly?”
“When upgraded to A3 differentiation, there’s a chance of this accompanying ability.” Meaning: no.
Lu Shangjin narrowed his eyes, noting the patrols evenly distributed, quickly mapping a three-dimensional layout in his mind.
Xia Jingtian flexed his wrists. “I’ll handle the left side.”