After climbing into the modified submarine, Lu Shangjin froze, rigidly clutching the insulated box. His fingertips grazed the control panel slowly, while seawater mingled with his blood, seeping into the crevices.
Xia Jingtian climbed in through the waterproof door, fastened the safety straps to bind the little gray rabbit to the folding board, and took the pilot seat, rapidly manipulating the controls.
“If you can’t drive, I’ll take over,” Lu Shangjin said, eyes locked on the base entrance through the bulletproof glass. A large squad of security troops was following their trail.
“Relax. I even won the top prize at the school’s drone competition,” Xia Jingtian replied.
The modified submarine activated, simultaneously receiving gravity control, and shot upward with incredible speed. The cabin’s pressure equalization lagged behind the ascent, and the rapid drop in external pressure forced a cough of blood from Lu Shangjin’s throat.
The little gray rabbit, curled on the folding board, clutched the safety straps tightly. Rabbits were easily startled, and its wet ears drooped lifelessly against its neck, water dripping down.
Lu Shangjin propped himself up, scooting closer, and gently wiped the seawater from the rabbit’s ears. Rabbits’ ears mustn’t get wet.
The submarine burst through the ocean surface and immediately engaged the drainage valves. The propeller lifted along its track, and the helicopter painted with the Peregrine Falcon family emblem shot upward, water spraying, vanishing beyond the horizon.
About ten Lion-Emblem fighters escorted them at low altitude—a clear sign Xia Pingtian had called them in.
Lu Shangjin tore off his shredded combat suit, leaving only a soaked black tight vest clinging to every defined contour of his back and abdomen. Three jagged claw marks ran from his right shoulder across his back, bloodied and raw.
He bit open the cap of a syringe, injecting adrenaline and antitoxin into his vein-choked arm. Veins popped red along his raised neck, sweat mingling with seawater and dripping into the hollow of his collarbone.
After a moment, he tossed a dose of antitoxin to Xia Jingtian.
“Don’t move, no time, drive,” Xia Jingtian said, narrowly maintaining control of the helicopter.
Lu Shangjin exhaled softly. “…It has autopilot.”
Xia Jingtian hesitated, then pressed the autopilot button. The helicopter stabilized gradually.
He finally slumped in the pilot seat, revealing a blackened, scale-scratched gash on his forearm, the edges bleached by seawater. Seeing it alone was painful; touching it, excruciating. He fumbled for the antitoxin injector, trembling as he aimed at the vein and forced it in.
The fast-acting antitoxin reacted within three seconds, temporarily countering the venom. The Komodo dragon’s saliva was naturally toxic, and combined with the A3 gland, it was further enhanced. The antitoxin only suppressed its spread; the wound required immediate hospital care and a proper antidote injection.
Xia Jingtian gripped his wounded forearm tightly, the slightest release causing unbearable pain, a burning, itching sensation like crawling hairs on a knife edge.
“Ugh, f***…” Xia Jingtian rolled off the pilot seat, clutching his swollen arm, curling up and fighting through the agony.
He glanced at Lu Shangjin, whose black vest was torn in many places, with fine bite marks across his abdomen and back, toxic blood slowly seeping outward. The three parallel claw marks on his shoulder were the worst; the exposed flesh revealed pale bone underneath.
He stared at the horizon, eyes sharp and distant, carrying a melancholy Xia Jingtian couldn’t decipher.
Lu Shangjin sensed the gaze on him, like a predator noticing prey, and quietly returned his eyes to Xia Jingtian.
“What are you looking at?” Xia Jingtian sat up, forcing a semblance of composure.
Lu Shangjin pulled a compressed biscuit from under the folding board and tossed it into Xia Jingtian’s lap with a smirk. “Cat food.”
Xia Jingtian’s face darkened further. “Lion.”
“Before they grow up, it’s all the same,” Lu Shangjin said, tearing off a piece and feeding it to the little gray rabbit, “still got a long way to go.”
Leaning wearily against the inner wall, Lu Shangjin’s pallid face showed little relief despite the antitoxin. He closed his eyes, easing the strain from overusing his extreme vision.
But when he closed his eyes, the Komodo dragon flashed in his mind—the gland pulsating on its nape was Ye Wan. He still remembered his father’s last advice:
“Don’t let Yan Yan, like me, be so heartbroken that in the end, he forgets where his heart belongs.”
Lu Shangjin opened his eyes, cradling the biscuit-chewing little gray rabbit, brushing its face gently. The rabbit paused mid-chew, looking at him with big, earnest eyes.
Omegas were pure, gentle creatures, whether cautious or quietly strong. Why were they treated as resources, breeding machines, and weapons? Even A3-level omegas were powerless against overwhelming numbers of predators.
“Someone should be protecting you,” Lu Shangjin thought.
“Huh? And then go against the world’s major financial clans?” Xia Jingtian lazily rested on his good arm. “Just like my dream in eighth grade. I thought it was cool back then—cute omegas are humanity’s angels.”
“By the way, what’s your father planning?”
“Lu Lin is a weapons maniac; my dad is Ye Wan.” Lu Shangjin hated that the blood in his veins came from someone as disgusting as Lu Lin.
The Lu family built their fortune on arms, profiting from disasters and wars. Lu Shangjin’s generation was supposed to start fresh—but Lu Lin planned to resume the old ways, now aiming for biological weapons on a global scale.
They had different thoughts.
Xia Jingtian stared blankly on the other side, checking his phone—no messages left, the last from Gu Wei was a casual chat during Yan Yi’s rescue.
“Gu Wei…Gu—” Xia Jingtian scratched his hair, typed a message to his brother, then deleted it. Better to ask at the bar himself.
The underwater base security reached the edge of their patrol zone and received orders to stand down.
Lu Lin stared at the helicopter on the main control screens.
The experiment’s results were disappointing. He had hoped his son’s pheromones would reactivate Ye Wan’s glands or merge with the Komodo dragon.
“Wan Wan…” Lu Lin muttered, watching the Komodo lizard viciously tearing the test platform. “You’ve weakened. You used to be invincible.”
“You’re not beautiful anymore,” he added regretfully.
Deep in the control room was a triple-layered electrified prison cage, holding an alpha restrained, looking rough but dignified.
The alpha chuckled. “When you chased Ye Wan, it was romantic enough to give people goosebumps. I thought at least you wouldn’t treat him like this.”
Lu Lin adjusted his golden-rimmed glasses, calmly. “Ye Wan is charming, but that doesn’t stop me from more important matters.”
The alpha sneered softly. “Your most important matter is turning an international peacekeeping organization into a private arms depot.”
His teeth glinted, eyes glowing faint green. His gland type: Kinai wolf.
“I found the freezer’s security system and vents were remotely opened,” Lu Lin said, legs crossed, leaning in his chair, a chilling calm in his tone. “Maximum permissions were used.”
“Besides you…Gu, who else has maximum access?”
“Could it be your two sons are still alive?”
Lu Lin raised a gun. “If anyone else could use the PBB’s top privileges, I wouldn’t need to waste time keeping you alive.”
“Gu Yuan Zhi, this is my last question,” he whispered, smiling. “I will find him, the awakened mutant, the Gu family’s disgrace, right?”
“He’s not a disgrace,” Gu Yuanzhi replied, smiling. “He’s my pride.”
Lu Lin pulled the trigger; the bullet tore through the skull. Gu Yuanzhi remained unmoved.
By May, sunlight scorched the skin faintly, the villa garden’s Star-Catching roses blooming across an entire wall.
Around Lu Shangjin’s villa, ambulances formed a perimeter. Two Anfia rescue helicopters waited outside.
Bi Rui Jing leaned on his Ferrari, smoking. Xia Pingtian couldn’t even light a cigarette, kicking the helicopter’s undercarriage, cursing:
“You little brat! When he comes back, I’ll skin him alive! Acting all heroic before he’s even grown his fur, I swear, I’ll break a leg if I catch him!”
Xia Pingtian’s eyes were bruised, the corners wrinkled, aged several years in just days. When he heard Xia Jingtian didn’t return to school and followed Lu Shangjin across the Pacific, he almost fainted. Sending people was too late; the Peregrine Falcon-emblazoned helicopter vanished into the sea.
Bi Rui Jing exhaled. “Don’t worry. Lu Shangjin has control; he’ll bring the little one back safe.”
“Yeah! Saving your wife is natural. Our ancestor doesn’t need to make a fuss,” Xia Pingtian gritted his teeth, checking his watch. “Xia Jingtian deserves to be chained at home and beaten daily. If we don’t break one of his legs today, I’ll kill him myself.”
The distant whirring grew closer; a helicopter slowly descended on the villa’s top helipad.
Ten minutes later, Xia Jingtian ran out first, battered in a torn tactical vest, left arm cradling a child, right hand carrying the insulated box, looking like a recruit returning home for the New Year.
Xia Pingtian’s eyes watered. When Xia Jingtian handed the box and rabbit to Dr. Zhong, he came over, teasing with a grin: “Hey bro, that ‘to cry or not to cry’ act—real girl move.”
Xia Pingtian closed his eyes, rubbing his temple silently.
Lu Shangjin went downstairs, draping a trench coat over his battered body to conceal the wounds.
He watched Dr. Zhong and nurses rush the stem cells to the rescue helicopter, steadying himself with Bi Rui Jing’s shoulder.
“Impressive, storming PBB alone,” Bi Rui Jing said, guiding him toward the helicopter. “This’ll be legendary.”
“Not alone,” Lu Shangjin replied, bumping fists with him. “The little kitten helped a bit too.”
He had stayed awake the entire way. At Anfia, he refused the nurses’ aid, standing in the lobby alone.
When Yan Yi was wheeled out, he followed closely, repeatedly wiping his hands clean on his clothes and gently holding Yan Yi’s hand.
“Brother’s waiting outside,” Lu Shangjin said softly, heart aching to squeeze Yan Yi awake and shape him however he wanted.
Stem cell gland transplants carried a failure risk; stem cells cannot independently form glands—they require a compatible human carrier. Rejection could destroy both cells and carrier.
Only when the operating room doors sealed did Lu Shangjin finally relax, sitting against the wall, vision blurring as the bandages from the rescue helicopter soaked through with his own blood again.