Yuan Mi was trembling all over, scrambling on hands and knees to Lu Shangjin’s feet. Lu Shangjin frowned, grabbed him by the collar, hauled him up, and quickly avoided the security flooding into the casino, heading toward the exit and onto the deck.
Before getting off the helicopter, Lu Shangjin had already tucked a gun against his inner thigh. Yuan Mi’s trembling hadn’t stopped since. He had never imagined that Lu Shangjin’s world was this soaked in blood and violence. The place beside him was not one just anyone could stand in.
Yuan Mi collapsed against the doorway, looking up at Lu Shangjin.
Still draped in his black fox fur coat, Lu Shangjin swept his indifferent gaze over the suited bodyguards rushing in. The heavy recoil of the Desert Eagle didn’t shake his wrist in the slightest—each shot struck precisely between the brows.
With the stars blazing behind him, his gaze was cold and sharp, like a hawk diving through a rain of blood toward its prey.
When the bullets ran out, Lu Shangjin flipped his hand and switched guns. The Desert Eagle dropped in front of Yuan Mi with a heavy thud. Yuan Mi shivered, but heard Lu Shangjin’s low, hoarse voice:
“Pick it up. Keep it.”
“…O-okay…” Yuan Mi steadied himself, then crawled forward like an old woman chasing rolling apples, shakily picking up the heavy Desert Eagle and tucking it into his arms, wrapping it in his coat.
The still-hot barrel burned against his collarbone. He didn’t dare let go, as if he were guarding something precious for Lu Shangjin. A faint sweetness lingered on the gun—traces of a milky, candy-like pheromone.
Yuan Mi looked up, his eyes scattered and glassy with terror, a trembling haze of moisture clouding them.
He was a beautiful omega, one who could be called stunning even among elites. His lashes were bleached white, his golden-brown short hair making him look even softer and more delicate. Under flashing cameras, he was adored by thousands. But at this moment, on the edge of life and death, the real protagonist was that silent little white rabbit.
Lu Shangjin tossed aside the empty handgun, grabbed Yuan Mi roughly, dragged him to the already roaring helicopter, pulled out an AK-47, and without even using a sling, fired one-handed at the approaching guards. Then he climbed onto the helicopter.
The falcon-emblem helicopter slowly lifted into the air. Lu Shangjin tossed the emptied AK-47 into the sea and pressed the button on a remote.
The cruise ship exploded from the casino outward. A plume of black smoke rose slowly, the shockwave rocking the helicopter violently as it pulled away from the scene.
The explosion was enough to destroy the casino’s interior. As for whether any of the nobles had recorded it, Lu Shangjin was certain—no family that didn’t want to fall out with the Lu clan would dare say the wrong thing.
As for the beta confidant hidden by Lu Jue, Lu Shangjin had the patience to find him himself.
Lu Jue had never intended to hand that beta over anyway—he had wanted something for nothing. Lu Shangjin had no interest in playing along. Lu Jue was cunning enough not to come into direct contact with the beta, leaving no pheromone trace behind. Otherwise, even a faint scent would have been enough—using the Peregrine M2 ability, Lu Shangjin could have tracked him down.
The burning casino sent billowing black smoke into the sky, staining half the night in a molten red glow.
On the deck, amid the chaos of crew and security trying to put out the fire, a young alpha leaned lazily against the railing. One hand rested on the rail, the other held a glass of red wine, gently swirling it, watching the liquid coat the glass before lowering his gaze to inhale its aroma. In the firelight, his tall figure looked even more alluring.
He turned his head slightly, raised his chin toward the departing helicopter, and lifted his glass in a silent toast, mouthing:
“Cheers.”
His peach-blossom eyes tilted upward, a tear mole nestled beneath them. His striking, unforgettable face carried a wicked edge—it was a spider alpha.
He pulled out a business card from his pocket and flicked it outward with two fingers.
Lu Shangjin tightened his grip on the safety strap, staring at the spider alpha on the deck. Veins bulged on the back of his hand as his jaw clenched, teeth grinding audibly.
Even though the man’s flamboyantly dyed hair had been returned to black, that face was unforgettable.
The alpha in the photo—kissing Yan Yi—was him.
Lu Shangjin immediately activated his J1 differentiation ability, “Extreme Vision,” as if carving this hateful face into his mental kill list.
Before the card hit the water, he read the name:
Shao Wenjing. M2 spider alpha. Lu Jue’s adopted son and heir.
A sharp pain stabbed through his chest.
Spider M2 ability: “Neural Paralysis.” In the photo, Yan Yi had been unconscious. Someone had deliberately shown Lu Shangjin that ambiguous scene.
“Shao… Wenjing…” Lu Shangjin suddenly grabbed the AK-47, but the helicopter had already flown out of range.
Shao Wenjing took a sip of wine and smiled lightly. “He’s adorable. I was just joking.”
He had merely encountered the little lop-eared rabbit late at night in one of his family’s clubs, casually put on a masseur’s uniform, intending to spend a passionate night with the omega. Instead, he’d only ended up massaging his back all night.
The more he thought about it, the more he felt cheated.
The helicopter disappeared into the distance.
———
The helicopter flew steadily toward its landing point. Lu Shangjin leaned against his gun, sitting on a fold-out seat with his eyes closed. Yuan Mi slumped across from him, pale-faced, having already thrown up once.
He returned the Desert Eagle, clutching his coat tightly, looking at Lu Shangjin helplessly.
Lu Shangjin stared expressionlessly at the distant night sky. After a moment, he took the gun, wiped the barrel with his fingers once, then again.
Exhausted, Yuan Mi hugged his knees and asked, “Jin-ge, is it really that hard to admit you like someone?”
“When you sleep with me, you always call out ‘Yan Yan.’ It’s meaningless,” Yuan Mi said with a bitter smile, tilting his head back against the metal wall, revealing the word “freedom” tattooed on his neck. His pale lashes were damp and glistening as he lifted an arm over his eyes. “I just pretend you’re calling me ‘Yuan Yuan.’ Really, Jin-ge… it’s so meaningless.”
Lu Shangjin’s tolerance wasn’t high enough to normally allow a kept lover to speak like this to him, but he had no energy to care. He simply turned to look quietly at the faint light of dawn on the horizon.
“In a few days, my assistant will send you a card,” Lu Shangjin said flatly.
A severance payment—and hush money.
Yuan Mi had expected this outcome. Now that Lu Shangjin was no longer his patron, he spoke more freely.
“Mr. Lu.” Yuan Mi lowered his gaze and gently kissed Lu Shangjin’s fingers resting on his knee, then turned away with a desolate look.
He took out his phone, deleting Lu Shangjin’s contact information one by one, then opened his photo album and murmured, “Take a look—no photos. If you’re worried, I can just give you the phone.”
Lu Shangjin didn’t look at him, still staring into the distance.
“Fine.” Yuan Mi sighed and tossed the phone into the sea.
In three years of being kept, not a single photo remained. Yuan Mi had once wanted to take a picture resting against Lu Shangjin’s abs to show off to friends, but was never allowed.
Back then, he had already understood—this relationship was cleaner than the emptiest pocket.
In those three years, he had been to the hospital several times. The only time Lu Shangjin had accompanied him was at the very beginning, during a gland compatibility test.
The result had been low compatibility. Yuan Mi didn’t care much, but Lu Shangjin’s eyes had dimmed at the result. He had gone outside to the stairwell and smoked a cigarette.
Yuan Mi never dared ask. He only vaguely felt he had narrowly escaped some unseen catastrophe.
———
2019-4-18 12:05 PM
———
In a cramped motel room, Yan Yi lay curled on the bed, staring blankly.
He had looked up pregnancy precautions online. One line said not to stare at screens for too long.
He immediately put his phone down.
A moment later, he picked it back up to continue searching.
Without an alpha to care for him, handling pregnancy alone was exhausting.
Previously, to prepare for the gland replacement surgery, he had taken a massive dose of suppressants—five times the normal amount—just to fully shut down his gland. His A3 gland was like a massive generator, capable of powering an entire industrial facility for years.
With its function still dormant, it was like a machine without power. His pregnant body was gradually being dragged down. Even the morning chill through an open window made him stagger. He was as fragile as paper now, desperately needing an alpha’s soothing pheromones for strength.
He couldn’t look at a screen for long without dizziness. He tossed the phone aside, curled up, and leaned against the heater.
Xia Jingtian’s number had been blacklisted. Yan Yi had tried more than once to draw a clear line between them, but the stubborn boy refused to listen.
Footsteps thudded up the stairs outside. Then came a knock, followed by a cheerful whistle:
“Little bunny, open the door, open up—I’m coming in!”
Yan Yi buried his head under the pillow, too exhausted to deal with the persistent young alpha. He had messaged Lu Shangjin asking for leave, but there had been no reply. Probably off vacationing with his “harem.”
He lay weakly on his side, face pale, barely able to move. A few days ago he could still get up for water. Today, he couldn’t even leave the bed.
Even his bones felt drained of strength. Half-conscious, he picked up his phone and dialed Lu Shangjin’s number—then hesitated, afraid to press call.
But he really wanted to hear his voice.
His finger trembled. The call went through.
One ring. Two. Three…
He tried to think of what to say.
Until the automated voice informed him the number was unreachable.
The deepest disappointment wasn’t being cursed at, or told to “get lost.”
It was calling at your most helpless—and getting no answer.
Even in disappointment, he felt strangely calm. Just a dryness in his heart, like cracked skin needing lotion.
Yan Yi closed his eyes and added Lu Shangjin’s number to the blacklist—placing it beside Xia Jingtian’s.
Then he opened a browser and searched: “resignation letter template.”
There were lovers coming and going in the villa. It was time for him to make space. He didn’t want to cling on anymore.
He still had some belongings there. He’d retrieve them once he felt better.
His thoughts turned sluggish, like they were wrapped in glue. Unable to think clearly, he drifted off to sleep. He had been dozing on and off all day, feverish at times, tormented by a thousand small discomforts.
Tomorrow, if he had the strength, he would go to the hospital.
The knocking eventually stopped. Silence returned, and he finally fell asleep.
Xia Jingtian climbed in through the second-floor window, moving quietly into the cramped room. He placed the hot porridge and simple side dishes he’d bought beside the bed, hoping Yan Yi would eat when he woke.
The little rabbit was cruel—his rejection had been direct and absolute.
But Xia Jingtian couldn’t resist the pull of their pheromone compatibility. He was addicted to Yan Yi’s scent. He couldn’t bear to force him, so he forced himself instead—he had chased him all the way here; he couldn’t leave empty-handed.
He sat by the bed, wrapping his arms around Yan Yi’s thin, fragile back. Hearing his pained murmurs, he released soothing pheromones eagerly, pulling him into his arms, stroking him gently.
The little rabbit was so light it was almost weightless. As he lifted him, the hem of the thin sweater shifted, revealing a scar on his waist.
Xia Jingtian froze.
It was a bullet wound.
On Yan Yi’s pale, delicate body, it stood out brutally—like a crack in jade.
This was an old injury. When the bullet had torn through him… how much had it hurt?
Instinctively, Xia Jingtian held him tighter, pressing a kiss to his damp forehead.
He wanted to take him away from that twisted, monstrous alpha. To make up for all the care Lu Shangjin had denied him. But Yan Yi wouldn’t even go to the hospital with him.
The world was cruel—what one person longed for, another discarded like trash.
To Yan Yi, the high compatibility soothing pheromones were like water in a desert. He clutched Xia Jingtian’s shirt weakly, like an addict craving relief—wanting to surrender himself, yet desperately trying to push him away.
“No… don’t… don’t let me smell like you…”
He struggled faintly, but was held tighter.
More pheromones flooded out. Beneath Xia Jingtian’s gentleness was a streak of dominance—the quiet authority of a lion alpha, unwilling to accept rejection.
Yan Yi finally lost consciousness in his arms, his pale fingers still clutching his shirt, murmuring softly:
“Jin-ge… I’m pregnant with your child… take me home…”
His voice was soft and pleading, like melting candy.
Xia Jingtian’s heart clenched painfully.
These past days, Yan Yi had been distant when awake, never showing weakness. No matter how bad he felt, he’d only sip water quietly.
Now he clung to Xia Jingtian’s neck, sinking into the endless supply of soothing pheromones.
Jealousy surged violently.
Xia Jingtian stared at the clean gland at the back of Yan Yi’s neck. He lowered his head, brushing his lips against the fragile skin, feeling the tremble in the body in his arms.
His lips parted slightly, revealing sharp canine teeth.
Yan Yi clung to him like a lifeline, tears slipping down as he pleaded:
“Mark me… I want an alpha too… Jin-ge…”