Shaowen Chi’s elementary school had unusually strict security. Most students there were the children of prominent and influential families, and the school could not take responsibility if any danger occurred.
But it wasn’t completely foolproof—those with intent could still find opportunities.
Every afternoon during the second class period, the cleaning staff would transport the day’s accumulated trash out through the school’s back gate. Wednesday afternoons during the second class period happened to be Shao Wen Chi’s class’s physical education period.
At this age, children were lively and energetic. PE class usually consisted of twenty minutes of physical training, leaving the remaining twenty minutes for free activity.
Lu Shangjin’s car was parked a few dozen meters from the school’s back gate, his eyes fixed on Jiang Xiaohong as she tremulously made her way toward the exit.
Jiang Xiaohong’s suspension had not yet been formally announced to the school, and the janitor still greeted her cheerfully: “Teacher Jiang, why are you coming out this way?”
Her shoulders jerked slightly, and she forced a calm smile. “One of the students lives this way. I’m doing a home visit since there’s no class.”
The janitor bent over the large trash bin at the gate, lifting the lid and neatly stacking bag after bag of trash inside, his upper body mostly submerged in the bin.
Seizing the opportunity, Jiang Xiaohong called Shao Wen Chi over.
Chi had no suspicion toward his homeroom teacher, despite his brother’s strict warning never to leave the school without his bodyguard.
Jiang Xiaohong took Chi’s small hand and led him toward Lu Shangjin’s parked car.
Lu Shangjin had given her a sum of money to ensure that, before any gland hunters following a tip could arrive, she would safely get Chi out.
She suspected that Lu Shangjin himself was a gland hunter, forced to act under the threat of a gun.
Moreover, the payment was equivalent to ten years of her teaching salary—enough to secure her and her daughter’s future without worry.
Other children’s safety could never outweigh her own family’s welfare. She bit her lip and decided to go through with it; a guilty conscience could not feed her child.
The short walk of just a few dozen meters churned her heart with unease.
Chi looked up, blinking. “Teacher, why didn’t you come to class today? Why haven’t we received the latest essay yet?”
Jiang Xiaohong often read exemplary essays aloud to the class and discussed what made them good. Chi loved composition class the most.
The boy had an unusual gift for writing. Even in his innocent, immature words, something hidden would shine through. While other children wrote trivial, fabricated stories about helping an elderly lady cross the street, he wrote about an ant on a maple leaf.
When asked, Chi said that no matter where he stopped on the road to examine something, his brother never scolded him. Instead, he would quietly crouch nearby and, when Chi got up, brush the dust off his clothes.
He, too, was a treasured child.
Jiang Xiaohong bit her lip, choking back tears as she guided Chi back: “Alright, Chi, let’s go back. Hurry back to school…”
Lu Shangjin, sensing she might hesitate, was about to get out and act himself.
Before he could open the car door, a surge of powerful alpha presence approached rapidly. At least thirty J1-level alphas came from different directions, snatched Chi from Jiang Xiaohong’s grasp, shoved him into a black sack, and fled.
The boy panicked, kicking and screaming inside the sack, calling for his brother.
The janitor, an ordinary omega, was overpowered by the overwhelming alpha presence, unable to catch her breath. Jiang Xiaohong screamed, rushing back into the school to alert security.
Chi’s bodyguard could not enter the playground. Hearing Jiang Xiaohong’s screams, he broke through the gate—but the young master was gone.
Lu Shangjin’s face darkened. Closing the car door, he stepped on the accelerator, racing in the direction the high-level alphas had fled.
Deploying thirty J1 alphas suggested that most of the gland hunters’ forces had been mobilized.
This little spider was the only bargaining chip to exchange for Yan Yan, and Lu Shangjin would not miss this chance.
Meanwhile, the maple leaves by the hot spring grew thicker, and Yan Yi felt his illness worsening.
He often sat on a bench for three to four hours, holding a leaf, watching its stem wither as he sat.
Who was the alpha who called him “Yan Yan”?
A flicker of a memory brought the name Lu Shangjin to mind.
His stomach reacted with pain.
Had this been an alpha he once kept? He remembered him as obedient and attentive, overly fond of him, even giving gifts.
A discarded alpha—how pitiful.
Yan Yi idly toyed with the ring on his right hand.
The meals in the manor were exquisite, yet Yan Yi had grown increasingly thin. His ringed finger so slender he had to pinch it between the middle and pinky to prevent the ring from falling.
He noticed a fine cursive English tattoo on that finger: everlasting love.
Had he once given an alpha endless love?
He curled into a ball on the bench. Shao Wenjing had given him a new phone to keep in touch.
He wanted his alpha to return.
Picking up the phone, he instinctively dialed an unknown number—perhaps not Shao Wenjing’s, but he tried anyway.
A small rabbit huddled on the bench, its ears twitching.
After twelve rings, no one answered.
Puzzled, Yan Yi set the phone down, staring at the maple leaf again. Music floated faintly from a hidden speaker nearby—a soft piano melody.
He perked up, asking a passing maid, “What song is this?”
The maid, a European woman with a serene, honest face, wiped her brow and smiled politely: “Luvletter.”
Love letter.
Yan Yi’s ears twitched, listening intently.
He recalled a pair of hands, scarred by shrapnel, long, elegant fingers pressing the keys with a mournful dissonance.
The manor’s music could not reach outside—even if Lu Shangjin was nearby.
Lu Shangjin, carrying a standard Souct sniper rifle, an AK47 crossed on his back, held a stack of files in one arm while cradling Shao Wen Chi, another hand bracing against the wall as he climbed.
Bullets flared behind him as vans reached the low wall. Gland hunters leaped out and followed.
Chi shrank against Lu Shangjin’s chest, terrified, clinging to his neck. “I want to go home… I want my brother…”
He only whimpered softly—clearly frightened.
Surprisingly, Lu Shangjin didn’t feel irritated. He released a trace of soothing pheromones to calm Chi.
But only a trace—his glands had been overused twice recently, leaving insufficient reserves to comfort another omega.
Once he got the little rabbit back safely, he would pour all his soothing pheromones onto him, letting him feel completely secure. Lu Shangjin would never leave him alone at home again.
He had always been a lone wolf, skirting the edge of darkness. Every step toward the abyss risked becoming what he feared most.
Yet the little rabbit had always pulled him back into the light, wounded and bleeding, willing to drag him out of the bottomless chasm.
The phone vibrated. Lu Shangjin instinctively checked—it was an unknown number.
In this situation, answering was risky, yet he couldn’t miss any news about Yan Yi.
He guessed it might be Shao Wenjing calling.
He answered. Silence on the other end, as if surprised he picked up.
The pursuing gland hunters, seeing the falcon alpha on the phone, felt their pride as hunters challenged.
Lu Shangjin didn’t care; his heart pounded as if he could smell the faint candy-like scent of the weak omega through the line.
“Yan Yan… is that you?” he asked, unable to set down the phone as he climbed over the wall with elbows, cradling Chi.
“I… must have dialed wrong, sorry.”
It was indeed Yan Yi.
Lu Shangjin pleaded, “No, it’s me—Lu Shangjin. How could you not remember me? Don’t joke. I was wrong… I’m sorry, brother…”
“Sorry…” Yan Yi’s voice carried a hint of surprise. “I just wanted to say that maybe I treated you badly before… I can only apologize now. How much break-up money do you want?”
“What?”
Lu Shangjin felt as if a bottle of strong liquor had been poured directly into his skull. Every nerve flared with pain.
His ribs throbbed. A bullet grazed his side; after ten seconds, he felt a sharp pain like a severed finger.
He silently set down the phone, vaulted over a ruined wall, firing the AK behind him, pressing Chi against him as he rolled across debris, then vanished.
Perhaps the faint pheromones had calmed Chi. The boy pressed his cheek to Lu Shangjin’s shoulder, a wave of sorrow transmitting to his young mind.
This person was so sad.
Chi could sense it.
Lu Shangjin shook off the pursuing gland hunters, retreating into a half-demolished building, climbing to the top floor along dusty stairs.
He slowed down, sat down to catch his breath, letting his rib wound bleed slowly, his back arched in solitude.
He recalled a heated argument in their youth—when the little rabbit had wanted to break up after he insulted him over a dish of food, saying it tasted like candles and peppers fried together.
Yan Yi had been hurt, sulking alone at home—not out of malice, but to coax Lu Shangjin to apologize.
Lu Shangjin brought a cleaned plate to the balcony. “It was bad, but you still ate it, right?”
Yan Yi pouted.
Lu Shangjin brought a charred bowl of tomato scrambled eggs. “Mine’s worse.”
The little rabbit nestled into his arms.
One never leaves all options closed during a breakup—unlike casually asking over the phone, “How much break-up money do you want?”
Lu Shangjin panicked.
The little rabbit was mocking him.
He had done worse things to Yan Yi before.
“Are you… alright?” Shao Wen Chi stumbled and fell to the ground.
Lu Shangjin scooped him up: “Tell me—what did Shao Wenjing do to Yan Yi?”
He suspected it involved the spider’s paralyzing ability, but he wanted more details—yet feared knowing.
Chi twisted his fingers, dazed.
What could a child know? He cursed his own thoughts.
Lu Shangjin put him down, pinched his nose, and took a photo, sending it with coordinates to the number that had just called:
“Bring Yan Yi in exchange for your brother.”
Then he leaned against the wall, flipping through the seized stack of files.
Capturing just one prey from gland hunters wouldn’t provoke such a massive pursuit. The files were far more valuable.
They contained thick dossiers, each with photos. Many were Chi’s age or younger, mostly omega, with developmental potential of J1 or above, some pending evaluation.
Chi climbed up, pointing at one photo in horror: “This is my deskmate. He hasn’t come to school since the day before yesterday. When his dad came to collect his things, he was crying.”
Lu Shangjin studied the photo. The child, a soft gray rabbit with floppy ears, resembled Yan Yi as a child—endearing.
All these children were targets for gland hunters.
The children were defenseless, easy prey. But many in this school had powerful backing—any gland hunter bold enough to strike here likely had strong patrons providing weapons and resources.
Lu Shangjin stowed the files, rolling them into his tactical belt.
Nothing mattered more than finding Yan Yi.
He pulled out a laminated photo, stroking it gently.
Chi came over, looking with him.
The omega in the photo, ears pulled up in a smile, was someone Lu Shangjin especially liked. Chi wanted him and his brother together, so he could see him every day.
Lu Shangjin glanced back at Chi; the alpha’s face glistened with tears.
The rooftop’s rusty iron door burst open with a kick. Lu Shangjin grabbed Chi, retreating to the edge.
Shao Wenjing entered, blood-red eyes fixed on Lu Shangjin like a venomous insect.
Chi called crisply: “Brother!”
Shao Wenjing’s pupils trembled. His once playful peach blossom eyes turned vicious.
“Lu Shangjin… don’t just stand there, come over.” Chi was too high up and would be scared.
Lu Shangjin remained unmoved, expressionless at the edge: “Many gland hunters are nearby. Give me Yan Yi, and I won’t harm a child.”
“You even think you’re inconveniencing a child?”
Yan Yi emerged from the iron gate, holding a Desert Eagle aimed at Lu Shangjin’s forehead. Cold eyes scanned him. Lu Shangjin recognized the gaze—calculating distance and speed, deciding whether he could neutralize the target without harming the hostage.
They had been partners for years; each knew the other’s caution intimately.
Lu Shangjin’s heart fractured in small, painful increments.
Yan Yi did not fire.
At first, he feared blood would spill on Chi, tainting his childhood.
Then he noticed the alpha’s mournful, lonely expression.
Yan Yi held his chest, feeling dull pain.
He was merely a barely familiar alpha—maybe a one-night stand, maybe more than a few nights.
He saw Lu Shangjin’s hands, knuckles scarred, left hand ringed with a wedding band.
Sudden machine gun fire shattered the fragile silence. Lu Shangjin saw the red dot on his chest, instinctively flipped, pushing Chi out of the sniper’s sight.
Bullets flew wildly; a stun grenade exploded on the rooftop, which partially collapsed into a half-ruined building.
Chi screamed, sliding off the rooftop.
Shao Wenjing dashed forward: “Chi! Chi!”
He unpredictably dodged. Yan Yi was exposed to the heavy gunfire.
He froze, forgetting to evade.
After a long time, he felt the familiar chill—abandoned again.
Always abandoned.
Yan Yi touched his glands, wondering why the rare A3 gland—so precious—was seemingly ignored.
The more someone didn’t need protection, the more curious and eager they were for it.
Yet, why did no one treat him as the best?
His body tensed, then slammed to the ground. A warm hand cushioned him.
Lu Shangjin wrapped him, rolling into cover, switching the sniper rifle on his back. Narrowed eyes, he located the target’s cover, firing in one seamless motion.
No scopes—only the falcon’s extreme vision.
A sniper from the high ground fell from above.
The rooftop collapsed. Lu Shangjin, cradling Yan Yi, landed on debris and glass below, protecting him with his back.
Yan Yi’s head pressed against him, his body enveloped in a thick calming pheromone—a mix of narcissus and blood.