Bai Chunian stared at the photocopy in his hand. His pupils suddenly contracted, and his entire body stiffened, trembling slightly.
Lan Bo pressed his ear against the door, listening for sounds from outside. The security guard who had been led away had sensed something amiss and was rushing back toward the archives. If he went out now, he was certain to run into them. The archives was a completely enclosed room with no windows, designed to prevent external theft.
Bai Chunian also heard the security guard’s hurried footsteps. He tucked the contract into his coat, grabbed Lan Bo’s wrist, and gestured with his eyes, “Come here.” Then he quickly ducked into the small space between the bookshelf and the corner of the inner room of the archives.
Lan Bo climbed up to the ceiling and, using electromagnetic adhesion to grip the steel ventilation ducts inside, was able to walk across the ceiling like a gecko.
The security guard unlocked the archive room door with a key, and two uniformed guards entered. They both wore thermal scanners on their chests that would trigger an alarm if they detected any abnormal heat signatures.
The guard conducted a routine inspection of the bookshelves. As he walked, Lan Bo crawled silently directly above his head. Since merfolk have extremely low body temperatures, the thermal scanner did not trigger an alarm.
But as the other guard approached the bookshelf where Bai Chunian was hiding, Lan Bo followed him expressionlessly from the ceiling. The teeth in her mouth grew sharp, the corners of her lips split open, and a row of triangular fangs slowly parted the gap, closing in on the guard’s head.
Bai Chunian held his breath, pulled a syringe from his tactical belt, injected himself in the arm, and leaned his back against the side of the bookshelf, remaining completely still.
The syringe contained serum from Han Xingqian’s glands. The serum carried the M2 differentiation capability of the Pegasus glands, allowing it to mask thermal signatures, heartbeats, and pheromone traces for ten minutes after injection.
Seeing that the thermal sensors hadn’t triggered an alarm, the security guard immediately let his guard down, turned, and walked out, locking the door to the archives behind him.
Once the steel door closed, Bai Chunian let out a soft sigh. Leaning against the bookshelf, he closed his eyes and slowly slid down to sit on the floor.
Han Xingqian sensed the effects of his serum and asked them, “What’s going on?”
Bai Chunian replied, “It’s fine. I almost ran into the security guard, but luckily I’d hidden the sniper rifle magazine in the ceiling of the storage room beforehand.”
“Be careful. That serum can only produce one or two rounds at a time—don’t waste it.”
“Mm.”
The call had ended, but Bai Chunian still stared blankly at the ground, lost in thought.
Lan Bo landed lightly on the ground and wrapped his tail around Bai Chunian, pulling him into his embrace. Little Bai had been working as a human agent for over four years now—how could he still let himself get into such a predicament?
“What was in that stack of papers? What did you see?”
“Nothing. Let’s go.”
“Give it to me.”
“Really, nothing. Just some raw materials for potions. You wouldn’t understand.”
Lan Bo reached out and snatched the contract from his arms, flipping to the page Bai Chunian had just been looking at and glancing over it.
His gaze lingered for a moment on the orb held by the immortal spirit. His dark blue pupils trembled, softening as if they were about to melt.
Bai Chunian leaned back against the bookshelf, his eyelids red and bloodshot. Seeing him like this, Lan Bo silently suppressed his sorrow, set his face stern, and said coldly, “ “It can’t even rest in peace after death—it’s nothing more than an empty pearl shell.”
“They use the pearl to supply energy to the Immortal Spirit. Otherwise, how could it have become the strongest experimental subject currently in the institute?” Bai Chunian looked up at the ceiling and smiled. “It’s been nearly four years. It must have been waiting for us to come and take it home.”
Lan Bo leaned down and cupped his cheek: “ “We’re ovoviviparous. There’s absolutely no chance of survival if we die in the egg stage. It really is just an empty shell, containing only remnants of my soul—it has no thoughts and can’t think the way you described.”
“Let’s go.” Bai Chunian stood up and staggered toward the door, returning the contract to its original place and checking the rest of the room for any signs he’d been searching through it.
When he turned around, Lan Bo was right behind him. He suddenly wrapped his arms around Bai Chunian and whispered hoarsely into his ear: “When your life fades away a hundred years from now, I’ll make them pay the price. Stay safe for the time being.”
“If I had a dad, he would’ve come to save me, not hide away and pretend nothing happened.” Bai Chunian grabbed his wrist, eyes wide, his voice low and strained as he ground out the words.
Lan Bo clamped down on him with force, yanking their communicators from their ears and turning them off. He grabbed the collar around Bai Chunian’s neck, his pupils narrowing into slits as he looked at him with a vicious, threatening glare, yet his words were: “Enough. Ever since you went to take revenge on the breeding base without a word, I’ve been worried—that your rebellion has gone too far, your pride has gone too far, your hatred has gone too far, your impulsiveness has gone too far. Why won’t you listen? If you were my subject, I would suppress you and wear you down until you lost every last one of your claws and fangs.”
The soft, magnetic voice scolding him in his ear roused him. Bai Chunian lowered his head, resting his forehead against Lan Bo’s shoulder, and wrapped his arms around his waist: “Are you afraid? Can even a king feel fear?”
Lan Bo looked away with concern: “The Siren is all-powerful. I’ve accepted losing it. But I cannot lose you. I’ll stay on land with you just to make you happy. Don’t take advantage of the Siren’s love to do as you please.”
“I’m sorry.” Bai Chunian put on a docile expression and hugged him. “Don’t worry. Even if I die, I’ll merge with the sea and hold you in my arms every night.”
“You’re not the sea—you’re mud. Step in it and you’ll sink.”
“Fine, fine. I’m stinky mud.” Bai Chunian couldn’t release his soothing pheromones here, so he gently stroked Lan Bo’s fin, the corners of his mouth curving upward. “Don’t worry. I never said I’d go head-to-head with them. Things aren’t going to be easy for Institute 109 from now on. They’ll feel it bit by bit. Put on the communicator. Let’s go meet up with Lu Yan and Lan Xing.”
As the two put their communicators back on, a burst of static crackled through them.
“Brother Chu, we’re in trouble.” Lu Yan’s breathing was heavy, as if he were running. “We’ve located the factory, but there’s a monster guarding the place. It spotted us. Lanxing sustained a minor injury, but he’s okay. We can hold out for a little while longer—the bomb hasn’t been planted yet.”
“What kind of creature is it?”
Bi Lanxing replied, “I’m searching its data based on its appearance. It’s incredibly tall—almost three meters—with blue skin and a zombie-like posture.”
“…It’s Gagantel. An A3-class viral test subject, serial number 436. It’s the test subject bodyguard assigned to Aileen. Who brought it here… Wait for me, we’ll be there soon. Don’t alert anyone from the Lingti family.”
Outside, Han Xingqian had already gone into the room to examine his eldest sister-in-law. Xiao Xun remained in the reception hall, sitting upright in the corner as his eldest and second uncles scolded him with stern faces, sparing no harsh words.
Old Master Xiao Changxiu sat in the seat of honor, leaning solemnly on his glossy black lacquered cane, and said coldly, “Xiaotun, come here.”
Eldest brother Xiao Zichi, still resentful of the attention Xiao Xun had garnered during the ATWL exam, joined in the scolding: “Xiao Xun, Grandfather is calling you, yet you’ve gone and vanished without a word. Do you even care about the Lingti Clan anymore? You’ve brought utter disgrace upon the family.”
Xiao Xun paid no heed. He stood up, walked to the old man’s side, and raised his eyelids to reply, “These past two years, I’ve been away at school and seen the world. Now I understand why the Lingti Clan forbids Omegas from learning too much—because once you’re capable enough, you won’t need to rely on Alphas. Isn’t that exactly what you want?”
“Is the culture out there just teaching you to talk back to your elders?” Old Master Xiao raised his cane high and brought it crashing down hard on Xiao Xun’s right shoulder. “Snap out of it!”
Xiao Xun felt a fear of that stern face that had lingered since childhood. His mother had died under that very cane; even after all these years, Xiao Xun felt as though he could still see the dried blood in the cracks.
It had all happened during the annual ancestral memorial service. His mother, while menstruating, had inadvertently stepped into the ancestral hall. A gust of wind had blown out a lamp, and she was accused of offending the ancestors. With this very cane, he had beaten his mother to death right before his eyes. Blood had pooled all over the floor, some seeping into the cracks between the tiles; it took three years to scrub it all clean. Yet people had grown accustomed to it; the death of a woman within the confines of a grand mansion seemed hardly worth mentioning.
His cousins took great delight in watching him suffer. Xiao Zizhe, his face swollen on one side, watched his younger cousin endure the punishment, feeling a sense of vindication and a certain satisfaction.
Han Xingqian’s timely reminder rang in his ears: “Xunxun, we’re here to cause trouble. Don’t hold back. If you break anything, I’ll replace it. If you offend anyone, your brother Chu will simply eliminate them. We’re all here—no one can touch you.”
Just as the cane was about to strike Xiao Xun’s shoulder, he raised his hand and grabbed the shaft, seizing it in the process.
The old patriarch was stunned by his action. In the entire Lingti Clan, no one dared to lose face in front of the clan head in public—Xiao Xun had truly gone mad.
Several of his uncles were so enraged they immediately stood up from their chairs. Xiao Xun remained where he stood, his glands releasing a potent pheromone. The oppressive M2-level pheromone forced them back into their seats.
Although the Lingti Clan had been in the business of hiring hunters for generations, they mostly acted as employers, hiring highly skilled external super assassins to do the work. They were primarily responsible for the operational aspects of these deals; keeping their eyes and ears open was their specialty. At their core, they were businessmen operating in the shadows. The sons of the Lingti family’s main branch were only J1-level, and even the patriarch was merely M2—let alone the other grandchildren.
In the IOA, teeming with elite fighters, and at the Aphid Island training base, which attracts gifted youths, Xiao Xun’s rank is indeed insignificant. However, within a family where long-term intermarriage among close and distant relatives has led to a gradual decline in innate talent and strength, Xiao Xun stands out as a leader. That is why he had never dared to reveal his rank at home before.
Xiao Xun set his cane flat on the ground and looked the old man straight in the eye. “I’m here just to participate in the Selection Tournament. Once it’s over, I’ll leave. I won’t stick around to be an eyesore—it’s not worth your anger. Wait until my cousins have lost everything, down to their underwear, before you get worked up. Then we’ll see how this Alpha—whom you’ve pampered and coddled all these years—brings honor to your name.”
The moment he recognized Xiao Xun’s rank, Xiao Zizhe’s arrogance deflated instantly, and he stared at him with his mouth half-open.
The old patriarch had never encountered such an arrogant, disrespectful junior—especially an omega—and he was instantly livid. He pointed at Xiao Xun’s nose, but before he could utter a word of rebuke, a servant hurried over and whispered in the old man’s ear, “Sixth Master has returned.”
The old man froze again, his heart tightening. He waved his hand dismissively.
Before the servant could go back to fetch him, a Lingti Omega walked in with his hands in his pockets. His long, smoky-blue hair was loosely tied at the ends, falling over his shoulders, and he appeared in the reception room with a faint smile and narrowed eyes.
He must have been in his thirties, but thanks to his good looks, he appeared to be only twenty-five or twenty-six. He wore a white jacket over a thin black T-shirt; his eyes, narrowed like two crescent moons, seemed to be trying hard to appear affable, yet they instead gave off an inexplicable air of gloom.
The eldest uncle hadn’t seen his sixth younger brother in a long time, and upon seeing him, he immediately wore a sour expression.
Xiao Zizhe muttered under his breath, “All the bad luck seems to be piling up on the same day. What kind of luck is this?”
Whenever the family spoke of Uncle Xiao Yang, they referred to him as a “husband-killer” and a “harbinger of disaster”—her husband had died on their wedding day. As a result, Xiao Zizhe had grown to share their distaste through osmosis.
His muttered curse wasn’t loud, and it went largely unnoticed in the crowded, noisy reception room, but Xiao Yang seemed to have caught it. She tilted her head slightly, narrowed her eyes, and gave Xiao Zizhe a smile.
Xiao Yang scanned the people around him, his gaze settling on Xiao Xun. He smiled warmly: “I hear Xun Xun brought a doctor to examine your sister-in-law? With me here, why would my niece-in-law need an outsider to treat her?”
Xiao Xun couldn’t fathom his intentions, so he remained silent.
Xiao Yang smiled at the old man seated at the head of the table: “Though studying medicine can’t save the Lingti Clan from its rotten roots, my niece-in-law is innocent, so I had to come and see for myself to put my mind at ease.”
The Sixth Son appeared gentle and affable on the surface, yet carried an underlying arrogance that simmered beneath the surface. The old patriarch had been infuriated twice in a single day, causing his blood pressure to spike. The servants hurriedly fetched his medicine and helped him calm down.
Xiao Xun sensed the shift in the situation. Taking advantage of everyone’s attention being focused on his Sixth Uncle, who had appeared out of nowhere, he quietly slipped toward the door.
As he brushed past his sixth uncle, Xiao Yang tilted his head and smiled. Using his body to block the others’ view, he whispered in a barely audible voice:
“I’ll stay here until the raw materials are processed. Be a good boy and don’t get any funny ideas at the factory—I’ll be watching.”