Bai Chunian waded through the water to pull the plug. The washing machine stopped; by now the fish and his bandages were sparkling clean.
“What are you doing…?”
Lanbo pointed at the “Clean” button on the washing machine, recognizing the character “洗.”
“But… why pour in so much detergent?”
Lanbo coiled the tail tip lying outside the machine around the empty bottle, pointing at the character “洗” on the label for Bai Chunian to see.
“Gua.”
“…Then how did you even start the machine?” The power was off when he left.
Lanbo paused, pupils flashing blue. A bolt of lightning ran from his tail into the machine’s power source. The washing machine played its startup tune, spinning Lanbo inside.
“…”
Bai Chunian finally carried the omega out, towel-drying him and placing him in a corner of the sofa. He pulled out his phone and ordered the largest custom glass aquarium he could find, while also ordering two meals for delivery.
Feeling the need to double-check the exam registration and blood test with Uncle Jin, he began composing a message. Just then, the delivery arrived. Bai Chunian habitually directed Lanbo to fetch the food.
Uncle Jin and President Yan Yi had only one child. Bai Chunian had only glimpsed him a few times: a lop-eared omega named Lu Yan, fifteen years old, spoiled and domineering at school, often causing trouble that Bai Chunian had to secretly clean up.
After sending the message, Bai Chunian glanced toward the hallway to see why the mermaid hadn’t returned with the food yet—and found the delivery man frozen in place, legs trembling as he clutched the door frame.
Lanbo had his tail draped over the shoe rack, half his body lifted as he tore into the delivery. He swallowed sushi still wrapped in plastic, chewed up the packaging, and even bit a corner off the delivery box slung over the courier. Luckily, Bai Chunian arrived just in time, scooping Lanbo up and reimbursing the delivery man two hundred yuan.
Shutting the door, Bai Chunian sat on the floor, rubbing his face.
“Hic,” Lanbo burped.
Lanbo had never experienced the outside world beyond the lab; his understanding of humans was almost nonexistent. He had been created solely for war and destruction, and to mate forcibly with a sufficiently powerful alpha to produce even stronger combat units.
Bai Chunian tried not to dwell on memories of tender moments with Lanbo in the lab: a large breeding chamber with soft bedding and warm yellow lighting, where he had held the mermaid, kissed his neck and fingers, and received enthusiastic responses.
Outside the one-way transparent breeding chamber, a dozen or more scientists in white coats observed and recorded, continuously pumping aphrodisiac pheromones into the ventilation system.
Seeing Lanbo’s cluelessness in the real world, Bai Chunian realized he had overthought things. Perhaps the mermaid was simply incapable of feelings, and thus notions of betrayal didn’t apply. With that thought, his resentment eased.
He decided that even being friends—or partners—would be enough. After 48 hours, he could demonstrate to President Yan Yi that Lanbo wasn’t an uncontrollable threat, perhaps even securing a position for him within the Alliance. Working together day-to-day wouldn’t be boring.
“Tomorrow I’ll take you out, and we’ll return in two days.” Bai Chunian leaned back against the sofa. “Uncle Jin’s son has a tactical exam. I’ll help him with the preliminaries. There’s a slot open in his team, so I’ll bring you along. This kind of exam is like a game—you don’t need to fight. Got it? Do nothing but report your position.”
Lanbo listened attentively, picking up a few key words: “@＜+％×%ǎ you +ǎ%％ fight %ǎ+× okay, +％@. do @％%↑＜ǎ just report position.”
He nodded in understanding.
The next morning at six, the city was still waking; most citizens lingered in bed or in their kitchens baking breakfast.
On the outskirts of Aphid City stood a domed arena covering over three thousand acres. At the entrance, over a thousand young students in light combat suits gathered, mostly grouped by team colors. Different teams barely spoke to each other, their gazes wary and competitive.
A petite omega crouched atop the flag-raising platform, calling on a phone, her rabbit ears twitching under her hair.
Lu Yan leaned against a wall in the shade, tossing his tactical knife idly to pass the time. “Dad really… last night he told me my distant cousin is taking the exam too and wants me to help. He said the teammates are low-level with no combat awareness and haven’t trained together. Going in will just hand points to the others.”
Beside him, a slightly older alpha named Bi Lanxing patted Lu Yan on the head. “It’s fine. Go do your thing. I’ve got their backs.”
Bi Lanxing was two grades above Lu Yan and had passed the exam last year, earning a five-star certificate. The ATWL exam allowed retakes for higher scores; the system recorded the highest result automatically.
Lu Yan snorted. “Four people working together is hard enough. Now it’s two-on-two. Damn, boring.”
The ATWL Advanced Team Warfare exam was the most difficult tactical test for students, held once a year with an extremely low pass rate. Candidates had to be under 23, and each student could attempt it a maximum of four times. Passing this exam marked a student as elite and highly sought after by various factions.
Glancing at his watch, Lu Yan impatiently called the number his father had given him.
Bai Chunian answered quickly. “Hey.”
Lu Yan paused, cleared his throat. “Where are you? The exam starts at nine. It’s six-thirty now. You’ll need to change uniforms and do the blood test. Hurry!”
Bai Chunian chuckled. “So bossy? I’ll be there soon. Are you the dimples and rabbit ears under the national flag?”
“Mm…” Lu Yan’s sharpness softened unconsciously, cheeks warming.
After hanging up, he muttered to Bi Lanxing, “Lanxing, this alpha… his voice is… a scumbag tone…”
Bi Lanxing laughed. “What do you mean?”
“Gentle, a little husky, like he just woke up. You can tell he smokes too much. Total scumbag.”
At that moment, Lu Yan’s eyes brightened. A few steps away, an alpha in a casual lion-print t-shirt and sunglasses wheeled a black suitcase. Sitting atop it was a blond, blue-eyed mixed-blood omega, surveying the alphas around him with cold indifference, idly tying his hair with a hair tie.
Bai Chunian rolled the suitcase forward, removed his sunglasses, and lowered his head to greet Lu Yan.
“I… Lanbo and I have never taken this kind of exam before. Please take care of us—we’re weak and not good at fighting. We’ll hide and try not to cause Lu-ge any trouble, okay?”
Lu Yan’s face flushed red as his gaze flickered between the two, his rabbit ears nervously curling around his face.
After a while, he composed himself, adjusted his wrist guards and fingerless gloves, and stowed away his tactical knife. He quickly gave instructions: “I’ll explain the rules in detail later. Don’t worry—it’s all holographic combat, so you won’t get hurt. Once inside, secure positions: I’ll grab the ammo boxes, you guys go up to the rooftops and set up your guns. Don’t get swept down. I’ll handle close combat. Stay quiet, got it?”
Bai Chunian frowned. “Set up guns? What does that mean? I don’t understand. I know nothing.”
Lanbo, meanwhile, was busy gnawing on the sunglasses.
Lu Yan paused, puzzled.