The dormitory buildings had exploded into an uproar the night before. The alpha trainees living on the sixth floor spotted what looked like a human-sized blue lizard clinging to the outer wall of the omega dorm across the way. Its tail was unusually long, glowing faintly in the dark.
The creature crawled in and out through the windows, and from the opposite building came waves of screams—kettles, hangers, vacuum cleaners all knocked over in the commotion.
In fact, Lan Bo had first gone to Bai Chunian’s single-occupancy villa and searched it thoroughly, but didn’t find him. Following his scent, he checked building after building, still coming up empty. Only then did he turn his attention to the dorms. As long as Bai Chunian was on base, he inspected the dorms every week, so his scent lingered in every room.
According to witnesses, this was what happened:
Lan Bo climbed into one dorm room and realized he had the wrong person. But the ragdoll-cat omega there had ears that looked particularly soft, so he couldn’t resist petting them for a while before moving on. The trainees’ ranks meant nothing in front of Lan Bo—they were completely at his mercy.
Any omega who could enter the special training base wasn’t low-level. Even with only J1 differentiation, their gland energy was far higher than that of ordinary people. The excess energy caused glandular cell growth, so most of the omegas had visible biological traits.
That played right into Lan Bo’s hands. He visited every single room—and petted two of them until they cried.
After finishing with the omega dorms, he moved on to the alpha side. But the young alphas weren’t much fun, and some of them weren’t very clean—the rooms smelled. Disgusted, Lan Bo climbed back out the window.
That night, Han Xingqian arrived in time, caught him in a fishing net, and brought him back to his quarters for the night, barely preventing a second round of destruction.
“Leaving a familiar environment increases behavioral instability in experimental subjects.” —Han Xingqian wrote solemnly in his notebook.
A few instructors watched from the corner, enjoying the spectacle. They had all seen how their “Brother Chu” got intimate with this mermaid in private. Now that the little lover had come knocking, it was bound to be a show.
But Bai Chunian only stiffened for a moment before clearing his throat. “What are you all looking at? Everyone, assemble at the airfield. Prepare to depart.”
Lan Bo hung upside down beside him, looking displeased. “I want my collar fixed too.”
Bai Chunian turned back, face stern as he scolded him, “Stop messing around.”
Lan Bo frowned and quietly withdrew behind the reef.
The trainees scattered, whispering among themselves. Aside from a few who knew about the instructor’s relationship with the mysterious mermaid, the rest were completely clueless.
Ying and Clownfish covered their mouths, struggling to keep this earth-shattering secret to themselves. Bi Lanxing and Xiao Xun weren’t ones for gossip. Lu Yan was still clueless about romance—he’d known Bai Chunian for a long time but had no idea what was going on, his mind entirely occupied with how to crush his opponents in the upcoming exam.
Once most people had left, Bai Chunian let out a sigh of relief and went behind the reef to find Lan Bo.
“Don’t sit on the ground.” He bent down, lifted Lan Bo up, and brushed the sand off the scales on his tail.
“You yelled at me.” Lan Bo turned his face away, holding a grudge.
Bai Chunian cupped his chin and turned his face back. “Tell me—why did you come back on your own?”
Lan Bo frowned. “Because… I felt like it.”
He’d learned the essence of human speech, at least. Bai Chunian set him on a lower rock and studied him with his hands in his pockets. “It’s dangerous.”
“Your gift—I didn’t take it. I brought it to you.” Lan Bo looked up at him. “Will you protect me… indecently?”
Bai Chunian licked his lips, turned away with his hands still in his pockets, and ran a hand through his hair before turning back again.
Sometimes the strange combinations of words this fish came up with sounded oddly seductive when put together.
“Stop using words like that. That’s not a good word, I’m telling you. Good kids don’t say things like that.”
“Mm. Mitub,” Lan Bo said.
“What does that mean?”
“Lewd.”
“Good grief.” Bai Chunian scratched his head. Teaching a fish had to start young—once they got older, it was hopeless. They’d just pick up dirty language.
“Fix my collar.” Lan Bo tilted his head back, his slender collarbones stretching even more prominently with the motion.
“You don’t even have a collar.”
His upper body was only wrapped in bandages. Bai Chunian draped his own coat over Lan Bo’s shoulders and knelt on one knee to adjust the neckline for him.
Lan Bo’s eyes curved as he watched the fishbone mineral hanging from Bai Chunian’s left ear. At that moment, it pulsed faintly with a rhythmic glow.
“When I took this piece out, I saw… my own heart,” Lan Bo told him. “When I think of you, randi, it lights up.”
When Lan Bo said “randi,” the mineral at Bai Chunian’s ear flickered with a faint electric glow.
“So I keep shocking myself,” Lan Bo murmured, pressing a hand to his chest. “Every day, I accidentally get shocked many times. When it hurts, I come to find you.”
The incomplete confession landed in Bai Chunian’s ears, making his heart tremble.
Lan Bo obediently let him fuss over him. Placed on the reef, he sat there curled up, the tip of his tail occasionally flicking and hooking around Bai Chunian’s boot. Gone was the cold authority he’d shown when threatening the chairman days ago—now there was even a hint of guilty affection in his closeness.
“Did the chairman pass anything on to you?” Lan Bo asked.
“Hm? Oh, nothing much. Just comforted me a bit.” After Bai Chunian had been airlifted away that day, he hadn’t heard their private conversation.
“Mm.” Lan Bo relaxed, muttering softly, “Good thing that rabbit knows better.” Anyone who tattled would earn his contempt.
Bai Chunian looked puzzled.
“Are you going… traveling?” Lan Bo asked. “I want to go too.”
“It’s an evaluation exam. On a small island in the south.” Bai Chunian thought for a moment about what was there. “Oh right—there are a few places with great scenery. After the exam, I’ll take you around.”
All the trainees and instructors had already boarded the plane. Bai Chunian set Lan Bo down in his seat, then placed a backpack under it, filled to the brim with bottled water.
His assigned seat was next to Han Xingqian’s, but Han tactfully moved to the back row to sit with the sniper class, flipping through a magazine to pass the time.
Bai Chunian took Han Xingqian’s original seat.
Lan Bo turned around curiously, bracing himself on the seatback as he looked at the trainees in the cabin. The students had already been captivated by this beautiful mermaid; the entire journey’s conversation had revolved around him. Now that they finally had a chance to get a closer look, they stared openly, some of the younger alphas even shyly waving at him.
“Why don’t you have a class?” Lan Bo turned back to ask.
At the training base, every instructor led a class, and the trainees specialized in their instructor’s subject. Bai Chunian was the exception—being the tactics instructor, he didn’t belong to any specific class.
“They’re not good enough for my standards,” Bai Chunian said flatly. “None of them qualify for my class.”
Lu Yan wasn’t convinced and chimed in, “What counts as good enough?”
Bai Chunian replied, “When you can go through an entire battle without a single mistake.”
Lu Yan thought about it. “That doesn’t sound that hard.”
Bai Chunian let out a scoff. “Say that again when one of you actually does it.”
The cabin doors shut, and the plane rolled onto the runway. Lan Bo peered out the small window at the wing outside, muttering to himself, “Big flying wings bus.”
“Airplane. First time riding one?” Bai Chunian pulled him back into his seat and carefully fastened his seatbelt. “Stay put.”
As the plane took off, the sudden force pressing him back startled Lan Bo. His ears clogged uncomfortably, and in a flash he wriggled out of the seatbelt and wrapped himself tightly around Bai Chunian.
“Nali nali? (What’s happening? What’s happening?)”
“It’s fine. Sit down.” Bai Chunian patted his back gently, a trace of calming pheromones unconsciously leaking from his glands.
Lan Bo pointed at his ear. “Wei? (Why?)”
“That’s normal. Don’t be scared.” Bai Chunian rubbed his ears and tilted his chin slightly. “Like this—open your mouth. It’ll help.”
The scent of brandy-like calming pheromones filled the cabin. Instructor Red Crab, seated right behind him, felt his temples throb from the intensity. Holding his head, he muttered, “Unbelievable. It’s just takeoff—did you have to release pheromones at that concentration? Chu, I’m getting a concussion here.”
Instructor Dai Ning, meanwhile, leaned into the intoxicating scent, rested her head on the tray table, and fell asleep snoring.
The pilot had been temporarily transferred from the base’s reconnaissance unit, used to flying fighter jets. He pushed the vertical takeoff speed to the max. Lan Bo glanced outside—the world spun, and the ground grew farther and farther away.
“Lan Bo feels sick.” He curled into a semi-transparent ball and rolled down the aisle toward the restroom.
“Hey—come here, I’ll take you.” Bai Chunian unbuckled his seatbelt and chased after the rolling fish-ball all the way to the back of the cabin.
Just as suddenly, the plane leveled out into stable flight. The fish-ball reversed direction from inertia and rolled back, forcing Bai Chunian to chase him again.
Han Xingqian propped his head on one hand, watching the show. Xiao Xun leaned out for a glance, only to see Doctor Han push a magazine toward him. On top of it was a small pile of hand-peeled sunflower seeds.
Xiao Xun hesitated, then picked one up and put it in his mouth, chewing slowly before taking another.
Han Xingqian opened his laptop, observing through the dark reflection on the screen Xiao Xun’s wagging little “puppy tail.” He casually stretched out a leg to block the fish-ball rolling up and down the aisle, giving Bai Chunian the chance to scoop Lan Bo up and quiet things down.
After half an hour of flight, the plane approached its destination. Bai Chunian picked up the onboard microphone and spoke:
“You’ve now entered the military training grounds of Red Heart Island. The flight path will pass directly over the island before landing at the airfield. Trainees will form teams of six. Weapons will be provided in fixed ammo crates within the training area. Each weapon is enhanced with my companion ability—Pain Deception. You won’t suffer real injuries, but you’ll experience fully simulated pain at a one-to-one level. Any team member who loses combat capability should remain in place and wait for extraction. The exercise continues until only one team remains. Your performance will be monitored by all instructors in real time and broadcast to headquarters leadership. Give it everything you’ve got—show me the results of your year of hard training.”
One by one, the trainees whose names were called began parachuting out. As Bai Chunian continued roll call, Lan Bo found a parachute pack under the seat and quietly started fiddling with it.
“Number 99 ready!” Ying called out, then jumped.
“Number 100 ready!” Clownfish shouted, following right after.
“Good,” Bai Chunian said.
“Number 101 ready!”
“Good.”
“Number 102 ready!”
“Good.”
“Number 103 ready!”
“Good.”
Two seconds later—
Bai Chunian: “??? Where did 103 come from??”
Lan Bo had already leapt off the plane, clutching the parachute pack, spinning wildly in free fall in a bizarre posture.
He descended faster than everyone else—because he never opened the parachute. At the moment of impact, he used a powerful electric current to create magnetic levitation as a buffer, emitting a low electric hum.
“Thrilling.” Lan Bo hovered atop a building dome, coiling around a lightning rod, the tip of his tail curling happily. He tilted his head up to look at the plane, only to realize Bai Chunian hadn’t come down.
Lan Bo: “?”
The live broadcast zoomed in clearly on Lan Bo’s actions—he gleefully opened fixed ammo crates and climbed inside. Whenever someone came to grab a weapon, he would suddenly pop out and spray them with water, then snatch a weapon in his mouth and crawl away.
Watching the live feed, Red Crab burst out laughing. “Hahahahaha isn’t he just a total chaos agent? Chu, your partner’s incredible.”
Han Xingqian crossed his arms, leaning against the wall. “Not bad. It’s about time these arrogant kids saw what a real opponent looks like. Let Lan Bo act as a sparring partner.”
Meanwhile, Bai Chunian sat in the cabin, pressing his fingers against his philtrum and rubbing his temples, trying to keep himself from passing out.