How did he get the letter?
He’d used a new, highly classified form of compressed-space jump technology— something even the Federation as a whole couldn’t replicate.
Only someone with a top-tier Alpha constitution could survive the tearing turbulence of an unstable spatial rift even once.
To travel back and forth through it twice in such a short span? Even the researchers who developed the technology wouldn’t dare to imagine the consequences. Their risk assessments were filled with warnings: never attempt use unless absolutely necessary.
Gu Heng was the first person ever to complete two consecutive jumps— the only person alive capable of passing through spatial turbulence unscathed.
Reckless, perhaps— but that recklessness came from his deep understanding of his own limits. He’d weighed the risks and decided it was worth it.
Even if this was the last time they would meet, he didn’t regret acting on impulse for a Federation Alpha.
Narrowing his dark eyes, Gu Heng looked at Zuo Shihuan before him, his lips unconsciously curling into a sly, candid smile.
“If I told you,” he said, “I’d have to get arrested and go on the run.”
Zuo Shihuan was momentarily speechless. His brows knit, and in his light brown eyes flickered a complex, shadowed emotion. He interlaced his fingers, pressed them to his forehead, and finally let out a few helpless laughs.
He had never met such a cunning b*stard.
Even if Gu Heng lied to him, he would have caught it instantly. He knew every method there was, and none could shorten a twenty-day trip to Bailestar into just a few hours. Not even with the Federation’s most advanced warships.
But Gu Heng hadn’t lied—he’d said it openly, with a calm face. That made Zuo Shihuan hesitate.
Impossible by known means— but what about unknown ones?
For a moment, Zuo Shihuan’s mind conjured an image of Gu Heng being arrested for smuggling, or using some illegal, unspeakable technique.
He’d seen how the lowest rungs of society lived— most were numb, drifting in the gray areas, petty thieves, not truly evil. But there were others—those whose darkness couldn’t even be hidden by the slums.
He himself had once walked in those shadowed places. With some skill, strength rivaling an Alpha’s, and a face more striking than most Alphas or Betas— a gift from his beautiful mother— he had drawn countless spectators to him. In the illegal fight arenas, he fought match after match, earning the screams and adoration of wealthy Omega patrons who threw money like rain.
People thought those underground fights were all blood and brute strength. But in truth—they were theater. A spectacle designed to excite and entertain the rich, to give them an outlet to scream, to revel in the violence.
In one such fight, Zuo Shihuan had been forced through his earpiece to stop mid-motion and shift his stance— just so the giant screen could capture his most handsome, most valuable profile for the crowd.
In another match, for the sake of drama, he’d had to drop a winning punch, obediently take a hit instead— forced to play the victim under the spectators’ gasps, their voices crying out in false pity.
He had turned his head at the last moment, so the blow only grazed him— but even so, the right side of his face had swollen instantly.
Zuo Shihuan had then lifted his cold, sharp gaze, like a lone, bloodthirsty wolf fixing on its prey. Even with blood in his mouth and pain shooting through his jaw, he didn’t frown— he just smiled, cold and indifferent.
That single look made his opponent take a step back.
The man remembered another fighter Zuo had once faced— a massive, vicious Alpha who’d cheated by wearing a ring studded with hidden metal spikes. He’d slashed Zuo Shihuan’s hand, only to end up with his own fingers broken, carried off the ring drenched in blood.
That was the most ruthless he’d ever seen Zuo Shihuan.
Before that, he’d thought this newcomer was just another pretty boy relying on his looks— a soft-faced poser being hyped by young, rich Omega fans.
He’d been completely wrong.
But that match— was the one where he faced Zuo Shihuan.
At first, the opponent had found him a difficult, troublesome opponent— he entered the ring tense and wary, ready to guard against Zuo Shihuan’s fierce assaults. But before long, a command came through his earpiece from the boss behind the scenes, and his heart immediately settled.
Because the underground fight organizer wanted more drama. He was tired of watching the same predictable victories— he wanted to see the newly popular, beautiful Beta fighter fall hard.
And what could shock and thrill the audience— both his fans and his haters—more than seeing that handsome face destroyed? The perfect jolt of adrenaline, the rising odds, and the frenzy of spectators throwing Federation credits on bets.
As long as the match wasn’t over— the audience could keep spending.
So the opponent, who had been intimidated moments ago, regained his confidence. He even taunted Zuo Shihuan, cockily asking the boss if he should throw in another punch.
It was obvious—he’d been jealous for a long time. Jealous that Zuo Shihuan’s striking looks had stolen the crowd’s adoration, and that this “pretty boy” had outshone him in popularity.
Zuo Shihuan only clenched his fist, his eyes cold as frost. Before the other man could gloat for long, the fight reached a fever pitch— the crowd was flushed and roaring, pounding the railings, so riled up they nearly climbed into the ring.
Some of Zuo Shihuan’s supporters couldn’t bear to watch. They thought he was going to lose. At the peak of the betting odds, everyone was just waiting for his downfall.
But at that very moment, Zuo Shihuan’s lips curved upward. Under his opponent’s seemingly ferocious barrage, he launched a stunning counterattack in the final minute— a reversal so explosive it sent the whole arena into chaos.
His opponent was pummeled like by a storm, beaten until he collapsed and couldn’t move.
When the referee finished the ten-second countdown and declared Zuo Shihuan the winner, the defeated man could only stare up in disbelief at the figure standing in the spotlight, basking in the cheers.
He couldn’t understand— why had the boss allowed this? Why had he lost, when the boss had explicitly ordered Zuo Shihuan to throw the match? His victory should have been guaranteed— yet Zuo Shihuan had won, and the boss said nothing.
As the cannons fired and confetti rained down, Zuo Shihuan stood in the center of the ring, expression calm, lifting his gaze toward the giant screen above.
His name flashed in bright letters— but in his sharp, penetrating eyes was not triumph— only the reflection of numbers climbing ever higher, a stream of Federation credits pouring in.
The underground boss had wanted him to lose, but hadn’t planned to destroy such a lucrative “money tree.” That hidden power struggle behind the scenes was what let Zuo Shihuan officially win the match.
Yet in the black ring, no fighter was meant to win forever.
For the fighter, a 90% win rate meant glory. But for the boss, it meant losing money. If everyone bet on Zuo Shihuan, who would bet on the other side?
Even if his odds were driven to rock-bottom— say, a fan bet 10,000 Federation credits only to win a single coin in profit— with thousands of bettors doing the same, the house would still lose millions.
So Zuo Shihuan had to lose. Only by losing could his odds soar again— so the audience could thrill at his downfall, flood the betting pool with more money, and let the boss quietly scoop it all away.
Then why did he win?
That question—the one his opponent couldn’t stop asking— Zuo Shihuan had understood from the start.
He hadn’t truly won. The moment he obeyed that order and stood still under someone else’s direction, he had already lost— as a fighter.
From then on, he was only a performer in the ring.
But the script didn’t unfold the way his opponent imagined— he wasn’t the tragic stepping stone for a new rising star. Instead, Zuo Shihuan turned the staged loss into a shocking reversal, winning the match outright.
They wanted him to lose— so he let them think he would. But he would never be a puppet forever. Standing still and taking blows wasn’t an option. He’d only joined these matches to earn enough for his Federation Academy tuition. He wasn’t about to throw his future away for temporary gain.
Besides, the boss had threatened to withhold his payout if he didn’t follow orders— while promising ten times the reward for a “stellar performance.” The manipulation disgusted him, and made him even more cautious.
In the past, he’d followed minor requests— posing for promo photos, meeting wealthy fans who paid extra for autographs or selfies. A manager had even been assigned to handle his public image and gifts from admirers.
But this time was different.
Zuo Shihuan understood perfectly— to the people behind the ring, he was just a slightly more valuable disposable asset. So after earning that tenfold prize— enough for two years of tuition and living expenses— he walked away.
He ignored the boss’s empty promises of million-credit bonuses, finals qualifications, and a lucrative contract. He took his money, left cleanly, and disappeared for a while under a new identity.
Fortunately, he’d been cautious— he’d never signed a contract with the arena. He’d been only a temporary fighter. Even when the organizers threatened him— saying without a contract he wouldn’t even get medical care— Zuo Shihuan simply bandaged his own wounds after every match and refused to yield.
Maybe because he never signed, never let them chain their “cash cow” down, the boss still wanted to break his pride, to force him into submission.
But after that last match, Zuo Shihuan walked away— completely, cleanly, without looking back.
It was said that the boss behind the scenes had sent people to look for him, but couldn’t find any trace of his whereabouts. On top of that, after spending a fortune on publicity without finding a fighter who could rival Zuo Shihuan’s popularity, the finals drew less attention than the semifinals before Zuo Shihuan left. They lost a huge sum of money and fumed about it for a long time.
It was precisely because Zuo Shihuan had witnessed what it meant to be forced into the mud for survival—how close he came to compromising and breaking his pride—that he no longer wanted anyone else to experience the same.
Especially not Gu Heng.
Bitterness welled in Zuo Shihuan’s heart. His light brown eyes, complex and heavy, rested on Gu Heng’s calm, easy smile—as if he were watching him stand in the same mire.
Outside, dawn was breaking.
A shaft of sunlight slipped through the curtains, falling across Zuo Shihuan’s shoulder. The vivid orange glow touched his hand, warming fingers that had grown slightly cold.
But not a single beam of light reached Gu Heng. It was as though all the light in the room deliberately avoided him.
Zuo Shihuan looked at him standing in the shadows—those refined, restrained black eyes, the sharp brows, the faint bruising beneath his gaze that only made him look more carelessly dangerous. Yet, toward him alone, Gu Heng curved his lips in a smile that held warmth.
It made Zuo Shihuan think back to their first meeting.
A chill ran through him.
He hadn’t forgotten the look in Gu Heng’s eyes when he faced strangers with indifference—it was the same look he had worn when he first met him.
Those black eyes, cold as the deep sea, gazed dispassionately upon foolish prey as it stumbled into the swamp, struggled, sank, despaired, drowned, and finally decayed into the mud, becoming one with it.
And he—he stood within that same mire without a speck of dirt on him.
Even as others drowned before his eyes, he would not so much as flinch, remaining composed and indifferent as ever, overlooking everything from above.
He seemed like a completely different person from the Gu Heng of now.
The man before him would laugh, tease him, infuriate him until his teeth ached—yet his face was alive with slyness, mischief, vivid and unguarded expression.
He toyed with him so that there was nowhere to run, until Zuo Shihuan could only surrender and admit he’d been caught by this cunning b*stard.
But Zuo Shihuan also saw clearly now—Gu Heng was still the man he had first seen: wild, aloof, and so cold it made his heart tremble.
Zuo Shihuan had always thought of his years in the slums as a quagmire, struggling desperately to climb free. He assumed anyone would want to escape that rotten place.
And yet—
What he saw as filth, someone else might see as nourishment.
A bitter smile twisted his lips, his legs heavy with the weight of helplessness.
He could more or less guess the truth now. He had simply indulged in the foolish delusion that perhaps Gu Heng was different. But anyone who could run wild in the lower city districts—how could he be simple?
After all, Gu Heng was an enforcer for a powerful organization, one far larger than the underground fight ring Zuo Shihuan had once joined. And Gu Heng, with his striking looks, would be even more coveted than Zuo Shihuan had been—worth a high price on the black market.
Anyone else would have long been swallowed by the mire, but no one dared touch Gu Heng. Instead, he was revered, admired.
Zuo Shihuan couldn’t imagine how he had managed it. As a child, he had struggled just to survive, worn down to the bone merely to protect his beautiful Beta mother, forced to pay “protection fees” because of her looks.
And yet Gu Heng, another handsome Beta born into that same stinking, decaying world, lived freely and arrogantly—like a black rose that bloomed where it shouldn’t, proud and untouchable.
Perhaps he’d only been sentimental.
Gu Heng didn’t need his concern. He might even find it bothersome.
As for how Gu Heng had managed to get his hands on that mech model from Baille Star—Zuo Shihuan no longer wanted to ask. He didn’t dare. He’d rather be kept in the dark forever than live to see Gu Heng dragged away one day.
Covering his eyes, Zuo Shihuan let out a soft laugh. “I’m not going to care anymore.”
Then a shaft of morning sunlight pierced through—
It was so bright that Zuo Shihuan opened his eyes. The light brown irises shimmered with painful moisture as he looked, reluctant to part, at Gu Heng standing in the shadows.
Though Gu Heng said nothing in his defense, the faint bruising under his eyes and the pallor beneath his usual composure made it clear—coming back from Baille Star hadn’t been easy.
He wanted to pull him into the light, yet he knew Gu Heng didn’t need it. Even in the shadows, he lived better than anyone.
So in the end, Zuo Shihuan said nothing.
Catching a glimpse of the brightening sky outside the window, he realized how quickly time had passed—another morning had arrived.
Sunlight poured in, warming his skin. Now he wore a clean, well-tailored suit, frequented the gatherings of the upper class. No longer the Beta scraping by at the edge of the slums.
And yet, for a fleeting moment, his mind drifted. He looked out toward the dazzling light that was now his world—like the refracted brilliance of a crystal chandelier at a lavish banquet.
Had he really climbed out of the mud?
Why didn’t it feel real?
Suddenly, Zuo Shihuan spoke. “Will you be in danger?”
Gu Heng’s dark eyes deepened. The corner of his lips lifted. “No. But maybe you should worry about the people who run into me instead.”
Zuo Shihuan choked a little, rendered speechless by his outrageous confidence—yet somehow, he believed him.
Though, really, what gave a Beta from the lower city districts that kind of confidence?
With a helpless little laugh, Zuo Shihuan lowered his head, then lifted it again—his light brown eyes now full of genuine warmth and hope, bright and steady as the earth beneath the dawn sun. He spoke softly: “You must take care of yourself.”
Gu Heng blinked, then raised an eyebrow with a teasing smile. “Of course I will.”
Zuo Shihuan’s eyes softened. Hands folded over his knees, he returned that youthful bravado with a quiet smile. “I hope the next time we meet—if there’s a next time—you’ll still be able to say that to me.”
Gu Heng understood how slim that chance was. He memorized Zuo Shihuan’s face deeply, then smiled back and said, “I will.”
It was about time to go.
Zuo Shihuan had a company meeting at eight that morning, then needed to return to the Zuo family estate to prepare. He had already spent too much time here — even his suit was the same one he’d worn since yesterday.
Yet when it came time to part, seeing the pale fatigue on Gu Heng’s face, he found himself reluctant, softhearted, unable to let go.
“Do you want some breakfast?” Zuo Shihuan asked.
Gu Heng paused before replying, “If you’d like, I think the hotel service offers some…”
There was a trace of helpless amusement in Zuo Shihuan’s eyes. “I can’t have you bringing me things and not at least treat you to breakfast. You’ve been up all night too, haven’t you?”
Gu Heng immediately understood what he meant. He wasn’t made of iron — after two consecutive space jumps, he was already starving.
So he nodded in agreement.
Silence settled over the room again. Neither spoke until the hotel staff knocked and brought in a cart with a Western-style breakfast.
Zuo Shihuan sipped his black coffee while going through the meeting materials his assistant had sent — reviewing today’s agenda, the list of attendees, and noting areas that needed revision before forwarding them back.
The affairs of the Zuo family were heavy and complex. Ever since he’d entered the household, all eyes had been on him — the Alpha heir who might one day inherit one of the Federation’s most powerful families.
In the beginning, to adapt to the Zuo family’s pace, Zuo Shihuan had worked around the clock, barely finding time to breathe, let alone rest.
Now, as he became more adept at managing the family’s business, things had eased — enough that he could at least take a moment to sit down with a cup of coffee.
As he worked, his peripheral vision caught Gu Heng devouring his food — two, three bites, and half the bread was gone. He must’ve been starving.
But the hot milk beside him sat untouched.
Zuo Shihuan thought it wasteful, so he pushed the cooling cup toward Gu Heng.
Gu Heng frowned slightly, puzzled as to what kind of image Zuo Shihuan had of him, but still drank the strong, milky liquid in one go. Then, glancing at Zuo Shihuan — still immersed in his work, breakfast untouched — he asked curiously,
“You only drink black coffee? You’re not eating anything?”
Without looking up, Zuo Shihuan replied, “No. I usually skip breakfast. My mind’s clearer when I think on an empty stomach.”
“…Oh.” Gu Heng narrowed his black eyes, eyeing the half-finished cup of coffee.
Then, as Zuo Shihuan continued working, a faint sound of liquid pouring suddenly drew his attention. When he looked up, he found Gu Heng pouring milk into his coffee—
Zuo Shihuan: “…”
His expression darkened instantly. Grabbing Gu Heng’s hand mid-act, he asked, “What do you think you’re doing?”
Gu Heng, utterly unbothered at being caught, said calmly, “Adding milk for you.”
And continued to pour.
Zuo Shihuan could only watch as the milk filled the cup to the brim and overflowed, splashing onto his sleeve, leaving a stain that wouldn’t come off. The rich, aromatic black coffee was now drowned in a cloying layer of sweetness.
The culprit blinked innocently. “Ah, I might’ve poured too much. But it’s still drinkable.”
Zuo Shihuan silently set the cup down, flicked his stained fingers, then narrowed his eyes dangerously. Without warning, he grabbed Gu Heng’s face and forced the remaining milk into his mouth.
“Gulp—gulp—”
Gu Heng, unable to dodge, choked on a mouthful of milk, hearing Zuo Shihuan’s low, sinister voice by his ear: “Don’t waste it. You can finish the rest yourself.”
Gu Heng raised both hands in surrender. His dark eyes were full of helpless fondness as he looked at the vengeful Zuo Shihuan. Though he could’ve easily stopped him a hundred different ways, he obediently drank the rest, coughing between swallows.
“I was wrong, I was wrong—”
Zuo Shihuan eyed him skeptically, unsure if he was truly remorseful — until Gu Heng’s eyes curved, his teeth flashing in an unrepentant grin.
Clearly, this b*stard wasn’t sorry at all. And yet, d*mn it, Zuo Shihuan couldn’t stay angry.
He sat down in silence, hesitated for a long moment, then grudgingly picked up the ruined coffee. It tasted faintly of milk, so diluted that there was almost no trace of the dark bitterness he liked.
He drank in small sips, pausing every so often with visible irritation, shooting Gu Heng sharp looks of annoyance — he clearly hated the sweet taste.
Gu Heng couldn’t help but laugh.
He was used to seeing Zuo Shihuan as the picture of composure — the flawless, perfectionist elite, more poised than an imperial prince himself. Who would’ve thought he had such a childish side?
Zuo Shihuan sipped with tightly pressed lips, not even looking up, but he could hear Gu Heng’s bright laughter beside him. His fingers tightened around the handle of the cup.
In his mind, he sternly told himself not to throw the coffee at that b*stard’s head.
Not because he cared about burning him — absolutely not — but because wasting food was wrong.
Still chuckling, Gu Heng pushed a plate of bread toward him. His black eyes glimmered with quiet affection as he coaxed gently, “Eat a little with me, hmm? Drinking black coffee on an empty stomach isn’t good for you.”
Zuo Shihuan paused, lowering his eyes. His fingers brushed the rim of the cup as he asked softly, “So you added milk to my coffee because you were worried about that?”
Gu Heng raised an eyebrow, a teasing light in his eyes. “Oh no, I just thought it wouldn’t be fair if I were the only one drinking it. Figured I’d make you try it too.”
Zuo Shihuan didn’t seem angry. It was as if that strange, ruined coffee had somehow turned sweet in his heart. He looked up and couldn’t help but laugh.
“Gu Heng, you really are a b*stard.”
Gu Heng’s dark eyes showed mock hurt. “Even now, you’re still calling me a b*stard?”
Zuo Shihuan pretended to think seriously for a second, making Gu Heng lean in to listen — then smiled firmly.
“Yes. Gu Heng is an absolute b*stard, through and through.”
Zuo Shihuan thought he would never find another b*stard like Gu Heng— a b*stard he had liked so much, a b*stard no one could replace, a b*stard he missed whenever he couldn’t see him.
When he heard Gu Heng was seeing someone else, his chest burned with a bitter ache. He threw aside reason and work, driving through pouring rain to go where he might find him.
When he couldn’t see him, he’d drink himself numb.
When he did see him, he couldn’t control his greed.
He wanted to see him all the time; once he did, he wanted to hold him, to kiss him, to laugh with him, to play around with him.
Originally, Zuo Shihuan could have tolerated a dull, rule-abiding, numb kind of life— as long as he never met that b*stard Gu Heng. But every moment he’d spent with him shimmered in his memory, making the first half of his life seem dim and colorless by comparison.
Even if that b*stard constantly teased him, stirred up hopes and fantasies, only to reject him again and again, making a fool of him— he still couldn’t bear to let him go.
In the end, what he wanted most was simply to be with Gu Heng in an ordinary way. Like countless ordinary people— to hold the hand of the one beside him and live out a plain, happy life together.
But he couldn’t.
—It was really too hard.
—No matter how he thought about it, he couldn’t make sense of it. He couldn’t tell right from wrong, couldn’t find a solution, could only watch himself, helpless and humiliated, losing everything again.
Gu Heng suddenly froze. He saw that at some point, Zuo Shihuan had lowered his head and was smiling faintly— but silent tears were sliding down his cheeks, dripping one by one from his chin.
“Hey,” Zuo Shihuan said softly, “Let’s not see each other again.”
His eyes were red; he lifted his tear-streaked, light brown gaze, and with a smile that was resolute yet trembling, said to Gu Heng: “I won’t think about you anymore, b*stard—”
Gu Heng’s pupils contracted. He stared blankly at the man before him, who was crying yet saying goodbye, his mind going utterly blank, lips trembling.
It took him a long time to come back to himself. His dark eyes heavy, his lips pale, he tried to laugh it off like before, to hide behind that careless grin— but no matter how he tried, he couldn’t smile. At last, he lowered his gaze and said hoarsely,“Alright.”
His eyes empty, Gu Heng said, “From now on, you don’t have to worry about running into me. I’ll avoid you as much as I can, so you won’t be troubled.”
“Is that so?”
Zuo Shihuan gave a small nod, as if satisfied, but his heart grew even heavier. He closed his eyes, held his breath for a moment, then opened them again with a calm, faint smile.
“That’s good, then. It’s getting late, I should go. I renewed this hotel room for a month— I thought we might use it again next time we met, but I guess there won’t be a next time. If you want to rest a bit, you can stay here.”
Gu Heng: “No need. I should go too.”
Zuo Shihuan lowered his eyes and slowly walked toward the door. As his hand closed around the doorknob, he couldn’t help saying: “I don’t know how you managed to come back from Baile Star, but I imagine it wasn’t something easy. If you really want to leave that kind of place—forget it…”
He gave a small, helpless laugh. “You probably wouldn’t want to anyway. But since we’ve known each other, I don’t ever want the next news I hear about you to be that you were caught and sent to prison. If you ever get into trouble, you can come to me. My promise to you still stands.”
A ripple flickered through Gu Heng’s dark eyes. He knew revealing personal information like this was extremely dangerous, but in the end, he couldn’t bring himself to lie to Zuo Shihuan—not about this.
He could lie to anyone else, but to one person, just this once, he wanted to be honest.
He took a few steps forward, stopping behind Zuo Shihuan. His tall frame cast a shadow over him as he reached out and wrapped his hand around Zuo Shihuan’s, turning the doorknob together.
He wanted to stretch that second forever, but it had to end.
A trace of reluctant pain flickered in Gu Heng’s dark eyes. Still, he forced a crooked, teasing smile, his warm breath brushing against Zuo Shihuan’s ear as he said softly:
“I heard you. If I ever get caught, it’ll only be because you locked me up yourself. Maybe you’ll regret not doing it today.”
The door opened.
The harsh, bright lights of the hotel corridor spilled into Zuo Shihuan’s eyes. His light brown pupils blurred with moisture, the road ahead indistinct.
The man behind him brushed past, walking away in the opposite direction.
Zuo Shihuan lowered his eyes and began to walk again— slowly, numbly, on a path that was once more only his own, without direction or purpose.
A sharp car horn jolted him back.
Blinking, Zuo Shihuan realized he was standing alone at a crosswalk. The light had turned green, and people hurried past him in all directions.
He suddenly laughed to himself. He’d gone the wrong way.
In truth, he didn’t need to walk out here at all— his car was parked in the hotel’s underground garage. But Zuo Shihuan no longer wanted to turn back.
He took out his communicator to call his driver, but stopped when a message from his butler appeared on the screen. He stared at it in silence for a long while.
—“The custom-made ring has arrived.”
—“The Roman tulips for your engagement ceremony were delayed by a cosmic storm; the flight may not arrive on time. Should we ask your fiancée, Miss Yu, what flowers she’d prefer as replacements?”
—“The tailored suit for the engagement is being rushed to completion. The venue is set at the Federation Hotel, 8 p.m. Invitations have already gone out to prominent guests. Do you wish to assign additional security?”
One matter after another piled up, as if trying to suffocate him.
Zuo Shihuan fell silent for half a second, then, as though it were nothing new, resumed his day’s work.
His light brown eyes were calm—so calm they seemed numb. He dialed the first work call of the day.
“Hello—”
On the other end—
Gu Heng was also on the phone. Cigarette butts burned out one by one beside him. His dark eyes were lifeless as he said, “Get me an assignment. Something that’ll let me leave this place right away…”
Ji Shenwen had just woken up, his hair sticking up and his eyes still hazy. He asked blankly, “Your Highness, where are you planning to go?”
Gu Heng replied, “The farther from the Federation Capital, the better.”
Ji Shenwen was stunned. “So sudden? Then I’ll check what missions are available soonest…”
He quickly tapped on his terminal and said, “There’s one — an urgent mission from the Empire’s Intelligence Bureau. A group of star pirates has abducted several spaceship passengers near the border, including both Federation and Empire citizens. It caught the attention of a noble who was among the kidnapped tourists. Turns out, this group isn’t after ransom or money — they’ve taken people several times and then vanished. Now it’s suspected to be connected to black market human trafficking.”
Ji Shenwen’s expression grew serious as he forwarded the report to Gu Heng. “The Bureau has already started investigating,” he continued. “But since it’s at the sensitive border between the Empire and the Federation, we can’t deploy too many agents. Is Your Highness interested in this mission?”
Gu Heng said, “That one. Get ready immediately — you’re coming with me today.”
Ji Shenwen was taken aback. “Me? You want me to leave right away too, Your Highness?”
Gu Heng’s black eyes darkened. “Do you have something else to do?”
Ji Shenwen scratched his head awkwardly and said, a bit sheepishly, “Actually… today I had a date with Yu Lizhu. Work hasn’t been that busy lately, and she said there’ll be a special fireworks display tonight. She even made a picnic dinner for us. She said she’ll wear the scarf I knitted for her for Valentine’s Day — if it gets cold, we can share it to keep warm together…”
At that moment, Gu Heng could not stand listening to a pair of lovestruck fools cooing about their sweet little plans. The more Ji Shenwen talked, the darker Gu Heng’s expression became — highlighting all the more how solitary he was.
Tch. Instantly, his mood soured.
His black eyes turned glacial as he asked with a mocking half-smile, “So now that you’ve got a girlfriend, you’re that busy?”
Ji Shenwen flushed and scratched his head again, smiling guilelessly. “Not really! We just see each other every two or three days, but we talk on the phone every day. Actually, it’s almost time for her morning call now—”
Gu Heng’s face grew colder, almost terrifying.
Completely oblivious to the tension, Ji Shenwen kept chattering about their sappy little couple moments, smiling goofily as he went on.
Not that it was entirely his fault — he didn’t dare make close friends here in the Federation. The only person around his age he could talk openly to was the Crown Prince himself. It was his first time dating — and with a Federation Omega, no less — so he was both anxious and excited. Naturally, he couldn’t help but share a little.
He sighed. “Ah, so now I’ll have to leave the Federation Capital for quite a while. I’ll have to text Lizhu to cancel our date. I don’t even know how to explain it — I just hope she won’t be too upset.”
Gu Heng’s eyes flicked with disdain; he sneered coldly. “Oh? So your little romance is being inconvenienced by your mission now?”
Ji Shenwen straightened instantly, the back of his neck prickling. “Of course not, Your Highness! Imperial duty will always come first!”
Gu Heng’s gaze gleamed icily as he curved his lips. “Then how about I give you a reason to tell her?”
Ji Shenwen blinked, puzzled. “A… reason? What kind of reason, Your Highness?”
Gu Heng’s eyes narrowed; he smiled like a man up to no good. “Just tell Yu Lizhu you’re breaking up. If you don’t dare say it, I’ll make the call for you.”
Ji Shenwen’s eyes went wide. He froze, terrified, and stammered, “N-no, that’s not necessary, Your Highness! I understand! I’ll get ready for the mission immediately! I swear — my heart and soul belong to the Empire’s glory! Nothing will ever delay the mission!”
Gu Heng gave a cold, derisive snort. “Then move. Assemble in one hour.”
Ji Shenwen jumped to his feet and saluted. “Yes, Your Highness!”
When the call ended, silence fell.
Gu Heng didn’t move for a long time. He sat on a roadside railing, smoking one cigarette after another, the glow of the burning tips unable to bring any life to his lifeless black eyes.
His thin lips held the cigarette loosely, rocking it back and forth.
Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of a puddle reflecting the blue sky and drifting clouds. He stared at it blankly for a long while before finally letting out a low, bitter laugh — mocking himself for being such a coward, for running away.
All that talk about a mission — it was a lie.
He just didn’t want to stay too long. Didn’t want to remain under the same Federation sky as Zuo Shihuan. Because if he did, he was afraid that someday soon he wouldn’t be able to control himself, and he’d turn back to find him again.
Then he really would be the b*stard everyone said he was.
It had to end.
Gu Heng lowered his gaze and smiled — a quiet, hollow, bitter smile. He crushed out his final cigarette, then disappeared soundlessly into the bustling flow of Federation streets.
After that, he was gone for good.
