Federation Main Star.
“Someone broke in? Then let them!—”
Ji Zhaohe lounged lazily in a chair, one long leg crossed over the other, his fingers idly rolling a communicator. The cool, dark green of his eyes showed a flicker of impatience; his tone was casual and insolent.
But the person on the other end of the call wasn’t someone Ji Zhaohe could afford to brush off. That person held leverage over him, forcing him to take things seriously.
A hint of murderous intent flashed through Ji Zhaohe’s eyes, but he quickly composed himself and said calmly, “Understood. I’ll handle it soon.”
He sat in the reception room—where a captured Zerg was confined—and casually pulled up surveillance footage.
On the grainy screen appeared a tall figure. Ji Zhaohe’s dark green eyes narrowed in contemplation.
Just from the man’s build, he could tell he was an Alpha—every line of his physique was impeccably balanced, frighteningly perfect. The moment Ji Zhaohe saw him, every alarm in his brain screamed danger.
Though his movements seemed relaxed, like a leopard strolling through a forest, there was not a single gap in his guard. Every time he passed a camera, he subtly avoided the lens’s view—so deftly that Ji Zhaohe couldn’t catch a full glimpse of his face.
Then things became even more incredible.
Ji Zhaohe’s elaborate traps—mechanisms he had designed on a whim years ago—were dismantled by this man in mere seconds, as if his deadly devices were nothing more than toy blocks.
Where on earth had that man’s employer found someone this terrifying?
Still, it had been a long time since Ji Zhaohe had met someone interesting. The icy green in his eyes suddenly lit up with excitement. Manipulating the control panel, he layered on more traps, transforming the scenario into an exhilarating game.
The stone floor gave way to a poisonous swamp; laser beams shot from the walls; corridors shifted unpredictably; the oxygen thinned; swarms of venomous insects poured in; escape routes collapsed one by one—driving the intruder into a dead end.
Every step was fraught with lethal traps.
Ji Zhaohe smirked, leaning forward with both hands steepled, ready to enjoy the show. He refused to believe that anyone could make it out alive.
Ten minutes later—
The man he thought would be dead stood calmly before the door of Ji Zhaohe’s abandoned lab. The intricate labyrinth of traps was now nothing but a heap of wreckage.
He’d lost.
How could that be…
Ji Zhaohe’s eyes went blank for a moment. Utterly defeated, he dropped the communicator used to control the traps and stared vacantly at the ceiling, rethinking his entire existence.
How could he have failed so completely—without even landing a single hit?
No. Eliminate the impossible, and the only remaining answer must be—that thing isn’t human!
Otherwise, how could it have ignored toxic gas, leapt twenty meters in a single bound, smashed through a false wall, and walked straight to the true exit? It had to be one of the latest combat-type androids!
Convincing himself of this, Ji Zhaohe nodded firmly—but his eyes still darted back to the agile figure on the screen. Scowling, he gnawed irritably at his thumbnail.
At last, he was forced to admit—the figure on the screen was human. Most likely a tremendously powerful S-class Alpha.
That meant the secrecy of his lab was doomed.
Ji Zhaohe’s dark green eyes grew colder and sharper as he silently watched what unfolded next. As expected, even his Zerg constructs couldn’t stop that Alpha.
Though he knew the defective model didn’t stand a chance, Ji Zhaohe refused to accept defeat—especially under the Alpha’s arrogant, taunting gaze.
For once, the self-proclaimed genius treated the situation with utmost seriousness. Fixing his dark green eyes on the screen, he furiously controlled the Zerg construct, his mind racing—reckless and desperate, even if it meant destroying the prototype.
At the very least, he wanted to hit that Alpha once. He had never lost so completely before.
Abandoning the Zerg construct that had cost him countless sleepless nights of research, he finally saw the Alpha take a glancing hit from a flying fragment—just enough to leave a thin cut on his cheek.
Ji Zhaohe’s eyes lit up, a small triumphant smile curling his lips.
But almost immediately, he frowned, regaining his composure. Since when did he celebrate something so trivial? It was barely a scratch—nothing that could hinder that monstrously strong Alpha.
Where did this man even come from?
When the Zerg was finally destroyed, the Alpha sliced it open and retrieved a pulsating bio-chip—like a living heart.
Ji Zhaohe didn’t spare the broken Zerg a second glance. He only felt a pang of pain when he saw that the most valuable bio-chip in his entire lab had been taken.
But his real attention stayed fixed on that Alpha who had taken it.
Ji Zhaohe fell into deep thought, brows furrowed. Even as he pressed the self-destruct button for the lab, there wasn’t a flicker of hesitation—he blew up one of his own research bases without a second thought.
His gaze, however, remained fixed tightly on the Alpha slowly disappearing from the screen.
Before long—
The communicator rang again, its sharp tone like a death knell urging him on.
Ji Zhaohe’s expression turned frigid, but he still had to press the answer button. “What is it?”
“…………”
“I know. The man escaped. Even if the Federation police come knocking, there’s nothing I can do.”
“…………”
From the other end came a condescending and grating voice, full of reprimand. The person accused Ji Zhaohe of failing to do his job, of letting someone who had seen their secret base escape. What if the Federation police discovered their origins—what then?
The voice droned on and on, venting its fear and anxiety at having their secret exposed.
Always like this… always like a cowardly rat scared out of its wits— but only daring to pick on him!
Blue veins bulged on the back of Ji Zhaohe’s hand as though he might crush the communicator. In a hoarse voice, he said, “I’ve already blown up the lab. The entire mine has collapsed. No one will find us.”
“…………”
Ji Zhaohe let out a cold, sharp click of his tongue. “Whatever. That man who escaped might know where I am now—on the Federal main star. If you want him dead, then kill him.”
“…………”
“I got it!”
He finally hung up. The dark green of his eyes was filled with violent rage and killing intent. He hurled the communicator to the ground with all his strength.
Afraid someone might come to kill him? Right now, the person Ji Zhaohe most wanted to kill—was that man himself!
A disgraced royal who failed in a power struggle and fled pathetically to the Federation. If Ji Zhaohe hadn’t been blackmailed by that useless coward Gu Fulian, forced to endure humiliation for the sake of a stable life—
The first thing he would have done was kill Gu Fulian!
A worthless wretch who didn’t even dare fight back when his beloved Omega fiancée was stolen by his own brother!
After that Omega became empress and gave birth to the empire’s most celebrated crown prince—his genes surpassing any in royal history, destined to become the strongest Alpha in the fight against the Zerg—
Gu Fulian, that coward, didn’t dare oppose his twin brother, Emperor Gu Fuyan, yet he turned his jealousy and hatred toward a mere child. He deceived Ji Zhaohe, dragged him into his mess, and only afterward admitted he had kidnapped the crown prince.
Back then, Ji Zhaohe had been obsessed with resurrecting Ji Sener. He’d pored over countless books, tried every method imaginable, and spent nearly all his fortune to find even a glimmer of hope for success.
But there were too many things he lacked. He had patents—money wasn’t the problem—but there were materials money couldn’t buy.
So he sought out those in power, using connections to acquire what he needed for his experiments.
He never imagined he would one day misjudge someone so badly.
He thought Gu Fulian was just a pampered royal with nothing to lose—his twin brother was the Emperor, after all. Surely, Ji Zhaohe thought, this was a man whose influence would at least allow him to conduct his research undisturbed.
But gradually, Gu Fulian started asking him for strange drugs and weapons he had developed. Immersed in his work and indifferent to politics, Ji Zhaohe didn’t think much of it and handed them over without question.
Until the day Gu Fulian burst into his lab— and declared he had kidnapped the young crown prince and planned to overthrow the Emperor.
Ji Zhaohe didn’t even put down the test tube in his hand. His pupils contracted in shock, and he let out a dry laugh, asking if it was a joke.
But Gu Fulian was dead serious. He said negotiations with his brother, Emperor Gu Fuyan, had failed, and in a fit of rage, he’d blown up the cave with the crown prince inside.
Now, there was no turning back from rebellion.
Ji Zhaohe was stunned. No matter how fast his mind worked—his intelligence said to be in the hundreds—he couldn’t comprehend how anyone could be that stupid!
He had everything—wealth, status, the admiration of nobles—and even if he couldn’t have that Omega, there were plenty of others. Yet after years of quiet patience, he suddenly went and murdered the most beloved heir to the throne? Regicide was a capital crime that could wipe out entire bloodlines!
Ji Zhaohe’s greatest experiment was still incomplete. He had no intention of dying miserably in some senseless political power struggle. But he had no choice but to get involved.
After that, Ji Zhaohe no longer dared trust Gu Fulian even a little—afraid that the next time he barged into his lab, he’d be leading royal guards there to behead him.
And then—
During the height of the war with the Zerg— Ji Zhaohe, by accident, caused both the Emperor and the Zerg Queen to suffer grievous injuries. His mech malfunctioned, and in the Queen’s dying counterattack, her venom forced the Emperor to undergo surgery that cost him his legs.
Yes, it was an accident— But Ji Zhaohe had originally intended for Emperor Gu Fuyan to die together with the Zerg Queen on that battlefield.
He hadn’t expected things to go slightly awry— the S-class Alpha’s vitality was too strong, and the Zerg Queen, though gravely wounded, managed to escape and survive.
Still, even with the Emperor alive, Ji Zhaohe thought the situation could be corrected.
But just as he began plotting his next move— news came that the young crown prince hadn’t died after all, and had returned to the palace in secret to take control.
Gu Fulian, who hadn’t panicked even when his brother survived, suddenly grew restless the moment he learned a child was alive.
He ruined Ji Zhaohe’s plan again— secretly sending assassins after the boy prince.
Of course, he failed. And worse, their base was exposed.
Ji Zhaohe’s dark green eyes had trembled violently when he heard the news. Clutching his stifled chest, he’d been so furious he nearly vomited blood.
He should never have trusted that useless idiot Gu Fulian!
If he had known the crown prince was still alive, he would have fled immediately— and none of this would have involved him at all!
It was already too late!
The one truly accused of plotting against the empire’s supreme ruler turned out to be none other than Ji Zhaohe — the most unfortunate scapegoat of them all.
Even Gu Fulian’s crime of attempting to murder the crown prince wasn’t as grave as Ji Zhaohe’s. No matter how capable the crown prince might become in the future, he was still just a minor member of the royal family.
After that, came the flight — their long escape to the Federation.
Everyone associated with Gu Fulian was placed on the Empire’s wanted list. Even though Ji Zhaohe’s surface-level crimes didn’t seem that serious, he had no choice but to flee to the Federation as well.
Because he knew — his sin was the greatest of them all.
That idiot Gu Fulian, wearing that dazed, innocent face, had dragged him into the water — and in doing so, easily grasped the handle of Ji Zhaohe’s greatest crime: conspiracy to assassinate the emperor, the highest form of treason. Forced to abandon an experiment halfway done, Ji Zhaohe fled resentfully, carrying incomplete data, following Gu Fulian into exile.
On the run, Gu Fulian — still leading a ragtag group of defeated soldiers — thought himself magnanimous toward Ji Zhaohe, reassuring him, saying he was his most trusted subordinate, urging him to continue working for him. Once they reached the Federation, he promised, they would rise again.
He had no idea —
That countless times, Ji Zhaohe had stared at the back of his head, his dark green eyes brimming with hatred so dense it could almost take physical form.
There was no one in the world who wanted to kill Gu Fulian more than Ji Zhaohe did.
No one!
Perhaps when one’s misfortune reaches its limit, fate begins to rebound.
Just when Ji Zhaohe, drained of all hope, thought he could never bring Ji Sener back — when despair had driven him to the brink of madness — a miracle occurred…
Inside one of the containment pods, there was an experimental subject.
Originally, it was just a subject for testing drug resistance. Ji Zhaohe had never pinned any hope on this one.
It was fragile — merely a test-tube being, a cloned human embryo in fetal stage.
Ji Zhaohe had wanted a stronger experimental body, one that would never fall ill. The frail little body in the pod wasn’t what he wanted. He had planned to test the new drug’s physical resistance, then press the “terminate” button.
But at that moment — the experimental subject slowly opened its eyes.
Ji Zhaohe, who had always ignored his countless test subjects, inexplicably raised his head. When his gaze met those clear, innocent light-green eyes, it felt as if his very soul had been struck by lightning.
— She’s back.
— She’s finally willing to come back!
Ji Zhaohe’s eyes reddened instantly. A torrent of longing and sorrow surged up within him as he slammed his hands against the glass shell of the pod, shouting in wild excitement: “Finally stopped hiding, have you?! Didn’t you never want to see me again?! Didn’t you hide from me, choosing euthanasia just to escape?!”
“I’m telling you, Lan Sener! To h*ll with your freedom! Even if you’re dead — even if you’ve gone to hell — I’ll drag you back! Hahahahahaha—!”
Ji Zhaohe bent over laughing, tears streaming from his sharp green eyes, the laughter edged with bitterness and rage.
“Lan Sener, it’s too late to run now! Your so-called Alpha husband, your precious son, daughter-in-law, grandsons — they’re not here. No one can save you. You’ll never have that d*mned freedom again!”
As Ji Zhaohe issued his open threats, the baby in the pod only blinked at him, eyes full of pure confusion — as innocent as any newborn.
Gradually, Ji Zhaohe’s fevered excitement faded into suspicion. Meeting those clean green eyes, he said coldly: “Don’t you play dumb with me, Lan Sener. I can see through your act. You fooled me once — that time I was stupid enough to give you my contact and money, only for you to drag me to that stupid university mixer. I spent the whole night getting pestered by random people handing me little notes asking for dates!”
“And you even had someone take photos — posting my angry face, ripping up all those stupid notes, into the family chat group’s black history folder! Every year since, I’ve been laughed at because of you, haven’t I?!”
The baby tilted her head blankly: “……”
Ji Zhaohe clenched his fists, green eyes narrowing and flickering. Staring at the gurgling infant, he began to doubt himself — maybe he was wrong. Maybe this really wasn’t Lan Sener…
Or maybe —
Ji Zhaohe clutched his head, eyes full of madness and confusion.
He wanted her to return so desperately that he’d lost his mind — mistaking an experimental baby for her reincarnation.
From that day on, Ji Zhaohe stopped all other experiments. He devoted himself entirely to caring for the child. The more time they spent together, the stronger the sense of familiarity grew.
His instincts told him — she was Lan Sener. But why couldn’t she remember anything?
Haunted by doubt, Ji Zhaohe searched through old materials — until he found something in ancient Earth texts: that when a soul reincarnates, it loses all memories and begins anew.
A soul?
Ji Zhaohe didn’t believe in souls. He had never seen one, and no instrument could detect such a thing. He believed only in science — in what could be seen, touched, and measured.
But for Lan Sener’s sake, he was willing to believe — just this once.
Still, one question tormented him: if the memories were gone but the soul remained, was it still the same person?
After much thought, Ji Zhaohe decided to help her regain her memories — and gave her a new name.
From that day on, Lan Sener would no longer be called Lan Sener.
She would be Ji Sener.
She would have no connection whatsoever to her past life.
Ji Zhaohe had had enough. It was she who had dragged him into the tedious, meaningless human world — yet she had never once given him her undivided attention.
In the beginning, General Ji was his biological father — and Lan Sener had been that man’s newlywed Omega wife. By title, Ji Zhaohe should have called her stepmother, but he never did. He always used her full name instead.
And as time went on, more and more people appeared. Ji Zhaohe had watched her become pregnant, give birth to her first child — watched that child grow, playing around her knees. When that child, his so-called younger brother, differentiated into an Alpha, he was still underage when he met the Omega he loved, got married, and soon had a child. A few years later, another one followed.
Every time Ji Zhaohe came home from school, he saw more and more people crowding around her, until it seemed there was no longer any room left for him.
But now—
Now Ji Sener belonged to him alone.
The thought filled Ji Zhaohe’s eyes with joy and satisfaction, like a vicious dragon clutching its treasure, unwilling to let go.
He had finally obtained what he wanted. There was nothing left to regret.
The only person standing in the way of his peaceful life with Ji Sener in the Federation was—Gu Fulian.
Unfortunately, Gu Fulian was a coward to the core. He was useless at everything except hiding. Especially after hearing again and again how the grown Crown Prince had led heroic victories against the Zerg, Gu Fulian was terrified of revenge and bolted at the slightest sign of trouble.
Even Ji Zhaohe had difficulty getting close to him, as Gu Fulian never lowered his guard. And now that Ji Zhaohe had someone to look after, he had to be even more cautious.
Ji Zhaohe frowned deeply, a cold, venomous thought flickering behind his eyes.
Perhaps he had been sitting quietly in the reception room for too long.
The staff member who had been stationed near the cage since the beginning looked pale. Not far away, a Zerg creature drooled while glaring fixedly at Ji Zhaohe. The staff finally broke the tense silence, stooping to pick up the communicator Ji Zhaohe had tossed aside, and respectfully asked, “Excuse me, sir, are you ready to leave? We’ll have your purchased item packed and delivered to your residence shortly.”
Ji Zhaohe’s thoughts were interrupted halfway. He clicked his tongue impatiently and said coldly, “Forget it. Throw it wherever you want.”
The staffer froze in shock. “S-sir, are you joking with us?”
Ji Zhaohe lifted his gaze, his expression cold and reptilian, staring straight at the staff member until sweat trickled down the man’s back. Then Ji Zhaohe’s lips curved into a faint, mocking smile.
“Do you want it? I can give it to you. I have no use for such a low-grade Zerg waste. It’s worthless—can’t even block a human properly.”
It sounded like he was referring to something—or someone—else entirely.
But the low-grade Zerg in question was already buried underground, clinging to the fantasy of the Zerg’s death goddess, seeking the eternal quiet of the hive rather than hearing another word from this devil Ji Zhaohe.
The staff panicked. “I—I can’t accept a customer’s merchandise. That’s against regulations!”
He could barely even look at the Zerg without his legs going weak. He truly couldn’t understand why these eccentric rich people insisted on buying such creatures to keep at home.
Ji Zhaohe sneered. “Don’t want it? Then it’s completely useless. Do whatever you want—kill it, dump it, doesn’t matter.”
The staff looked close to tears, ready to kneel and beg to be spared from such a troublesome customer.
“P-please, sir, surely it’s still worth something! Even trash can be recycled and reused. If you don’t need it, you can resell it to someone else.”
Reuse?
Ji Zhaohe’s eyes deepened. Suddenly, something clicked in his mind. His cold, pale lips curved upward as he patted the trembling staff’s shoulder with a reassuring smile.
“All right. I’ll take it back and reuse it.”
He’d just thought of the perfect candidate.
Hadn’t a troublesome person recently shown up—someone who’d destroyed one of his abandoned labs and probably traced some of his current location from the signal? If that mysterious Alpha came knocking, it would be a nuisance.
So why not lead them straight to Gu Fulian? Wouldn’t that be a nice surprise?
Ji Zhaohe’s eyes narrowed, gleaming with cunning.
Yes, this was perfect — using one to kill the other. He could act right away. After all, the biochip that mysterious Alpha had stolen still contained his handiwork.
With that problem soon to be taken care of, Ji Zhaohe’s mood lifted. He handed a silver card to the staff.
“Settle the payment. Have my goods delivered to this address—”
The staffer blinked in surprise. “But, sir, Mr. Zuo already covered your payment earlier.”
Ji Zhaohe’s eyes narrowed. “Refund it. I’ll pay myself.”
The last thing he wanted was any involvement with the powerful Zuo family. He already had enough problems; he didn’t need anyone else watching him. All he wanted now was a quiet, undisturbed life with Ji Sener in the Federation.
The staffer quickly replied, “Of course, sir. The underground auction offers partial tax deductions for participants in the Children’s Charity Auction. Donations go toward helping underprivileged border children, and you’d receive a tax reduction benefit. We can handle all the paperwork for you…”
Ji Zhaohe immediately lost interest. Now he understood why this underground auction was held in such a place—both the most dangerous and the safest.
So tonight’s “charity auction” was just another show for the wealthy: the so-called donations were simply money laundering. The government subsidies and tax breaks meant for real charity had been turned into tools for the rich to dodge taxes.
“Not interested. Just deduct the standard federal tax,” Ji Zhaohe said disdainfully.
He didn’t lack money, and he certainly had no spare sympathy to donate a cent to charity—or the slightest interest in exploiting loopholes for profit.
The staffer stammered, “Uh? Sir, are you sure? Most guests come here for that benefit.”
Ji Zhaohe unfastened one of the metal buttons on his white coat—it had grown tight from sitting too long—and stood, walking closer to the staff. His tall frame loomed over the smaller man.
The staffer had to crane his neck to look up. Ji Zhaohe looked down at him with the disdainful calm of a venomous serpent eyeing a trembling prey. The man’s legs gave out, and he collapsed to the floor.
A flicker of cold pleasure passed through Ji Zhaohe’s dark green eyes. Born without empathy, he only grew happier the more afraid others became. His pale lips curved into a chilling smile.
“Me? I’m a law-abiding citizen of the Federation. How could I possibly do anything illegal?”
***
Leaving the terrified staff behind, Ji Zhaohe realized Ji Sener had been out for quite a while. Even though she had a tracker on her, he couldn’t suppress the anxiety gnawing at him when he couldn’t see her.
He decided to go find her.
Side hall.
Ji Zhaohe was just about to push open the door when he suddenly heard a sharp, resounding slap. He frowned in confusion and stepped inside.
Through the crowd, he immediately spotted Ji Sener’s small figure—and in front of her stood an Omega woman in a light purple dress, her hand still raised as if she had just finished delivering that slap.
On the opposite side, the middle-aged man’s face was already marked with a red handprint.
Realizing that he’d been slapped in public by an Omega, the man’s eyes bulged with fury. He raised his large, fleshy hand, ready to hit back.
Many people turned their heads away, unable to watch an Omega get struck.
“What’s going on here?”
A cool, elegant male voice cut through the commotion. Everyone looked up to see a tall, refined Alpha seizing the middle-aged man’s raised wrist.
The man tried to struggle, but the grip was like iron—he couldn’t move. He glared up to see which fool dared stop him, but the moment his eyes met the newcomer’s, his entire body froze.
The one stopping him was a tall, striking Alpha with black hair and thin lips, wearing a tailored, austere dark suit. His light brown eyes looked down coldly and indifferently, like a man of authority examining those beneath him.
A chill crept up the middle-aged man’s spine, as though the Alpha could see straight through him. He also found the other’s face familiar, and, realizing who he might be, quickly dropped his hand, not daring to act rashly.
Zuo Shihuan’s thoughtful gaze swept over Yu Lizhu’s faintly angry face and the man’s shifty, guilt-ridden expression, and a few pieces of the puzzle fell into place.
He had only just arrived at the side hall and had seen Yu Lizhu quarreling with someone—then even resorting to violence. Regardless of who was right or wrong, he wouldn’t allow an outsider to lay a hand on her.
With a polite smile—though his light brown eyes remained distant and cold—he asked, “Mr. Tang, may I know what my fiancée has done to offend you?”
The man surnamed Tang froze, eyes widening in shock. He suddenly remembered that this was the one person he could never afford to offend—the legitimate young master of the Zuo family, currently one of the most sought-after Alphas in high society. He could barely suck up fast enough, let alone dare cross him.
Forcing an awkward laugh, the man quickly lowered his hand and said, “How would I ever dare offend your fiancée? It’s all a misunderstanding! That brat there threw a cupcake at my suit, and I thought her parents were condoning her behavior. I got upset for a moment and raised my voice, that’s all…”
As he fawned and explained, he also pretended to look wronged, showing his stained suit jacket—indeed, a smear of cake and cream was visible.
On the surface, it made Yu Lizhu look like the one at fault.
Zuo Shihuan didn’t jump to conclusions. Instead, he turned to the angry Yu Lizhu and calmly asked, “What happened?”
Yu Lizhu glared coldly at the hypocritical man, pulled off her elegant camellia-patterned gloves, and flung them right in his ugly face—like tossing away something filthy. Her expression was filled with disgust.
“I wear gloves wherever I go mostly because I don’t want to touch disgusting people like you! The little girls behind me all said it—Boss Tang, you touched a little boy just now when no adult was watching him. This girl saw it and threw a cake to stop you, and you chased her down to get revenge, didn’t you?”
Yu Lizhu protectively shielded the little girl behind her, keeping her from facing the malice of the crowd.
The clever and brave girl obediently clutched the hem of her skirt, raising a pair of clear, light green eyes. Her voice was gentle yet firm. “Thank you, sister, for believing me.”
Yu Lizhu patted Ji Sener’s head, a flicker of surprise and worry flashing through her almond eyes. She smiled softly but said nothing more.
She hadn’t looked closely earlier—she’d just seen a grown man chasing after a small child and instinctively stepped in to help the weaker side.
Now, seeing the child’s stunningly beautiful face and recalling the man’s vile expression while chasing her, Yu Lizhu suspected it wasn’t just petty revenge that had driven him.
Zuo Shihuan’s gaze hardened. His voice turned icy. “Mr. Tang, is that what really happened?”
The man’s eyes darted around. As the murmurs and stares from the onlookers grew sharper, his shame turned to anger. “That’s not true at all!” he shouted.
Pointing at the small, timid-looking Ji Sener hiding behind Yu Lizhu, he snapped viciously, “That brat’s lying! Let her come out and confront me! I’m a married man with a wife and kids—how could I ever do something like that? I was only comforting the crying boy, that’s all! Yes, that’s exactly what happened!”
Yu Lizhu’s gaze was filled with disgust and contempt as she tore through his lie. “Tang! Everyone in the circle already knows about your filthy habits with children! Even your wife couldn’t stand you anymore—she left with your kid! You really think having a bit of money can cover up all your filth?”
The man’s face turned purple with rage. “Lies! Don’t talk nonsense! I’m the CEO of a company! A rich man like me can have as many mistresses as I want—why would I ever be interested in children?”
Yu Lizhu’s chest heaved with anger, ready to retort—
But the man, unwilling to stay any longer, cursed under his breath and tried to turn things around, accusing them instead: that these rich people were ganging up on him, slandering him without proof, and that he would be leaving as if nothing had happened.
Zuo Shihuan, however, blocked his path.
“Please wait, Mr. Tang. We’ll know soon enough once we check the surveillance footage,” Zuo Shihuan said coldly.
“You’re all in this together! I don’t believe you! Let me go!” the man shouted, but Zuo Shihuan’s stance was unyielding.
Snorting, the man sneered, “My time is valuable. If you can’t find proof in a few minutes, I’ll have my lawyer sue you for unlawful detention!”
Yu Lizhu gave a cold laugh. “No need for a few minutes. I’ll pull up the footage right now.”
Moments later, the surveillance video played.
A little boy could be seen standing alone in a corner, playing with a toy car. His parents were chatting not far away. The middle-aged man had watched for a while before walking over—and soon, the boy began to cry. Then Ji Sener appeared, bravely throwing pieces of cake at the man one by one. Enraged, the man chased her through the hall, nearly catching her—until she cleverly hid behind Yu Lizhu, narrowly escaping his grasp.
On the other side, the little boy’s parents finally noticed their child crying. They were puzzled as to why he’d suddenly started sobbing while playing with his toy alone. Taking his hand, they quickly left the banquet.
After watching the surveillance footage, Zuo Shihuan’s eyes turned icy. “President Tang, you have nothing more to say, do you? Security, come over here—escort Mr. Tang to the police station.”
The middle-aged man panicked, sweat pouring down his face as his eyes darted around nervously.
If he were publicly escorted to the police station, his reputation would be ruined. And once the news hit the media, his company’s stock would plummet—he’d be ousted from the board before long.
His expression hardened, and he forced himself to stay calm. “Young Master Zuo,” he said stubbornly, “the footage doesn’t even show what I was doing! How is that evidence? I just walked over to tease the kid out of boredom—how was I supposed to know he’d cry so easily? What’s that got to do with me?”
Yu Lizhu’s black eyes burned with fury—she could barely restrain herself from slapping him again. “Stop lying! Once the police come, Tang, you can rot in prison! And even if you don’t go to jail, the Yu family will cut all business ties with your company!”
A flash of panic crossed the man’s eyes, but he held firm—better to lose some deals than end up behind bars.
Zuo Shihuan’s gaze darkened. People like this—slick, shameless, and unyielding—were the most troublesome to deal with.
Besides, the little boy and his parents had already left. A child that young, lacking full understanding, might not even grasp what had happened, making it hard to give the police a clear statement. And there were blind spots in the surveillance video; it hadn’t captured exactly what the man did—there might not be enough to convict him.
But letting him walk away unpunished was out of the question.
Zuo Shihuan’s voice dropped to a cold, meaningful tone. “President Tang, don’t forget this evening’s event is a charity gala—broadcast live. There are plenty of cameras around that haven’t been taken down yet. I’ll find every single one of them, and then we’ll let you see for yourself before you go to prison.”
The man’s face twisted in fear—he realized he was no match for these people and turned to flee.
He barely took two steps before Zuo Shihuan slammed him to the ground. Pinned like a turtle under a rock, the man flailed helplessly and shouted, “Let me go! It’s just a few kids—what’s the big deal?!”
Zuo Shihuan’s pupils narrowed, and his grip tightened with ruthless force. He twisted the man’s arm backward until it cracked audibly, drawing a scream of agony.
Zuo Shihuan turned to Yu Lizhu. “Call the police.”
Yu Lizhu hesitated—unsure if the evidence was enough—but still picked up her communicator. “Hello, this is the Federation 110…”
Midway, Ji Sener tugged at her sleeve and raised her wrist. “I have evidence,” she said. “My kids’ smartwatch has a video recording—it caught everything.”
Yu Lizhu’s eyes lit up. She smiled, praising warmly, “You’re such a clever child. You’ve been a huge help!”
Ji Sener blushed, ducking her head shyly at the compliment.
Just as she was about to send the footage to Yu Lizhu, a cold, pale hand suddenly reached between them and snatched the watch away.
A pair of dark green eyes—cold and violent—locked onto the trembling video screen.
The footage showed Ji Sener’s pale-gold hair fluttering as she ran, her dress swaying, the camera shaking as the middle-aged man chased close behind, reaching out to grab her—his eyes filled with sick, predatory hunger.
In an instant, Ji Zhaohe’s rage exploded—but his first move was to go to Ji Sener’s side, checking her condition.
To avoid frightening her, he swallowed his violent fury, jaw clenched so hard it trembled, veins bulging along his forearms as he gripped her shoulders.
“Did he hurt you? Did that filthy perv*rt touch you?”
It was the first time Ji Sener had ever seen Ji Zhaohe’s face so dark and terrifying, as if he could kill someone the next second. Pale with fear, she obediently shook her head.
“No, I wasn’t hurt. I ran away.”
Still uneasy, Ji Zhaohe checked her carefully from head to toe. Even after confirming she was uninjured, he didn’t relax—his eyes grew darker, his voice hoarse and tight.
“Then did he touch you?”
Ji Sener reassured him softly, “Not really. When I was running, he grabbed my waist for a second, but I dodged away.”
Ji Zhaohe didn’t see that as a small matter. His dark green eyes flared wide with fury, voice like thunder. “Your waist?! He dared to lay a finger on you?!”
He turned sharply.
“Move.”
Enraged beyond control, Ji Zhaohe’s eyes were ice-cold, lethal. He stormed toward the vile man, shoving even Zuo Shihuan aside without hesitation.
In a single motion, he seized the man by the throat and lifted him off the ground.
A cruel smile curved Ji Zhaohe’s lips, his dark green eyes gleaming with a feral, bloodthirsty light. His fingers tightened slowly, as though he meant to strangle the man to death right there in front of everyone.
The middle-aged man’s face turned white and swollen, his eyes bulging, his breath choking off as his limbs grew weak, his hands slipping helplessly from Ji Zhaohe’s arm.
Zuo Shihuan believed a man like this didn’t deserve to live—but they couldn’t allow a killing to happen here.
“Let him go,” Zuo Shihuan said firmly. “He deserves punishment—but that punishment should come from the law.”
His tone was resolute as he gripped Ji Zhaohe’s wrist, trying to stop him before rage turned into murder.
Ji Zhaohe’s pupils shrank. His cold, dangerous gaze turned on Zuo Shihuan, lips curving into a defiant, mocking smirk—but his hand didn’t loosen.
The air around them grew suffocatingly tense.
And the one who could barely breathe most of all was the perverted man in Ji Zhaohe’s grasp—his neck already bruising dark.
Zuo Shihuan’s voice deepened in warning. “Dr. Ji, if you don’t let go, the one going to prison won’t be him—it’ll be you. Think of the daughter who still needs you.”
When Ji Sener’s name was mentioned—
Ji Zhaohe suddenly snapped out of his daze. He instantly released his grip, letting the perv*rted man fall heavily to the ground, half-dead and barely breathing.
No matter how much he wanted to kill the man who had touched Ji Sener, he couldn’t strangle him to death here, in front of everyone. He couldn’t go to prison over something like this. He still had to take care of Ji Sener. No one could separate him from her.
He couldn’t live without her—and she couldn’t live without him.
Zuo Shihuan cautiously observed the dazed Dr. Ji, gesturing quickly for two security guards to remove the barely-breathing man from the banquet hall. They could hand him over to the police later—best not to let him stay here and further agitate Dr. Ji.
But just as the middle-aged man managed to catch his breath, he coughed a few times, color slowly returning to his face.
Those few coughs—
Pulled Ji Zhaohe back from the brink of his suppressed rage. And as the security guards led the man away, a flash of metallic glint on the man’s back caught the reflection of Ji Zhaohe’s cold, dark-green eyes.
The man was taken away.
After a commotion like this, the banquet was naturally coming to an end.
Zuo Shihuan approached the emotionally unstable Ji Zhaohe, his voice calm and soothing. “Dr. Ji, the man has been taken away. I promise I won’t let someone like that go unpunished. I’ll personally follow up with the police and keep you updated on the case’s progress.”
“It’s quite late now—you should take your child home to rest. She must have been frightened tonight and will need your comfort.”
Ji Zhaohe slowly raised his head. His eyes were red-rimmed, those dark-green pupils still glacial and venomous—like a serpent lurking in shadow. But when they met the warm, sincere brown eyes before him, filled with genuine concern—
—for the first time in a long while, he felt something like sunlight.
That long-hibernating serpent cautiously loosened its coils, stretching its stiff, cold body toward the light, letting the warmth seep into its scales.
It flicked its tongue, narrowed its slit pupils—feeling the sunlight far too bright, almost blinding.
“…Thanks.”
Ji Zhaohe muttered awkwardly, brow furrowed, voice low and rough.
“Hmm? Dr. Ji, did you just say something to me?”
Zuo Shihuan looked at him, puzzled. He thought he’d heard something like “thank you,” but could Dr. Ji really be someone who thanked people?
Ji Zhaohe’s brow creased deeper. He seemed impatient but forced the words out through his teeth. “Thank you for helping us—for saving Ji Sener before I arrived. I owe you one.”
Zuo Shihuan blinked in mild surprise, then smiled warmly. “No need to thank me. Your daughter is very brave and clever. Leaving that kind of man here would’ve been dangerous for everyone. In some ways, we should be thanking her for speaking up.”
Ji Zhaohe frowned slightly. “You mentioned your engagement banquet, right? I’ll send a gift.”
At that, something flickered in Zuo Shihuan’s eyes, but he still smiled gently. “It’s in three days. If Dr. Ji would like to come, I can send you an invitation.”
“Mm. I’ll see if I can make it.” Ji Zhaohe replied with unusual seriousness.
“Then Miss Yu and I will look forward to having you and your family join us for our celebration.”
“Mm.”
Ji Zhaohe made a noncommittal sound. But as he glanced up again and saw Zuo Shihuan’s forced smile, he suddenly found it unbearably unpleasant to look at.
Too fake.
Even someone like him could tell.
“Ji Sener, let’s go home.”
“Okay.”
Ji Zhaohe turned his gaze away, took Ji Sener’s small hand, and led her toward the exit. The girl obediently waved goodbye to Zuo Shihuan and Yu Lizhu before leaving.
“Then… see you in three days! Thank you, brother and sister, for helping me today!”
Yu Lizhu waved back cheerfully. She, too, had taken a liking to the bright, well-mannered little girl the moment she’d met her.
After the two left—
Yu Lizhu noticed that Zuo Shihuan was still staring in the direction they’d gone, eyes thoughtful.
“Zuo Shihuan, what are you thinking about?”
“Nothing. Let’s go too. There’s still cleanup to do.”
His expression hardened as he turned toward another part of the hall—where several police officers waited by the door.
But truthfully, he had been thinking.
He had noticed something strange—one of the buttons on Dr. Ji’s white coat was missing.
Zuo Shihuan was always attentive to detail. The neat row of buttons on the doctor’s coat had been perfectly aligned earlier—now one was gone. His mild perfectionism couldn’t help but notice.
It was probably nothing.
Maybe the button had simply fallen off during the chaos—perhaps when the middle-aged man had struggled, it had been torn loose.
Zuo Shihuan pushed the small detail out of his mind and went to brief the police. The man was being held in a secure room nearby.
But then—
A strange noise echoed through the hall.
The ceiling trembled; even the chandeliers swayed violently. The room, once full of chatter, fell into stunned silence as people whispered in alarm—something had exploded nearby.
Before Zuo Shihuan could ask what was happening—
Two security guards came running in, faces pale and voices shrill.
“It exploded! Everything—it’s all blown up!”
Zuo Shihuan frowned. “What do you mean?”
The guard’s face was ashen, his voice shaking. “That man—the middle-aged guy we just took away—he said he needed to use the restroom. We thought he couldn’t run, so we let him go. But then—he suddenly exploded in there! The whole place is covered in blood—the mirrors, the walls—there’s pieces of his body everywhere!”
“Ahhhhh—!!”
Suddenly, a sharp, terrified scream came from the distance—like someone had just seen something unspeakably horrifying.
Zuo Shihuan’s pupils contracted sharply. The flood of information in that instant was too much for him to process—his mind struggled to make sense of what was happening.
What exploded? Could the two security guards have been mistaken?
But then he saw it—behind the guards—a trail of bloody, red footprints stretching out before his eyes. There was no denying it now.
Zuo Shihuan’s pupils tightened again. He immediately broke into a run.
He ran straight toward the source of the scream.
At the restroom entrance sat a noblewoman, too terrified to stand. She screamed continuously, her trembling hand pointing toward the inside. “Someone’s dead! Someone’s dead!”
Blood trickled at her feet.
To be precise—it wasn’t her blood, but a stream of fresh crimson that had flowed out from deep inside the restroom, pooling and dripping off the edge of the steps, splattering onto her pair of expensive leather heels…
Zuo Shihuan froze for an instant, then slowly stepped inside—only to be hit by the thick, nauseating stench of blood. His head spun as his shoes sank into the sticky, wet floor.
Then he looked up—
And saw red.
Red everywhere. Red, white, yellow—smeared and scattered beyond recognition.
A while later—
Yu Lizhu arrived with several police officers. She found Zuo Shihuan half-slumped against the wall, pale as a sheet, eyes vacant and dazed, his hand gripping the wall for support as he dry-heaved helplessly—showing a rare moment of fragility.
“What happened?” Yu Lizhu asked.
“He’s dead. That man, Tang—he’s dead,” Zuo Shihuan said hoarsely, eyes dark, forcing back another wave of nausea.
“How could that be? Let me see!”
Yu Lizhu moved to enter, but Zuo Shihuan reached out to stop her.
His brows furrowed tightly; those light brown eyes flickered with the memory of what he’d just seen. His face grew even paler, his lips trembling as he whispered,
“Don’t look. You won’t be able to handle it.”
But in that moment, Yu Lizhu thought it was him who looked like he couldn’t handle it.
She quickly helped him up, guiding him away from the blood-soaked corridor, opening a window to let in fresh air.
Meanwhile—
The police officers emerged from the restroom. Their faces were grim after witnessing that nightmare of a scene.
“A homicide has occurred,” one officer said heavily. “Seal the area immediately. No one is to leave the premises.”
***
Outside the museum—
The sudden explosion had shattered one of the windows, and strange smoke drifted out.
Ji Sener instinctively turned to look, but Ji Zhaohe tightened his hold on her hand, pulling her along as he quickened his pace. Her short legs struggled to keep up, forcing her into a half-run.
She glanced back repeatedly, unease stirring in her chest as she watched the building behind them.
“What’s there to look at?” Ji Zhaohe said irritably.
Ji Sener murmured, “What if it’s a fire? The two people who saved me earlier… are they safe?”
“Don’t worry,” Ji Zhaohe said calmly. “They’re fine. I made sure they were far enough away before I acted.”
Ji Sener’s eyes widened. A chilling suspicion crept into her mind. Could it be—this explosion was…
Noticing her sudden silence, Ji Zhaohe turned to look at her. His dark-green eyes glimmered with a twisted satisfaction, as though expecting praise. Holding her small hand, he spoke in an almost casual tone—words that sent a chill through the air.
“How could I possibly let someone who hurt you live? Even if the police came, no one could stop me from killing him.”
Ji Sener’s mind spun chaotically. Countless words rose to her lips, but all that came out was a single question.
“Why… why do you have to treat me like this?”
“Because you’re my Ji Sener—the most important person to me.”
The pale-green of Ji Sener’s eyes dimmed with bitterness. She had long grown used to Ji Zhaohe’s possessive, distorted form of affection, but still, shadows lingered in her heart.
—If she wasn’t Ji Sener, then what?
—If she wasn’t the one Ji Zhaohe wanted—just a child’s body filled with another person’s memories—
—Then who was she, really?
