“Wha… Gu Heng, how did you even do it?”
Zuo Shihuan asked in confusion, voice lowered with uncertainty.
No matter how wide he opened his eyes, the entire banquet hall remained pitch-black, that endless darkness stirring an instinctive fear in his chest.
From time to time came shrieks and hurried footsteps.
Now and then, lightning flashed across the dark, followed by thunder and the pounding of rain, drowning out the noise of the crowd. Even the orchestra had stopped playing.
Without light for so long, the once-luxurious banquet had turned into a night of eerie horror, like something out of a ghost story.
Zuo Shihuan couldn’t believe that this was Gu Heng’s doing.
Scene after scene of their encounters flooded his mind—Gu Heng’s sudden return from Baile Star that day, the time he’d been hunted down at gunpoint, and now, how a single move from him had plunged the entire hall into darkness.
Even if he lied to himself, Zuo Shihuan knew Gu Heng was no ordinary Beta.
Yet he trusted that Gu Heng would never harm him—and Gu Heng clearly had no intention of hiding his abnormality.
If Gu Heng wanted to conceal it, he could have simply done nothing. But instead, he chose to act openly, without disguise, before Zuo Shihuan’s very eyes.
At the question, Gu Heng paused for a second but didn’t immediately answer.
In the dark, his vision was as clear as daylight—but for the first time, he wished it weren’t.
While every other guest stumbled like headless flies, he could see every face twisted in fear, every frantic motion—and the fear trembling in Zuo Shihuan’s eyes.
Gu Heng couldn’t explain how he had done it, just as he couldn’t bring himself to reveal his true identity.
In truth, as Zuo Zoujian had accused, he was a man with hidden motives, one who had deliberately approached Zuo Shihuan under false pretenses.
But the only thing he ever wanted to take was Zuo Shihuan himself.
In the darkness, Gu Heng’s gaze deepened, yet he dared not move closer.
The silence made Zuo Shihuan even more uneasy.
He could still hear that steady, familiar breathing right beside him—so near he could almost touch it—and then, slowly, it began to drift away. Alarmed, he called out:
“Enough. You can explain everything later—every single thing. I’ll deal with you then. For now, Gu Heng, don’t you dare move. Stay where you are. I’m coming to find you.”
He bit out the words angrily, using the faint rhythm of Gu Heng’s breath to gauge his direction.
Though he couldn’t see a thing, lacking Gu Heng’s night vision, Zuo Shihuan still pushed forward through the darkness with determination. To Gu Heng, those light brown eyes looked unwavering and bright even in the dark.
Gu Heng’s tense, grave expression softened; despite himself, a small smile tugged at his lips. He opened his arms, ready to catch the other man.
He was just within reach—
Then Zuo Shihuan stepped squarely on his right foot.
Gu Heng let out a muffled grunt but quickly caught the stumbling Zuo Shihuan, pulling him upright while pretending nothing happened.
“I’m right here,” Gu Heng said helplessly.
“Oh.” Zuo Shihuan raised an eyebrow, showing no intention of apologizing. “Well, who told you to stay quiet? I thought you were teasing me again. Serves you right.”
Gu Heng was momentarily speechless—the accused villain left without a defense.
Seeing that, Zuo Shihuan pinched his hand in irritation before sighing. “Now, can you tell me why you did this? You realize this chaos is scaring everyone. I don’t want innocent people getting hurt because of us.”
“I saw you were unhappy,” Gu Heng said seriously, his low, magnetic voice sounding almost like a devil’s whisper in the dark, indulgent and utterly partial to Zuo Shihuan. “You were arguing with your father about something you didn’t want to do—so I decided to help you. Even if your father, Zuo Zoujian, despises me, I didn’t want your relationship with him to break beyond repair.”
His tone was solemn.
“Whether it’s turning off the lights or running away from the wedding—whatever you don’t want to do, I’ll help you. Whatever you do want, I’ll help you with that too. If something causes you pain, then it doesn’t deserve to exist at all.”
He paused, eyes darkening.
“I know you’re not happy, Zuo Shihuan—not with this engagement, not with fighting your father. But you and I are different. My family stopped mattering to me a long time ago…”
“But you,” he said softly, “you still care about yours. I don’t want you to suffer because of me, or throw away the life you planned, or destroy your family ties in a moment of anger. That would hurt too much. That’s why I did this.”
Zuo Shihuan fell silent, his expression shifting with quiet, tangled emotion.
He had imagined all sorts of reasons why Gu Heng might have done these things, yet when he finally heard the explanation, Zuo Shihuan’s feelings were a tangled mix of emotions.
The reason was simple.
Gu Heng had done it all for him—purely out of concern for his feelings—yet he still hadn’t bothered to tell him in advance, still so reckless and willful in acting on his own.
Zuo Shihuan couldn’t suppress the rush of emotion and the tremor in his chest; he felt touched, angry, and amused all at once. He couldn’t help being exasperated—this b*stard Gu Heng never thought about consequences.
When had he ever needed Gu Heng to make decisions for him? If Gu Heng hadn’t barged into his engagement banquet without warning, things wouldn’t have turned into such a mess. He’d already decided to cancel the engagement anyway, and as a grown Alpha, he could take responsibility for his own choices.
Even if it meant breaking with his father, Zuo Zoujian—even if he had to leave the Zuo family and start over—that would still be his decision.
But after a short, sullen silence, Zuo Shihuan had to admit Gu Heng’s judgment was right.
Although he hadn’t been in the Zuo family for long, he still couldn’t completely cut off those ties—he still had lingering attachment to them.
He understood Gu Heng’s good intentions, yet still muttered under his breath, “You really are a reckless, willful b*stard.”
Gu Heng didn’t seem affected by the insult. His sharp brows only eased slightly, and his thin lips pressed into a straight line.
But the next second, Zuo Shihuan’s fingers laced tightly with his.
“Why aren’t you arguing back, idiot?”
Zuo Shihuan let out a soft, exasperated laugh. “When you were arguing with my father just now, you weren’t this quiet, like some poor little punching bag. You made it look like I was bullying you. You’re the one who trapped me—now I can’t even escape your grasp even after getting engaged. But next time, before you do anything like this, I want you to talk to me first.”
His light brown eyes lowered slightly, soft and uncertain. “I don’t care if other people don’t care about you—but I care about you. I want you to trust me, too. I hope… one day we can become a family. Like those happy, perfect families in dramas—trusting and supporting each other.”
Gu Heng’s eyes lit up instantly. His lips curved upward. “Alright. I promise you.”
The two of them walked hand in hand through the darkness, their breaths close and clear, their joined palms passing warmth and steady heartbeats between them—
—as if a seed of hope for the future had been quietly planted.
Neither of them could have guessed that, through all the stumbles and setbacks, that seed would one day sprout with vibrant life—perhaps even grow lush and full, blossoming and bearing fruit.
Holding onto that fragile hope, Zuo Shihuan suddenly grew curious about Gu Heng’s family. Come to think of it, he knew almost nothing about Gu Heng’s past—yet Gu Heng had already met his parents.
Even if it had been under disastrous circumstances, Zuo Shihuan’s curiosity was piqued. What kind of family could have raised someone as extraordinary as Gu Heng?
He couldn’t help asking, “When are you going to let me meet your family? You’ve already driven my father up the wall—no matter how bad things are, it can’t possibly be worse than that.”
Gu Heng was caught off guard.
If he could, he’d rather Zuo Shihuan never meet his family at all—but if he said that outright, Shihuan would definitely be angry.
He furrowed his brows, troubled, and said vaguely, “There’s really no need. My relatives live far away, and… our relationship isn’t good. There’s nothing worth meeting.”
“Why not?”
“…”
“Don’t tell me you just don’t want me to meet them? Even if we can’t meet in person, can I at least see a family photo? I want to know what you looked like as a kid.”
Zuo Shihuan pressed curiously.
Gu Heng’s expression grew even more complicated.
If he actually showed Zuo Shihuan a photo of his imperial father and mother, he’d probably never be able to stay in the Federation again. His father’s image was archived in official records, and as for childhood photos—there were few, and certainly no “family portraits.”
His mother had always despised him, cold and distant.
His father only smiled after he achieved something in harsh training—and even then, that man’s greatest love was for blood and war.
Neither of them had the slightest interest in his personal life.
One wanted him dead outside, while in the Federation; the other wanted him to die on the battlefield for the Empire. Even if they wished for him to find a “good Omega,” it was only because they wanted him to breed another living weapon like himself.
Gu Heng had long since stopped expecting anything from them. Without expectations, there could be no disappointment. He smiled faintly at Zuo Shihuan and said, “My father’s a cripple—temper’s violent and twisted. It’s better if you don’t meet him.”
Zuo Shihuan’s face softened with guilt. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up bad memories. But medical tech is advanced now—regrowing a lost limb is possible. If you wanted, maybe you could bring your father—”
“No need.”
Gu Heng cut him off firmly. His deep black eyes flickered with a faint, murky light. His mouth curved in a mocking smile, but there was no real joy behind it.
“He brought it on himself. It’s not something that can be healed. And when my uncle kidnapped me, my father gave up on me. There’s nothing left between us.”
Every time he recalled the past, violence and malice welled up in him—only by tearing and rending through imagined prey could he calm down. He didn’t want his father’s leg to heal. In fact, when he’d returned from that abduction and heard his father had been injured, he’d been glad.
Zuo Shihuan, however, only felt a pang of pain.
No one could be abandoned by their parents and stay completely unaffected.
He understood that all too well—he’d lived it himself. That was why he could so clearly feel the bitterness and difficulty in Gu Heng’s calm words.
For Gu Heng to speak of it so evenly now, he must have endured years of torment, confusion, and pain before he could reach this fragile peace.
Zuo Shihuan grabbed Gu Heng, who was walking too fast, and pulled him into his arms. His light brown eyes instantly filled with pained anger— not at the innocent Gu Heng, but at the irresponsible family who had hurt him.
When Zuo Shihuan looked up at Gu Heng, his light brown eyes reddened, full of pity and tenderness. His voice came out muffled and hoarse: “Then we just won’t see them. From now on, I’ll be the one who stays with you.”
In those warm, misty brown eyes, it was as if Gu Heng was the only person reflected there. The turbulent violence in his chest slowly calmed under that gaze.
His nose stung.
The proud, aloof mask he usually wore seemed to fall away silently in that dark corner where no one was watching. Rising up inside him were emotions he had never allowed himself to show before—emotions he thought of as shameful, weak, even humiliating.
He felt a bit embarrassed—Zuo Shihuan’s concern seemed over the top. Maybe Zuo Shihuan didn’t really understand his past. After all, as the crown prince of the Empire, a top-tier Alpha above S-rank, what hadn’t he been through? Even when he’d been covered in wounds and surrounded by Zerg, he had never once felt fear.
How could he be moved by such trivial, long-buried matters?
And yet, this Alpha, born as a weapon of war—with the hardest body, the fastest healing—still couldn’t defend against a single gentle word from Zuo Shihuan.
That one line of care struck straight through his armor, piercing the softest, most vulnerable place in his heart.
Even Gu Heng himself had never felt those old things were a big deal. But he wasn’t a generous person—anyone who had crossed him, he’d made sure to repay in full.
Only now, when someone suddenly came to comfort him, did he realize how wronged and bitter his past truly was—how the wound he’d buried deep inside had never really healed.
Every memory tugged at the scar.
But this time, as he exposed that wound, it was as if the clotted blood of the past flowed out with it, and the healing finally began for real.
Gu Heng pressed his lips tightly together, his nose a little red, and buried his face in the crook of Zuo Shihuan’s neck. He clung to him tightly—like a child clutching the only straw that could save him—drawing in warmth, the two of them holding each other close.
“You promised,” Gu Heng mumbled, voice low, “Zuo Shihuan, you’re not allowed to leave me.”
Zuo Shihuan couldn’t see Gu Heng’s expression, but the clingy, childlike tone made his heart ache and soften. He laughed quietly and soothed him, “Mm-hm, how could I ever bear to leave you? Unless one day you, this awful b*stard, make me so mad I have to run away.”
Gu Heng muttered immediately, “You’re not allowed to run. Even if you do, I’ll drag you back.”
Zuo Shihuan gave a helpless little laugh, then turned to look toward the banquet hall still plunged in darkness. His temples throbbed slightly as he said, “We should get going. If people find out you were behind this, you’ll be in serious trouble.”
Gu Heng curled his lip dismissively but said nothing.
If he’d dared to do it, he wasn’t afraid of being found out. And he wasn’t exactly without allies.
Ji Shenwen, his right-hand man, had been by his side for years—more than capable of cleaning up the aftermath. Even if the Federation sent people to investigate, they’d never find anything.
Still, out of respect for Zuo Shihuan’s concern, Gu Heng didn’t argue.
“Then let’s go.”
“Mm.”
At the same time—
The banquet had been in darkness for a while now.
Not far away, Zuo Zoujian’s angry voice rang out: “What’s going on? What do you mean the backup power system also failed for unknown reasons? Don’t tell me the Federation’s top hotel doesn’t even have a functioning power setup!”
“I’m sorry, sir, we’re investigating right now. We suspect the backup system hadn’t been used for too long and some circuits malfunctioned—”
“What a coincidence! Everything happens to go wrong today, at our family’s engagement banquet! Do you know how much trouble this blackout is causing for our distinguished guests?!”
“And right now, we can’t even find Zuo Shihuan! D*mn it, where did that Beta take him?!”
Zuo Zoujian’s furious voice echoed through the hall, mixed with the endless apologies of the hotel staff bowing in panic.
“We’ve already brought in portable lights, and Miss Yu has also ordered people to—”
Before the sentence finished, a bright flashlight beam lit up from the stage.
A soft, soothing female voice rose above the noise: “Please, everyone, don’t panic. Stay where you are. I’m Miss Yu, one of the hosts of this engagement banquet. I’m so sorry for the inconvenience caused to all our guests tonight. We’ve already sent people to repair the power system, and emergency flashlights will be distributed shortly. Please don’t move around to avoid accidents—”
Yu Lizhu stood on the stage in her heavy white wedding gown, holding a flashlight high, still trying her best to maintain order.
Hearing that familiar voice, Zuo Shihuan instinctively slowed down. He turned his head toward the stage, light brown eyes flickering with guilt and gratitude.
If he hadn’t suddenly canceled the engagement, Yu Lizhu wouldn’t have had to clean up the mess for him.
But in those few seconds he paused—
The change in his expression didn’t escape Gu Heng’s notice. His gaze darkened.
Following Zuo Shihuan’s line of sight, he too saw the Omega woman— the same Omega woman again, the fiancée who just wouldn’t disappear.
She was beautiful, radiant in her wedding dress—beautiful enough to sting Gu Heng’s eyes.
And her face… something about it was vaguely familiar. Familiar enough to disgust him, as though he’d seen her somewhere before—perhaps in some intelligence file from the Federation.
To Gu Heng, it didn’t matter.
Whether in the Empire or the Federation, Omegas raised in powerful families all looked and acted alike—there was nothing worth remembering.
He had no desire to know anything about that woman at all.
Yet no matter how he told himself that, Zuo Shihuan’s reaction still stuck in his chest like a splinter he couldn’t pull out.
Although Zuo Shihuan had made a promise to him, Gu Heng still couldn’t stop the wave of insecurity rising inside.
What was the relationship between that Omega woman and Zuo Shihuan—why did he pay so much attention to her?
He was so familiar with her that the moment he heard her voice, he turned around immediately.
Gu Heng’s face darkened at the thought. He clenched the hand that wasn’t holding Zuo Shihuan’s, veins standing out along his arm, his dark eyes seething with emotion as he stared at Zuo Shihuan looking off into the distance at that Omega woman.
His chest felt tight and stifled.
He didn’t want Zuo Shihuan to keep looking. Jealousy and frustration twisted inside him until he almost lost control—but even as the madness clawed at him, he felt ridiculous for feeling this way.
Forcing himself to stay calm, though his eyes were already red with jealousy, he said quietly, “Stop looking. We should leave.”
Zuo Shihuan, knowing the real cause of the blackout, hesitated uneasily. “But… is it really okay for us to just leave like this? After all, we caused this mess. Gu Heng, can you restore the power—?”
Gu Heng’s eyes went cold. Without another word, he wrapped an arm around Zuo Shihuan’s waist and lifted him up. “Someone will take care of it.”
He could no longer bear seeing Zuo Shihuan’s gaze fall on anyone else—for any reason. Right now, he just wanted to take him away, to a place where no one could disturb them.
Caught off guard as he was suddenly lifted off the ground, Zuo Shihuan gasped softly, clutching at Gu Heng’s collar. Still, curiosity got the better of him. “Who’s going to take care of it?”
Gu Heng didn’t answer. He strode quickly away, holding Zuo Shihuan close.
Just as they stepped out of the banquet hall, Gu Heng caught sight of Ji Shenwen entering from another door, clearly there to cover for him. He turned back slightly and said to Zuo Shihuan, “Someone will handle it.”
***
After Gu Heng left—
Ji Shenwen, who was in charge of cleaning up the aftermath, entered the hall… only to freeze the moment he saw Yu Lizhu on stage in her wedding gown.
At the same time—
Someone else, who had finally breathed a sigh of relief after Gu Heng’s departure, hurriedly downed several glasses of champagne to calm his nerves.
“I really thought that rabid, sharp-sensed Alpha was going to catch me. Who would’ve thought he’d chase me all the way here—well, at least I got to watch quite the show.”
Ji Zhaohe wiped the cold sweat from his forehead. The snake-like, dark green irises in his eyes gleamed with a strange excitement. He tossed back glass after glass of alcohol, his pale face flushing from intoxication, licking the moisture from his lips with feverish energy.
Turning to Ji Sener, who was eating snacks beside him, Ji Zhaohe muttered, half amused, half indignant for Gu Heng’s sake: “That Alpha really is something else. Everyone else must be blind—not even a hint of pheromone, yet they all took him for a Beta.”
“As expected of someone from the Federation—so ignorant.”
Ji Zhaohe was, in fact, Gu Heng’s real mission target.
He had already been prepared to flee with Ji Sener at a moment’s notice, ready for another life on the run. But the Alpha who had chased him here had ignored him completely—instead crashing the engagement ceremony to seize another Alpha man in public.
In a way, Ji Zhaohe was irritated by how completely he’d been overlooked, but at the same time relieved not to have to face that terrifying Alpha head-on.
He had seen what that Alpha was capable of before—through surveillance footage of a battle against the modified Zerg he’d engineered himself. The brutality and sheer power had left an impression.
And now, seeing it up close, it was even more terrifying.
As an expert in bio-mechanical weapon design, Ji Shenwen could easily tell that the battle robots from the Zuo family’s Blue Eagle Group were formidable—though still a level below the Zerg he himself had modified. Within the Federation’s usual research standards, their models were solid and powerful enough to deal with most enemies.
But even so, they were no match for that Alpha.
If Ji Zhaohe himself had fought, perhaps he could’ve taken down one or two such robots through skill and tricks—but against that Alpha, he wouldn’t have stood a chance.
Even a single swing of that Alpha’s arm, a gust from his punch, could have shattered Ji Zhaohe’s bones.
Just looking at the marble floor and steps, cracked and shattered in sheets, and the ruined, twisted remains of the battle robots—
Ji Zhaohe’s brain was electric with excitement. He couldn’t stop calculating, over and over, the limits of that Alpha’s physical power. His blood pumped faster; his dark green eyes gleamed red with fervor.
His mouth watered uncontrollably.
The Zerg genes fused deep in his bones were screaming with hunger. Even without smelling pheromones, he could feel how exceptional—how delicious—that Alpha must be.
If he could devour and absorb that Alpha’s genes, his own Zerg DNA might evolve to a higher level.
That primal hunger made his eyes go bloodshot. Unable to sate the craving, he drank harder, forcing down the saliva pooling in his mouth.
The hunger drove his instincts to hunt and feed— but his fear of that Alpha, his will to survive, forced him to suppress it.
Ji Zhaohe hadn’t eaten a person in a long time. These days, when cravings hit, he’d just sleep with an Alpha or two— the stronger, the higher-ranked, the more they stirred his appetite and lust.
Not that he ever did much.
Sometimes he’d take a few bites of an Alpha partner’s flesh, tasting the pheromone-tinged blood just to satisfy his craving. To those thick-skinned Alphas, the minor injuries healed quickly.
Besides, the Zerg hunting genes in his body emitted a scent that lured in prey—an instinctive pheromonal pull that made Alphas unconsciously drawn to him, giving them a twisted sense of pleasure as he fed.
In those circles, Ji Zhaohe was rather famous. Many Alphas who’d hooked up with him once couldn’t forget him afterward.
And Ji Zhaohe saw nothing wrong with that.
After all, Zerg and humans had always been natural enemies—two species fighting over the same source of food.
Long ago, the Zerg had discovered how exquisite human genes tasted, and had invaded human territory en masse. Now, even though humans had the upper hand with differentiation and advanced weaponry, they still couldn’t stop provoking the Zerg again and again.
Not only because the Zerg were their mortal enemies, but also because many of the essential components in the gene optimization agents required for human differentiation were irreplaceable raw materials derived from Zerg bodies.
Now, for the sake of profit, humans still refuse to end the war with the Zerg — after every battle, they simply sweep up the corpses of the fallen Zerg and serve them on the dinner table in another form.
Compared to those who truly eat Zerg, Ji Zhaohe thought that his own bloody little indulgences were already extremely restrained and disciplined.
Seeing that there was nothing more interesting about the banquet, he said to Ji Sener, “Almost done eating, right? We should go. There’s nothing fun left here.”
But unexpectedly, Ji Sener didn’t respond — her gaze was filled with nostalgia as she looked toward someone in the distance, and she pointed at that person. “I want to see him. I remember him.”
“Who?”
Ji Zhaohe followed the direction of her finger with mild curiosity, but the moment he saw the man’s face, his casual expression instantly turned sharp and severe, his dark green eyes narrowing with dangerous malice.
Ji Sener, unbothered, continued in that soft, nostalgic tone: “Look, isn’t that him, little Shenwen? I didn’t expect him to end up in the Federation too. I remember when he was a child — his face was round and chubby, always playing with the family pets. And now, in the blink of an eye, he’s grown into such a dependable, tall Alpha.”
“Little Shenwen’s grown up, and his features… still resemble you a little, Uncle.”
Ji Sener’s teasing gaze turned toward Ji Zhaohe, whose expression had darkened instantly — and from her perspective, the two truly did share a faint resemblance.
But Ji Zhaohe would never agree. His gaze toward Ji Shenwen in the distance was sharp and hostile.
They might share the same Ji family bloodline, but to say they looked alike — that was a ridiculous joke.
If Ji Zhaohe was a venomous snake surviving in the wilderness, then that mild, gentle-faced Ji Shenwen was like a golden retriever — pathetically wagging its tail, waiting for its master to play with it or toss it a bone.
How could they possibly be alike?!
Ji Zhaohe let out a cold laugh. “What’s a Ji family member doing in the Federation instead of staying in the Empire?”
Ji Sener set down her dessert and clapped her hands clean. “Why don’t I just go ask him? Then we’ll know.”
“No!”
Ji Zhaohe’s reaction was immediate and panicked. Possessiveness flared as he said sharply, “You can’t go. You’re no longer a Ji family member. Even if Ji Shenwen is your biological grandson, that’s related to the old Lan Sener. But now, you are Ji Sener. You’re mine. You’re not allowed to go.”
Lan Sener could only smile helplessly — sometimes Ji Zhaohe seemed more like a sensitive, insecure child than she did.
She had only been surprised to see Ji Shenwen appear in the Federation, curious about what he was doing now that he was grown. She had no intention of interfering.
Even if people from the Ji family came, she would not leave Ji Zhaohe.
But Ji Zhaohe could never understand that.
He kept his eyes fixed on Ji Shenwen until the latter finally turned and left. Only then did Ji Zhaohe breathe a sigh of relief, turning back toward Ji Sener with self-righteous firmness.
“See? He’s gone. No need to go to him now.”
Ji Sener: “…………”
Still dissatisfied, Ji Zhaohe immediately grabbed her hand, biting at his own fingernails in anxiety. “No, this place isn’t safe at all. We should leave — now.”
Lacking the strength to resist, Ji Sener obediently followed him, apparently no longer showing any curiosity about the Ji family.
But even after leaving, Ji Zhaohe remained uneasy for a long time.
Even though the possibility of the Ji family from the Empire discovering Sener’s whereabouts was extremely low, he still feared that one day, they would take her back.
He had gone through unimaginable effort to bring Ji Sener back to life.
He absolutely would not sit and wait for her to be taken away again.
His dark green pupils dimmed, and a shadow crept across his pale face.
