Tao Ran realized he’d said something inappropriate. Scratching his head, he mumbled, “Well, it’s not like you’d go telling anyone, Chi-Chi. Just a little secret between us.”
Tao Ran had always been blunt, but being friends with him was easy. Because of that, Chi Zhan couldn’t bring himself to scold him any further. He simply said, “Don’t ever say something like that again. Got it?”
“Got it!”
As the two chatted, Chi Zhan glanced casually at his screen—and froze. His breath hitched, and his eyes locked onto the display, unable to look away.
On the screen was a photo of the person who’d helped him earlier.
ID photos were notorious for exposing a person’s raw, unfiltered appearance. In a world saturated with beauty filters and retouching, only ID photos could truly reveal someone’s real features.
And yet, even under such harsh lighting and zero enhancements, the man in the photo was flawless—his features impeccably defined, dressed in a jet-black combat uniform. Those pitch-dark eyes, nearly emotionless, and the signature tear-shaped mole beneath them radiated a cold, biting aura, as if even through the screen, his gaze could slice through bone.
“Isn’t that Tang Ling?” Tao Ran followed Chi Zhan’s line of sight and said, “Chi-Chi, are you looking him up to study that old Sun Tzu trick? ‘Know thy enemy, win every battle,’ right?”
For once, Tao Ran’s wit was on point, but Chi Zhan wasn’t in the mood to praise him. His expression twisted into something unreadable.
“Does Tang Ling… have a twin brother?”
“Don’t think so. Why ask?”
Chi Zhan didn’t answer. The man looked exactly like the one in the photo—but their aura couldn’t have been more different. If the man in the ID photo was a perilous, icy cliff, then the one he’d met earlier that afternoon was something else entirely—harmless, even warm.
Could the same person really have such a stark contrast in temperament?
Chi Zhan couldn’t figure it out. Nor could he understand why the man would lie about his name.
But he was far too exhausted to dwell on it. Drowsiness weighed heavy on his mind, slowing every thought. His eyelids drooped, and the moment his head hit the pillow, he fell into a deep sleep.
Click. The door creaked open.
Cen Chi had just made it back to the dorms at the very last second before curfew. The room was pitch-black—his roommate clearly asleep.
He didn’t bother turning on the light. His night vision was excellent. His gaze landed right on Chi Zhan’s bed, where a softly rising mound lay in peaceful slumber.
The pheromone analysis would take at least three days to come back—though honestly, the test was nearly redundant.
“That’s clearly Omega pheromone. No need to test it,” Lin Feng said, massaging his forehead. “I’ll bet my degree in pheromone research on it. If that’s not an Omega, I’ll streak around the central district butt-naked.”
Cen Chi smiled faintly.
“Sorry to disappoint. That sample came from a Beta friend.”
Lin Feng shot him a you’ve-got-to-be-kidding-me look.
His expression grew more serious as he picked up the sealed vial, examining it carefully.
“That doesn’t make sense. Beta physiology sets a hard limit on pheromone concentration—it’ll never exceed the lowest Omega threshold. This level of purity? Only a top-tier Omega could have it. Your friend… don’t tell me he’s an O pretending to be a B?”
That trope wasn’t unheard of—it popped up often in dramas and trashy novels. But in real life, hardly anyone attempted it. For one, pulling it off was nearly impossible. Betas rarely used blocking patches, but an Omega skipping theirs? That was a disaster waiting to happen.
Even a bit of intense physical activity would cause an inevitable leak of pheromones. Someone would notice.
“He really doesn’t use suppression patches,” Cen Chi said slowly. “He’s been training in combat lately, too. I’ve never caught even a trace of his scent. But when the pheromone was collected, he was in pain. Is there a drug that can temporarily let an Omega pass as a Beta?”
“Well, a strong enough suppressant might do it,” Lin Feng admitted. “But that stuff’s brutal on the body. You’d have to inject it daily, and if resistance builds up, it stops working.”
He paused, then suggested, “Even with a disguise, if they smell a matching Alpha pheromone, their body will still react. Why don’t you… try it?”
If an Alpha and Omega had high compatibility, it could trigger a pseudo-heat. Administering a suppressant afterward would bring things back to normal.
The effect was strongest when the target was completely unprepared.
Moments later, Cen Chi quietly released his pheromone. Sidestepping the loudly snoring Tao Ran, he zeroed in on Chi Zhan. His scent crept like ivy along the bedframe in the dark, gradually enveloping the peacefully sleeping Beta.
***
Chi Zhan was a quiet sleeper. While Tao Ran snored and ground his teeth in his dreams, Chi Zhan lay still and silent, his breathing nearly imperceptible, like a drifting cloud. Most of his face was buried in the pillow, revealing only the delicate curve of his cheek and the graceful line of his neck, his chest rising and falling in slow rhythm.
Cen Chi’s pheromone, deep and lush like a rainforest tinged with the faintest trace of green flora, wove around Chi Zhan like an invisible net, cradling him gently.
His gaze settled on Chi Zhan’s face. Maybe it was the aftermath of the treatment, but the pallor caused by the earlier pheromone extraction had faded. A soft flush had bloomed across his cheeks, and his slightly parted lips looked as though they were waiting to be kissed.
Like a sleeping beauty, waiting for the prince to wake him with a kiss.
Back when Cen Chi had first moved in, he’d exchanged a few words with Chi Zhan. But at the time, his mind had been elsewhere—focused solely on infiltrating the royal family.
It was a gamble fraught with danger. To the other royals, he was a threat—a thorn in their side. It was a move that could cost him everything.
Before today, Cen Chi had no intention of confronting the Crown Prince so soon. But the royal intelligence network was far more efficient than he’d expected. It seemed his identity had already been exposed.
Which made the situation all the more perilous.
Every move he made could be reported to the Crown Prince within seconds. No—would be. That was almost a certainty.
Alphas hated having what they saw as theirs being coveted by others. Their possessiveness ran thicker than syrup, overwhelming and absolute. The only reason they hadn’t torn society apart and ended up in interstellar prisons was that their human skin barely managed to hold back those primitive, savage instincts.
