AMTPA Chapter 28

Both of them had neck injuries from yesterday, but they were really nothing—too small to even need a treatment pod. Just a day later, the bite mark on one neck had vanished, while the other still bore a faint, rose-shaped imprint.

 

Ji Chenxi smiled and tapped his own neck, his lips moving slightly as if speaking, but no sound came out.

 

Chi Zhuo, with a few people trailing behind him, had been listening to someone talk before his gaze landed on Ji Chenxi. But now, that calm look in his eyes had shifted into something dangerously unpredictable.

 

The change didn’t go unnoticed by the person speaking beside him. Thinking he’d said something wrong, he grew extra nervous and hurriedly tried to explain himself to Chi Zhuo.

 

After glancing at the person’s reaction, Ji Chenxi stepped out of the view of the floor-to-ceiling window. Surprisingly, his mood—already not great—lifted a bit.

 

As soon as Ji Chenxi returned, he ran into Su Yu, who had come looking for him.

 

Su Yu didn’t sound happy. “Third Prince, I only ignored you for a moment, and the next thing I know, you’ve disappeared. I almost thought you ran off by yourself.”

 

“Run off? Me?” Ji Chenxi chuckled.

 

“Isn’t that what I was worried about? That our empire’s rose would run off like a runaway princess?”

 

Ji Chenxi raised an eyebrow, feigning annoyance. Su Yu didn’t flinch at all. “Come on, come on. I’ll take you somewhere fun.”

 

“Not something… shady, I hope?”

 

“Impossible. We’re all respectable people, remember?”

 

Following Su Yu’s lead, Ji Chenxi went along. Su Yu breezed past security checks like slicing through butter with a membership card and finally led him down to the third underground level.

 

Without Su Yu guiding him, Ji Chenxi never would have guessed what lay beneath the club.

 

These days, most things that got people excited had something to do with sex, but alphas were usually a proud, arrogant bunch. Going out for that kind of scene rarely felt like showing off, and it was kind of awkward to bring friends along. Since that wasn’t an option, people turned to other ways to get a thrill. That’s how all sorts of arenas came about. The underground third level of this club was one of those secret arenas, and it wasn’t like the usual kind of competition.

 

Nowadays, most games were tied to mecha starships, and even many arenas focused on mecha combat. But this arena was simpler—straight-up hand-to-hand fighting. And strangely enough, it was exactly this kind of fight, raw and bloody, that piqued an alpha’s interest. Especially since many of the underground fighters were pretty easy on the eyes.

 

“Wanna place a bet?”

 

“We’ll see.” Ji Chenxi wasn’t all that interested.

 

At first, he didn’t get why so many people came to watch. But it didn’t take long to figure it out. Once someone got knocked down here, it wasn’t just a loss—they could really die. In a true life-or-death battle, people could summon strength they’d never shown before. That burst of power, at the very edge of life, carried a strange, almost hypnotic beauty.

 

On the floor now, two alphas were facing off—one with a scent of gunpowder, the other leather. Their pheromones twisted together as they grappled, each looking like they wanted to kill the other just like their instincts demanded.

 

The audience, however, wasn’t affected by the scents. Instead, it seemed to make them even more curious, more excited.

 

“There’s really a place like this in the empire?” Ji Chenxi murmured.

 

Su Yu had relaxed a little when he first saw it, but after watching longer, even he frowned. The fighting was way too fierce.

 

“Looks like you’re not a fan,” he said softly. “It’s my first time too. My friends recommended it—said once you watch, you’d want to come again. Didn’t expect it to be this bloody.”

 

“The final bloom of life is naturally beautiful,” Ji Chenxi replied, “but in an arena like this, how many people die every day?”

 

Su Yu lowered his voice. “So… do you want to step in and uphold justice, Your Highness?”

 

“Let’s see how things go first. How long has this place been running?” Ji Chenxi felt a small relief that, for privacy, they’d been given a biological mask when entering. Otherwise, an imperial prince showing up in a place like this could become the next scandalous headline.

 

“About two months, I guess. Everyone who’s been here keeps things really hush-hush,” Su Yu said, noticing how serious the situation was.

 

“I get the feeling this is just a temporary setup. If they don’t catch whoever’s behind it, they could pop up somewhere else. And to run a place like this so openly in the empire… they’ve got some nerve.” Ji Chenxi fiddled with his light computer. He had originally just wanted to anonymously report it as a concerned citizen—but there was no network here.

 

He tried recording and other features. Just as he suspected, none of it worked.

 

Looks like whoever’s behind this is really skilled.

 

“How much do those cards cost? And bringing someone in?”

 

Su Yu rattled off a string of numbers. Ji Chenxi fell silent for a moment. “You really don’t mind spending that much just to make me happy, huh?”

 

Su Yu laughed. “Relax. These underground fighters are doing it for big money anyway. Plenty of people who want the cash more than their own lives.”

 

“Hmm.” Ji Chenxi sighed. “If this were on a fringe planet, I’d think it’s normal—lots of desperate people there. But this is the imperial star. Someone set up a place like this underground, and the empire’s top officials haven’t noticed? Two months… if idiots like you keep coming, they’ve probably already made a fortune.”

 

Su Yu gave his shoulder a light punch. “Curiosity, isn’t it? Otherwise, who’d be throwing away money like this?”

 

Ji Chenxi let out a small “hm” and continued working to bypass the signal blockers, trying to contact the outside world as soon as possible.

 

After a while of fiddling, the light computer buzzed faintly. Ji Chenxi’s expression relaxed—he’d succeeded.

 

Discovering a place like this could easily be covered up if told to the wrong person, but Ji Chenxi didn’t bother choosing carefully. He contacted the emperor himself—the one he’d only just met today.

 

The emperor’s system had strong signal blockers, even some info interception, but Ji Chenxi wasn’t inexperienced. While sitting expressionless in the private room, watching the two fighters on the arena floor, he deftly sent out the message.

 

Only a few minutes after sending it, Ji Chenxi noticed chaos at the entrance.

 

Wait… that fast?

 

Ji Chenxi even glanced at the message he had sent. Six minutes ago, he’d told the emperor about this, and the reply had been almost instant—saying they’d send someone right away. And now… “right away” really meant this fast?

 

Ji Chenxi felt a mix of surprise and doubt.

 

It didn’t take long for him to realize that “right away” didn’t even begin to cover it. The commotion lasted only a short while. Soon, a sharp-looking middle-aged man headed in another direction. No one knew what he said, but the program changed quickly afterward. As for those who had died earlier, they probably wouldn’t even have to wait for anyone—they’d be dealt with quietly.

 

Ji Chenxi tried recording video and audio again. Every attempt failed. Even when he tried to hack the system, he couldn’t get through.

 

Rising from his seat, he told Su Yu he was going to act on his own.

 

Su Yu quickly grabbed his hand, silently mouthing, “Your Highness, don’t take any risks. If something goes wrong… who could be responsible?”

 

“It’s fine. Nothing too big. You stay here.”

 

With that, Ji Chenxi pulled his hand free.

 

Like a clever cat, he disappeared quickly. To avoid being noticed, every time he passed a spot, the surveillance there would glitch for a split second. That brief pause—almost a second—was enough to keep him unseen by anyone.

 

He silently crept to the spot the middle-aged man had visited earlier. There, he quietly knocked out someone who looked almost like him and blended in with the others. At first, Ji Chenxi had assumed this was just a blood-sport arena using human lives for spectacle. But it didn’t take long to realize it was far more complicated than he’d imagined.

 

They weren’t just getting rid of the bodies — they were hauling them through multiple layers of security, moving the people to a place that looked like a laboratory.

 

Countless nutrient tanks held people who were neither clearly dead nor alive. Ji Chenxi couldn’t even be sure if they were fully human or some kind of modified animals. Some had fish tails, others had countless eyes covering their faces. Some didn’t even resemble humans at all—just clusters of flesh lumps, twitching and writhing as if alive.

 

As Ji Chenxi stared at the clusters of flesh, one of them suddenly split open, revealing a pair of vertical, snake-like pupils. The pupils flicked, exposing yet another layer of iris.

 

Disgusting.

 

Ji Chenxi turned his face away, expressionless.

 

A person in a lab coat was cursing angrily. “Why are they sending a pile of bodies here now? Didn’t they think we had enough chaos already?”

 

Someone nearby tried to calm him. “Must be a problem at one of the outer arenas. So many fresh bodies—just in time for a new experiment.”

 

Ji Chenxi lowered his gaze, moving like the others who had delivered the bodies, head bowed, hiding the fact that his hand inside his sleeve was struggling to send a message to his father, the emperor—letting him know this place was hiding a human experimentation lab.

 

He hadn’t expected that just coming out for a casual drink could lead him into something like this.

 

Just as Ji Chenxi was about to leave the lab, a female alpha in a white coat and glasses carrying coffee called out, “Stop! I don’t think I’ve seen you before.”

 

Ji Chenxi assumed she wasn’t talking to him and kept moving forward. Then the door that had been open suddenly slammed shut.

 

Only three people were left inside—and Ji Chenxi was the only one among them who kept moving forward after the female alpha spoke.

 

The woman holding the coffee gave him a dangerous look. “That’s a biological mask for guests on your face, right? Guest… how did you get lost and end up here?”

 

Everyone in the busy lab suddenly focused their attention on Ji Chenxi.

 

An older researcher confirmed, “Yes, that’s a biological mask specifically for guests.”

 

“Since the person ran in here, we might as well keep him for experiments. I’ve been wanting to test human-crocodile fusion recently.”

 

“Better to try centipede fusion. His body shape fits better.”

 

Ji Chenxi smiled faintly. With a subtle flick of his hand, the door that had been firmly shut swung open, and he dashed out.

 

Ji Chenxi was really becoming a runaway princess now.

 

He ran like the wind, immediately ripping the biological mask from his face. Someone had definitely tampered with it—otherwise, they wouldn’t have recognized him at a glance.

 

The people chasing him were just as urgent, activating multiple defensive devices at once. During his escape, Ji Chenxi nearly got sliced to pieces by a sudden photonic net.

 

As he ran, he hacked into the security system. There were experts guarding it, though, and every time he wrested control for even a moment, someone would come after him again.

 

Frustrated, Ji Chenxi muttered that he hadn’t brought the right tools.

 

In the midst of his lone struggle, he suddenly noticed another person was also trying to seize control. A third-party force—someone capable of competing with the mastermind behind all this.

 

Immediately, Ji Chenxi thought of Bai Han, who was always around Chi Zhuo.

 

The situation was critical, so Ji Chenxi didn’t have time to overthink. Along his escape, he grabbed a photonic gun. Anyone who got close would get a shot—one for each little intruder.

 

He hadn’t managed to pick up any heavy weapons, which was a bit disappointing, so he had to make do with the small photon gun as he pressed on.

 

Because he didn’t trust the environment here, his spiritual energy was on full alert, scanning for dangers that eyes couldn’t detect.

 

Even so, someone suddenly yanked him into a hidden doorway.

 

Ji Chenxi didn’t struggle immediately. He aimed the photonic gun down, and just before he fired, he caught a familiar pheromone.

 

“Got you.”

 

A familiar man’s low voice.

 

Ji Chenxi raised the small photonic gun slightly, letting the presence of the dangerous weapon speak for itself.

 

“The rose you personally delivered, Your Highness… shouldn’t be wasted,” Chi Zhuo murmured, saying something cryptic again.

 

Ji Chenxi, who had been wary of both Chi Zhuo and the outside, understood the words and smiled.

 

Earlier, in front of the floor-to-ceiling window, Ji Chenxi had silently said something to Chi Zhuo:

 

“You like me this much, and you even kept the roses I carved.”

 

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