AMTPA Chapter 31

“What else did Your Highness think I was gonna say?”

 

“Nothing. I didn’t think anything at all.” Ji Chenxi smiled with squinted eyes, pretending he hadn’t expected anything in the first place.

 

It was rare to see Ji Chenxi lose the upper hand. Even though that brief flash of surprise and annoyance on his face disappeared in an instant, Chi Zhuo still caught it — lucky him.

 

“Although it’s true one of us has a gland problem,” Chi Zhuo said casually, “there’s also a rumor that if two Alphas’ pheromones don’t clash, it means they’re fated.”

 

‘Fated.’

 

That word sounded way too nice.

 

“Oh.” Ji Chenxi’s response was flat — colder than before, actually. Only his hands on the mech’s controls moved a little lighter, a little quicker.

 

Chi Zhuo had been watching Ji Chenxi the whole time, catching even the tiniest movement. He couldn’t help letting out a small laugh, half amused, half speechless.

 

At first, the chase felt more like a game, a bit of harmless back-and-forth. But soon enough, even Ji Chenxi noticed their pursuers were done playing. They started firing silent cannons at them — again and again — like they wanted to drown them in explosions.

 

Ji Chenxi, of course, wasn’t one to play quiet. If he was going to move, he’d make it big and loud. Since their position was already blown, might as well make a scene. If anyone outside picked up on the commotion, maybe they’d notice something weird happening in this so-called arena — something hidden beneath it.

 

Their pursuers were relentless. Ji Chenxi didn’t hold back either, turning the cannons in his own hands loose. Using his spiritual power, he even reversed control of a few enemy shots and sent them right back.

 

Over on Bai Han’s side, it looked like she’d taken back control too. A massive door dropped down, cutting off the ones chasing them.

 

But while Bai Han was blocking the pursuers, the people running the lab were blocking them, making sure they couldn’t reach the core area inside.

 

At first, Ji Chenxi waited for Bai Han to open the doors. After a while, impatience got the better of him, and he started fighting for control himself. The equipment was awful, though — not just outdated, but borderline junk. Already in a foul mood, Ji Chenxi completely lost his patience. Instead of hacking through the system, he just aimed his weapon at the reinforced door and fired.

 

A thunderous explosion shook the place, but the door didn’t budge. Most people would’ve given up right there, but Ji Chenxi wasn’t most people. He kept blasting the same spot again and again, until finally, the once-unbreakable door shattered into a heap of scorched metal.

 

Ji Chenxi didn’t rush to find Chi Zhuo’s destination right away. Instead, he moved to the side of the lab’s main passage, forcing open several smaller doors in quick succession—until at last, Ji Chenxi found exactly what he’d been looking for.

 

After hauling the equipment onto the mech, Ji Chenxi didn’t bother taking the controls anymore. He handed the pilot seat over to Chi Zhuo and took on the job of clearing the path instead. At the same time, he made sure to give the guys hiding behind the scenes a little “extra trouble,” and while he was at it, he even started fighting for control of the main system.

 

Juggling all three tasks at once—clearing the way, hacking, and counterattacking—was no easy feat, but Ji Chenxi made it look effortless. The person on the other end, who’d barely been able to keep up with Bai Han before, was now drenched in cold sweat.

 

That third-party hacker from before might’ve been skilled, but all they’d done was block commands and reopen doors that Bai Han had sealed off. Their methods leaned more toward interference than full control. But this new intruder—Ji Chenxi—was something else entirely.

 

His attacks were fast and brutal. He wasn’t just jamming signals or cutting off commands—he was trying to ‘rewrite’ the entire system.

 

The man surrounded by floating light-screens kept typing furiously, code after code, his fingers flying over the console. But no matter how fast he moved, he just couldn’t keep up with Ji Chenxi’s pace. Every time he executed a command, Ji Chenxi had already broken it apart.

 

Ji Chenxi, of course, had no idea that the guy fighting him was already typing till his fingertips ached, full of disbelief and frustration. To Ji Chenxi, the whole thing was just thrilling. The other person had skill—real skill—and if this were a straight one-on-one, it’d be a tough match. But Ji Chenxi had Bai Han backing him up.

 

Bai Han, who had clearly decided Ji Chenxi was on her side, quickly jumped in to support him the moment she realized what Ji Chenxi was trying to do.

 

While Ji Chenxi was happily locked in a cyber duel, Chi Zhuo focused on piloting the mech, steady and precise, heading straight for their destination. With Ji Chenxi clearing the way—and with the right gear—they made it there in less than three minutes.

 

When the mech came to a stop, Chi Zhuo disengaged the controls. Ji Chenxi, still multitasking like it was nothing, kept up the digital fight while helping Chi Zhuo unlock the door ahead.

 

As he worked, he glanced over and asked casually, “If you’re really here just for the research data, we might be a little too late.”

 

They’d spent way more than ten minutes getting here, and ten minutes was plenty of time for the researchers to move their data somewhere else.

 

Chi Zhuo didn’t seem surprised. He just nodded, like he’d already expected that.

 

Ji Chenxi caught the look and raised an eyebrow. “So you knew. Then you’re not here for the research data, are you?”

 

Right as he said that, the stubborn door finally gave way with a heavy clunk.

 

“I never said I was here for the data,” Chi Zhuo replied lightly. “I came to collect something. If we happen to find the research files too, that’s just a bonus.”

 

Ji Chenxi paused for a moment, a thoughtful look flickering in his eyes as he caught on to the hint in Chi Zhuo’s words.

 

Ji Chenxi had zero interest in this kind of human experimentation. So even if the lab held some top-secret research data, he didn’t bother taking a step closer. Instead, he kept himself busy going head-to-head with the people operating behind the scenes. As for Chi Zhuo — the door was already open, and whatever was left in there, he could handle on his own.

 

Ji Chenxi’s invasion was still going strong. No matter how many firewalls or counterattacks came his way, they only managed to slow him down a little. But just as things were heating up between him and the enemy hacker, a sudden explosion went off in the room Chi Zhuo had just entered.

 

The loud ‘boom’ almost made Ji Chenxi mistype a command.

 

He had been completely focused on winning the control battle, but the blast made him pause and glance toward the doorway.

 

Thick smoke filled the room — too dense to see anything inside. He frowned, raised his voice, and called out, “Chi Zhuo?”

 

He just needed one response. One word, and he’d go back to tearing through the system. But the room stayed dead quiet. Not a single sound came back.

 

Ji Chenxi’s expression hardened. He summoned his spiritual form — the snow leopard — which didn’t even need instructions before slipping soundlessly toward the open door.

 

Because of the distraction, Ji Chenxi started losing ground in the system battle. If he slowed down even a little more, the equipment he was using might just blow itself up in protest.

 

He split part of his awareness to connect with the snow leopard and continued fighting on both fronts.

 

Inside the smoke-filled room, the big cat’s graceful form moved with silent caution. It was wary by nature, especially with visibility this low. Each step was careful, its eyes narrowing as it scanned the haze. It even let out a few soft growls, trying to draw Chi Zhuo’s attention.

 

“I’m fine.” Chi Zhuo’s voice came from the opposite corner.

 

The snow leopard turned toward the sound just as the ventilation system roared to life, sucking the smoke upward. The sudden noise startled the big cat so badly it nearly jumped back. Luckily, it steadied itself — otherwise Ji Chenxi would’ve dropped everything and rushed in himself.

 

The smoke had barely cleared when another hiss echoed through the vents. This time, a new gas was being pumped into the room — and fast.

 

Chi Zhuo’s face changed the moment he recognized the smell. His expression, calm until now, went cold and sharp.

 

It was a heavy dose of Omega pheromones — mixed with an aphrodisiac — probably tied to whatever drug he’d been forced to take earlier. The scent had barely reached his nose before a wave of discomfort crashed over him.

 

Before he could even grab the snow leopard and make a break for it, the ventilation system reversed again, sucking the air — and the drug — right back up.

 

Outside, Ji Chenxi had been working furiously on the equipment, but the moment he sensed something was off, he jumped down from the mech and strode into the room.

 

“You alright?” he asked, eyes scanning Chi Zhuo from head to toe.

 

Chi Zhuo nodded. “It’s fine. My body’s built up some resistance to this kind of thing.”

 

Ji Chenxi gave a quick sigh of relief. “Good. As long as you’re alright.”

 

Chi Zhuo glanced at him. “You’re not still busy… dueling back there?”

 

The word ‘dueling’ made Ji Chenxi laugh — quietly this time, a more restrained smile tugging at his lips. “All done. The system’s under my control now. I don’t need to babysit that terminal anymore.”

 

He tapped the light-screen on his wrist. “I’ve also reported this whole ‘human experimentation lab’ mess. The military’s already here — waiting outside. Once I open the main doors, this place will be completely cleaned out. You want the data? I recovered most of the deleted files too, though I’m not sure if they’re all intact.”

 

Chi Zhuo couldn’t help staring at him for a moment.

 

Ji Chenxi raised a brow. “What? Think I’m a genius or something?”

 

Chi Zhuo nodded once.

 

Well, he wasn’t wrong — at least when it came to this kind of work, Ji Chenxi was a genius.

 

But Ji Chenxi didn’t linger on the compliment. Instead, he switched topics without missing a beat. “Honestly, don’t you think my real genius is in painting?”

 

Chi Zhuo completely ignored that, focusing on gathering what he’d come for. Ji Chenxi watched from the side, noticing most of what Chi Zhuo picked up were strange vials and experimental drugs — the kind that were banned, dangerous, or just plain unheard of.

 

“By the way,” Ji Chenxi said, leaning casually against the console, “what was with that explosion earlier? I called you, but you didn’t answer.”

 

“I did answer,” Chi Zhuo said, glancing over. “You even sent your snow leopard in here.”

 

Ah. Ji Chenxi got it now. Probably one of the lab’s tech guys had planted a little trap when trying to take back system control. Whatever sound system was running must’ve swallowed Chi Zhuo’s reply before it reached him.

 

Once Chi Zhuo finished packing everything up, Ji Chenxi turned to him with a grin. “Brother Chi Zhuo, can we talk about something?”

 

“Go ahead, Your Highness,” Chi Zhuo replied calmly.

 

“How about you agree to it first?” Ji Chenxi said, tone all polite and roundabout, clearly fishing for a yes.

 

“Say what you need to say first,” Chi Zhuo countered, his lips twitching slightly. “Actually, I have something I want to discuss with you too.”

 

Well, that worked out nicely — both of them had a favor to ask.

 

Ji Chenxi’s voice instantly grew lighter, almost cheerful. “So, here’s the thing. I accidentally wandered in here. The one who took over the lab’s system was your subordinate. The person piloting the mech to protect me was also under your command. And me? I was just an innocent bystander who got dragged into this mess.”

 

He delivered his little script with complete confidence.

 

Chi Zhuo listened all the way through, then fell into a short, weird silence.

 

Ji Chenxi narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “You’re not seriously planning to pin this on me, are you?”

 

“Your Highness,” Chi Zhuo said, trying to sound reasonable, “my public record says I’m just a regular Alpha. Barely S-rank.”

 

Ji Chenxi’s expression turned exaggeratedly sincere, even more dramatic than Chi Zhuo’s tone. “And I’m not just S-rank either. I’m a pure-hearted art lover who only cares about painting.”

 

That made both of them go quiet.

 

Two ‘ordinary’ S-rank Alphas, somehow managing to hijack a whole underground lab — yeah, that didn’t sound suspicious at all.

 

Ji Chenxi frowned thoughtfully. “How about we just say we got lucky — their system happened to glitch right when we showed up?”

 

It was such a ridiculous excuse that even he couldn’t keep a straight face. But after a pause, Chi Zhuo nodded slowly. “Well, not impossible.”

 

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