AMTPA Chapter 32

“Well, not impossible.”

 

That simple reply almost made Ji Chenxi laugh.

 

To be honest, with such a ridiculous answer, only a fool would believe it.

 

Ji Chenxi frowned slightly, a trace of hesitation crossing his face.

 

The pretty alpha had a way of making ‘everything’ look beautiful — even frowning. The way he looked now, thoughtful yet a bit annoyed, gave off a kind of irresistible charm that made people want to ease his troubles. For a second, Chi Zhuo even had the sudden urge to agree to his little request.

 

His lips parted slightly, but before he could say anything, his eyes flickered. He snapped his mouth shut, and the way he looked at Ji Chenxi shifted — no longer seeing him as some harmless, fragile beauty, but as a carnivorous flower luring its prey in with a lovely face.

 

Sure enough, the moment he came to his senses, that strange urge to agree — that impulse that wasn’t his own — vanished like running water.

 

‘Spiritual interference.’

 

He’d almost fallen for it without realizing.

 

Chi Zhuo’s gaze turned cold, his voice even colder. “Didn’t think Your Highness had a trick like that up your sleeve.”

 

He had seen Ji Chenxi use his spiritual power before — usually to scan the area or condense it into a blade. This alpha loved turning his spiritual energy into physical form so much that Chi Zhuo had almost forgotten there was another use for it — ‘interference.’

 

Ji Chenxi clicked his tongue softly, a hint of regret in the sound. “Guess there’s still a gap between our spiritual strength. Even if I caught you for a second, one small slip and it all falls apart.”

 

Under Chi Zhuo’s sharp stare, Ji Chenxi gave a small, restrained smile. “I’m out here alone, life’s not easy. Gotta have a few tricks to keep myself alive.”

 

“Your Highness, having trouble surviving?” Chi Zhuo’s tone dripped with sarcasm.

 

Ji Chenxi tilted his head, putting on an innocent face. “I’m the youngest of all the heirs, the only one without a powerful maternal family backing me. Oh, and I’m also the only legitimate heir. Tell me, does that sound like an easy life to you?”

 

Those words — ‘the only one’ — twice in a row, made him sound pitiful enough that even Chi Zhuo almost felt bad for the Third Prince.

 

People mocked Chi Zhuo for being an illegitimate child — his mother was just some nameless omega trying to climb the ladder by having a kid. His so-called father might not have liked him, but he was still the only heir of the Chi family. Compared to that, Ji Chenxi’s situation looked even messier.

 

“So Your Highness hides your edge, hoping they’ll just let you go?” Chi Zhuo frowned.

 

If that was really the plan, then the Third Prince was being naive. As long as he remained the only legitimate heir, there was no way the prince and the princess would ever stop targeting him.

 

Ji Chenxi only smiled, saying nothing.

 

That quiet, evasive look on Ji Chenxi’s face only made Chi Zhuo more curious.

 

“From what I’ve seen of Your Highness so far, you’re not the kind of person who’d naively believe that giving up the throne would make the others stop targeting you. In this position, it’s impossible to stay out of the fight completely. Unless…” Chi Zhuo paused, raising an eyebrow, “you’re trying to make yourself look less of a threat first — wait until they fight each other, then swoop in when they’re both down?”

 

It made sense. After all, alphas were born leaders — which also meant they were born with ambition, with that instinct to conquer and compete.

 

“I think…” Ji Chenxi began, then stopped halfway through his sentence.

 

“Your Highness, if you’ve got something to say, just say it.”

 

Ji Chenxi’s expression was hard to read. Even though he’d asked directly, he didn’t really expect Ji Chenxi to answer. Royal affairs like this had nothing to do with him — an outsider had no business prying into them.

 

Seeing the guarded look in Chi Zhuo’s eyes, Ji Chenxi’s lips curved, a faint smile softening the alpha’s natural edge.

 

He gestured for Chi Zhuo to come closer, like he was about to whisper a secret.

 

Chi Zhuo leaned in, close enough that his ear hovered just about a foot away. He was ready to hear whatever big secret the prince was about to share.

 

Ji Chenxi’s voice dropped low, barely more than a whisper. The closeness between them carried a hint of something almost intimate — not exactly too close, but close enough that Chi Zhuo could feel the warmth of his breath. From the corner of his eye, he could see the brief flicker of Ji Chenxi’s tongue brushing against his teeth as he spoke. That small sound — low, husky, and near — seemed to hum between them.

 

The closeness distracted him so much that for a moment, Chi Zhuo didn’t even register what Ji Chenxi was saying. It wasn’t until he’d instinctively stepped back two paces that the words finally clicked together in his mind.

 

“I think…”

 

“Not trying to guess what others are thinking — that’s a virtue.”

 

As the meaning sank in, the spot at Chi Zhuo’s temple gave a tiny, annoyed throb. For once, he couldn’t control the irritation bubbling up inside.

 

“Does Your Highness actually have that kind of virtue?” he asked, tone dry.

 

Ji Chenxi’s eyes curved. “Hm? How do you know I don’t?”

 

Not guessing at people’s motives might be a virtue, but some people just couldn’t resist doing it — dissecting every glance, every tone, to find hidden meaning.

 

Ji Chenxi found the thought amusing and couldn’t help but laugh — a quiet, easy sound that made the moment feel lighter.

 

This time, Chi Zhuo didn’t respond. There was no point arguing about something like that.

 

After a short pause, he asked, “So… Your Highness really has no interest in that position?”

 

“Interested or not—either way, it’s not something to share with outsiders, is it?”

 

Ji Chenxi’s tone was soft, his attitude unreadable.

 

By now, he’d already gone back to fiddling with that large device from earlier, casually giving the system a self-destruct command. The machine, covered in his fingerprints, burst into a small explosion, flames curling up and devouring everything in sight.

 

Once that was handled, Ji Chenxi entered a few quick commands into his light-brain, then turned to follow the route displayed on the screen.

 

If nothing he said would be appropriate—and there was no way to dump the blame on someone else—then fine, he’d just leave. Take another route out, say nothing, and be done with it.

 

His face was expressionless, lips pressed in a straight line. Without a smile softening his features, the beauty that usually made him seem harmless now only made him look cold. The shadows under his lashes cast a deep, heavy shade over his eyes, making him appear distant, even a little ruthless.

 

After tidying up the last of the system’s loose ends, Ji Chenxi didn’t even bother saying goodbye—he just turned and started walking away.

 

The faint shadow he left behind made Chi Zhuo’s expression grow darker, unreadable.

 

Before Ji Chenxi could take more than a few steps, Chi Zhuo’s hand shot out and caught his wrist.

 

Ji Chenxi paused mid-step, glancing sideways at the man beside him. The spot where he stopped was perfectly split—half in shadow, half in light.

 

He first looked at Chi Zhuo’s face, then lowered his gaze to the hand holding his wrist. The movement had tensed Chi Zhuo’s arm, the muscles under his sleeve tightening into a clean, strong curve. Ji Chenxi seemed to be studying him—or maybe just lost in thought.

 

When he looked up again, there was already a faint smile playing on his lips. “Brother Chi Zhuo… are you planning to take the blame for me?”

 

Chi Zhuo frowned slightly when Ji Chenxi looked down, but as soon as the prince met his gaze again, he replied calmly, “No. Just wondering—Your Highness plans to run off all alone?”

 

Ah. So that’s what this was about. The guy wanted to come with him.

 

Ji Chenxi’s smile deepened, a spark of amusement in his eyes. “You mean after you just rejected me, I’d still take you along?” His gaze was bright, his refusal blunt but teasing.

 

Running away was something best done solo. Bringing someone else along? Ridiculous.

 

Chi Zhuo didn’t back down. “I think Your Highness would be wiser to bring me with you. Otherwise, when the next wave of people comes in, I’ll be the first thing they see. And I could always tell them—” he smiled faintly, “—a few details about Your Highness’s little stunt earlier.”

 

Ji Chenxi brushed off the hand holding him, shooting Chi Zhuo a look that said ‘you vicious alpha.’

 

Before he could even push harder to break free, Chi Zhuo loosened his grip on his own.

 

Ji Chenxi shook out his hand a little, wincing at the faint ache from where it had been gripped too tightly. Then he smiled, a teasing curve to his lips.

 

“Wanna guess what they’ll think first? That I was here… or that you’re one of this lab’s partners in crime?”

 

He didn’t wait for an answer. With that lazy, amused remark hanging in the air, Ji Chenxi turned and walked off, following the route marked on the system’s map.

 

Chi Zhuo trailed behind at an easy pace, voice calm and even. “A lab like this, hidden here of all places, pulling in that much money under the table—there’s no way the military doesn’t have people involved. For them to show up this quickly… did Your Highness inform His Majesty? And if you did, do you really think the Emperor won’t suspect you were the one who hacked the system?”

 

Ji Chenxi acted like he didn’t hear a word, just kept walking.

 

The path twisted and turned, full of hidden doors and blind corners. As he passed through them, Ji Chenxi finally saw the full extent of the lab’s darkness — the grotesque experiments, the things being studied here that shouldn’t exist at all.

 

Chi Zhuo kept talking, more to himself than to anyone else. “Maybe His Majesty knows your strength better than most. Otherwise, with both the pirates before and this lab now, why would he always wait until you’ve cleaned things up before sending anyone?”

 

Ji Chenxi’s steps faltered — just slightly — before he started moving again. His voice came faintly from up ahead:

 

“And how do you know… he isn’t hoping I die in one of those ‘accidents’?”

 

The words hit hard, leaving Chi Zhuo momentarily speechless. By the time he found his voice again, Ji Chenxi had already walked some distance ahead. He quickened his pace to catch up.

 

“No matter how unclear His Majesty’s attitude may be, he wouldn’t want you dead,” he said firmly.

 

This time, Ji Chenxi actually stopped. His eyes were deep, the light in them shadowed.

 

“And why,” he asked quietly, “is that impossible?”

 

“When Your Highness’s mother passed, you were only eight,” Chi Zhuo said quietly. “For you to have survived these past ten years in peace — it can only mean one of two things. Either you’ve had a loyal power base under your control since childhood… or His Majesty himself has been shielding you. But now, it seems the Emperor wants you drawn into the heart of power. Perhaps, Your Highness, it’s time you started building your own.”

 

Ji Chenxi chuckled softly but didn’t answer, though his pace slowed just a little.

 

When Chi Zhuo walked slower, Ji Chenxi would stroll lazily ahead. When Chi Zhuo quickened his steps, Ji Chenxi would subtly match his pace — always keeping a distance of two or three meters between them. Not too close, not too far.

 

Chi Zhuo noticed. There was something deliberate in it — a faint, teasing rhythm, like a quiet pull that was both near and far.

 

Half-intentional. Half not.

 

Would a delicate rose ever ‘mean’ to lure someone close enough to pluck it?

 

Would a proud big cat ever allow a shadow to wrap itself around it?

 

Chi Zhuo’s steps slowed, until finally, he stopped. And the moment he did, Ji Chenxi — who had been walking steadily ahead — stopped, too.

 

The dark blue tassel earring at Ji Chenxi’s ear swayed lightly with the motion, a small flicker in the air — like the brush of a cat’s paw against the heart.

 

Chi Zhuo didn’t move right away. He lingered in the shadows, just watching.

 

After a brief pause, when Ji Chenxi realized no one was following, he finally turned around. The white overhead lights painted him in a cool glow, sharpening his beauty into something distant. But his voice, when he spoke, was lazy, almost careless.

 

“If you don’t catch up, I’m leaving you behind.”

 

“Your Highness.”

 

“Hm?”

 

“If you were an omega,” Chi Zhuo said evenly, “I think I’d mark you without hesitation.”

 

Ji Chenxi went silent for a few seconds, then smiled. “And why not think about it the other way around? What if you were the omega?”

 

Chi Zhuo’s brow arched, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “Then would you mark me without hesitation?”

 

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