AMTPA Chapter 35

Su Yu had been Ji Chenxi’s friend for so many years that he could usually guess how much of what he said was true.

Right now, he didn’t feel like talking. He took a long, dull gulp of his drink. The sweetness was faint, almost bland, and Su Yu frowned, holding the glass up to his eyes to inspect it, regretting buying a liquor that tasted more like fizzy juice than anything else.

“Third Prince—” Su Yu dragged out the words, stretching them lazily.

“Huh?” Ji Chenxi replied casually, leaning against the railing with his own drink.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the bottle Su Yu had brought and was surprised to find it was brandy. Changing his position slightly, Ji Chenxi opened the bottle and poured some into his sweet wine.

A slight shake, a careful sip, and he let it slide down his throat.

The moment the liquor hit his mouth, the faint frown he had been wearing eased considerably.

It wasn’t exactly delicious, but the overly sweet, light taste of the wine had been softened by the brandy, giving it a surprisingly pleasant flavor.

Su Yu shook his head, exasperated. “Strong liquor burns going down. Too much of it isn’t good for you! I think Third Prince just hasn’t had enough of other drinks, that’s why he’s hooked on strong stuff. Honestly, we could just drink some milk, eat some strawberries… peaches aren’t bad either.”

Ji Chenxi almost laughed. Su Yu had just listed three of the most classic flavors for omegas.

Knowing Ji Chenxi understood, Su Yu kept trying to pitch his ideas. “Floral flavors are nice too. White orchid, snow lily… jasmine is good too. Depends on what flowers you like.”

Ji Chenxi smiled as he joined in the conversation. “But I am a flower myself!”

Of course, an alpha with the scent of roses naturally liked the smell of roses. No one disliked the scent of their own pheromones.

Seeing Ji Chenxi respond, Su Yu perked up immediately. “You like roses? Perfect! I happen to know an omega with a rose scent. Not as strong as yours, more light and gentle…”

Halfway through, Su Yu froze. The rose-scented omega wasn’t very high-level—only a B.

“Um… Your Highness, you don’t care about rank, right?” Su Yu asked cautiously, then quickly contradicted himself. “Of course you must care! You’re a prince of the empire, after all. If you’re going to pair with someone, it has to be the best. Otherwise… snow lily. I know about this one—there’s a wealthy young lady among the Twelve Star Fairies with that scent. Her rank isn’t low either; she’s supposedly an S+ omega, just a few years older than you. She’s—”

Ji Chenxi cut him off in time. “Why don’t you just settle down? Do you know why that omega lady is still single?”

Su Yu sighed. Most omegas had little choice in life. Young and already engaged or married, they were rarely free. But this strong-minded omega from a wealthy family was twenty-seven and still unattached—not because she wasn’t beautiful, but because she held absolute power in her family, and they respected her wishes.

Back then, plenty of people had tried to “pick” this snow lily, but even the empire’s handsome young general failed to marry her.

“I’ve got other options,” Su Yu said, undeterred.

“Settle down. Instead of worrying about this, why don’t we drink a couple more bottles?” Ji Chenxi teased, clinking his glass against Su Yu’s.

The crisp sound made Su Yu chuckle despite himself. “I’m just worried about you.”

“I know. No need to worry.”

The barely-eighteen-year-old kid saying that to someone two years older… Su Yu wanted to make a sarcastic remark, but in the end, all he could manage was: “As a friend, I just want to help you avoid things that could harm you. At the same time, as a friend, I respect all your choices.”

Ji Chenxi’s smile widened. “Thanks!”

“By the way, when you meet any good-looking omegas in the future, introduce a couple to me, okay?”

“You still need omegas around you?”

“Of course!”

By the time Ji Chenxi returned to his family estate, night had fallen. Even so, he went straight for a bath.

After washing up, with only two or three hours before dawn, sleep wasn’t coming, so he switched on a small lamp and started fiddling with his lightpad.

The interface once again led him to the log titled ‘Miracle’.

This time, he opened it without hesitation.

[**** Year ** Month ** Day]

‘Our miracle has been born! Unbelievable!! But he’s so weak… maybe tomorrow, no, maybe even today, he could die.’

Ji Chenxi raised an eyebrow in surprise. This log read more like a researcher’s personal diary than anything else.

[**** Year ** Month ** Day]

‘No… he is the miracle, an almost perfect miracle. He didn’t die. He survived. Thank the heavens, we will achieve our lifelong goal. I’ve named him Ares.’

The moment Ji Chenxi saw the name, his casual flipping froze. Ares… the god of war.

The entries that followed detailed the log owner’s experiences raising this “creature.” At first, he tried nurturing him like a human. Frustratingly, his miracle began to actually behave like a human; his initial wildness slowly faded. Then, the researcher switched to feeding him raw meat and blood. He taught him human knowledge while guiding this naturally strong and incredibly spiritually powerful being toward slaughter.

As the log went on, it became more and more unhinged. The researcher even used himself and others who spent time with Ares as subjects to see how strong Ares’ empathy really was.

It was a long story, and it had to start with the fact that their miracle had taken an interest in a female omega.

The more Ji Chenxi read, the darker his expression grew. They had been trying desperately to create a killing machine that hadn’t existed since ancient times. When they finally succeeded, conflicts arose over how to raise him: some wanted to nurture him toward humanity, to teach empathy; others just wanted a pure weapon. The factions clashed, and in the end, the female omega became pregnant with Ares’ child under their guidance.

Amazingly, there was no reproductive barrier between them. This shocking discovery sent all the researchers into a frenzy.

They became even more obsessed with studying their “miracle,” with each faction trying to impose its own methods on Ares. The end result? Their miracle went completely out of control.

The last page of the log was scrawled messily, as if something terrifying was about to strike. A diary that normally recorded only personal thoughts suddenly documented the core of their experiment to create the miracle—but the writing was unfinished, and the page was splattered with blood.

Since the log had been digitized from paper, even the bloodstains were preserved to maintain authenticity.

Ji Chenxi stared at the blood, then at the date and the praise written for Ares.

Tests showed that over the past thousand years, the only SSS-level alpha had appeared here—and that unborn child… if it weren’t for the experiment taking place over thirty years ago, Ji Chenxi might have almost believed that Chi Zhuo was the child of the being created in that experiment.

After all, the most powerful alpha in recent centuries had only reached double-S level, and even that was extremely rare. An SSS-level alpha hadn’t appeared in a millennium—but Chi Zhuo just happened to be that same kind of SSS, a genetic anomaly in the modern world.

It was hard for Ji Chenxi not to connect the dots. He had also seen a few previous heads of the Chi family; their facial features strongly resembled Chi Zhuo’s. The fact that Chi Zhuo was raised within the family and eventually controlled it made it almost impossible for him not to be a Chi. Any traces of genetic modification would have been too obvious to hide.

Ji Chenxi’s fingers lingered on the female omega’s name. If she had attracted Ares, her rank certainly wasn’t low.

He quickly flipped to the earlier part of the log, where this omega was first mentioned:

‘Abriana, our youngest genius researcher—Ares marked her! No… impossible. Abriana did it on purpose. She must have done it on purpose. She’s not experienced enough, yet she tried to skip the assistant stage to become a researcher with a voice in the lab!’

Ji Chenxi considered the words. A genius researcher, huh? He chuckled, flipping through the log again, then deleted it without hesitation, erasing every trace of its existence.

This log was indeed a Pandora’s box. It lured anyone who discovered it into the trap of research—but an incomplete record of such an experiment was, from the start, a path to sin.

This was definitely not the first lab to conduct human experiments. Thirty-plus years had passed—had their research direction shifted at all?

Countless thoughts flashed through Ji Chenxi’s mind, giving him a slight headache.

Just then, that small symbol flickered faintly again.

After several redirects, Ji Chenxi arrived at the black webpage. The top message was from Morningstar, sent just a minute ago.

Morningstar: [Bai Wei, you went to that underground lab, right?]

This time, Ji Chenxi didn’t hesitate to reply.

Bai Wei: [Yes. Yours?]

Morningstar: [Sort of. Not entirely mine, but I did invest. I used to just sit back and collect my share every year. Their lab outwardly claims to do gene research, life-extension stuff. A lot of people research this now, so at first, I didn’t pay much attention. Then random attacks by alphas on the street got me curious. I had one of my men infiltrate the lab… and who knew you’d end up stepping in yourself before he could do anything.]

Bai Wei: [Did you manage to get the lab’s core data?]

Morningstar: [Yeah, we stole it. I took a look—they’ve shifted their main focus toward chip development. Artificial high-level alphas lose control because their brains can’t handle their own physical power. Their spiritual realm collapse, causing that berserk madness we’ve seen. Now they’re transferring the spiritual link of powerful individuals into chips to stabilize and enhance them. Their ultimate goal seems to be a body strong enough to perfectly match that kind of spiritual power.]

Bai Wei: [The data I got was probably scrubbed of the key parts, but they left behind a log—probably bait for the Empire’s official labs to pick up the research.]

Morningstar: [So… you left it?]

Bai Wei: [I deleted the one I had. The one in their system, I didn’t touch.]

This time, Morning Star didn’t type back. He called.

Ji Chenxi waited a moment before answering, and when he finally did, a calm, elegant voice came through—soft, carrying a faint trace of amusement.

“Bai Wei,” he said, “hello. I thought for sure you’d reject the call.”

Ji Chenxi didn’t bother changing his voice with a voice modulator like at the start. He asked directly, “Something you need?”

“After you left, the bug I planted triggered the lab’s system to start self-destructing. The Empire’s people managed to stop it in time, but the important data… like that log… was already destroyed. I didn’t go into detail about the auction before, but what we’re really after isn’t a single item. We wanted to use the piece of material as bait to lure a hidden force out of the shadows — the spider lurking in the dark. It’s unsettling… just knowing it’s there.”

Ji Chenxi acknowledged with a nod. Then Morningstar asked, “Third Prince, when will you enter the race for the throne?”

Pouring himself a glass of water during the call, Ji Chenxi chuckled. “Haven’t I been in the game all along?”

“A fascinating game is about to begin. Why don’t we turn the passive into active?” Morningstar suggested.

“Being too active just makes you a target. A true hunter appears as prey—that’s when people let their guard down. Look at my second sister; now she’s paying more attention to my elder brother instead.”

“Your Highness, directly putting yourself into the game is… dangerously bold. You should first meet with the Night Wanderer and Queqi. In a couple of months, I’ll come to Imperial Star personally.”

“Morningstar, I look forward to your arrival.”

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