Chapter 35

*Roses*
There was not much inside the safe—only a few dull gray boxes. Zhu Yu thought the original must have been deeply insecure to lock what mattered most behind layer after layer.
She set the gems beside the boxes and pushed everything to the back, patting the lid. “Don’t worry. I won’t pry into your privacy. Rest in peace.”
That burst of garbled red error had been frightening—secret room, crimson light—like a horror set where the original might sit up any second.
She was borrowing this body; her boundaries were strong. She did not want too much contact with the dead woman’s relics. Some jade soul-return plot would be a disaster.
Palms together, she bowed devoutly and left fast.
The payment password was reset. Zhu Yu was no longer the broke little citizen of yesterday.
She was a rich big citizen.
What do you do after sudden wealth?
She had fantasized plenty, but with the money actually in hand she felt oddly lost.
The numbers on the card were unreal—yet more real than gems in her palm.
A million was not actually that much. Bai Shuzhou, worried she would waste it, had kept the allowance modest on purpose.
She did not know that even if Zhu Yu bought everything in her cart—including gadgets she only admired—the total would barely break tens of thousands.
The branch manager saw her emerge with a grave, mysterious face and asked nothing, only escorted her politely to the door.
The driver appeared at her side and subtly blocked harsh light.
In the dark, countless eyes clung to them.
Zhu Yu turned straight into the largest flower market on the imperial capital.
Crowds and stalls forced any tail to stay sharp. After a few turns Zhu Yu glanced back; pursuers scrambled to hide. When they looked again, she was gone.
Strong counter-surveillance. The agents cursed and reported upstream.
At dusk she reappeared—arms full of vivid roses, other hand on a red bucket stuffed with more blooms.
She wanted the steps: flowers, holding hands, a kiss. Their pace was odd compared to ordinary couples, but she still wanted to fill in each one.
Interstellar roses had been bred into sixteen hundred varieties.
Hat and mask on, Zhu Yu played nouveau riche to the life: money no object. The shopkeeper’s eyes lit; he led her to the back.
She had meant to buy the most expensive—until she learned the priciest rose was no longer a plant.
It talked like a parrot. Four million credits. One “Master” from it sent Zhu Yu fleeing, nearly tripping—more flustered than her run-in with the insect swarm.
In the end she chose, among sixteen hundred kinds, the strain whose spirit felt closest to Bai Shuzhou’s.
Gorgeous, soft, thorns finer and denser on the vine—painful to touch.
The owner said it was hardy, born on wasteland, drawing energy in any environment and thriving.
Praise slid naturally to Bai Shuzhou herself—effusive, whispering they had once wanted to name the cultivar after her but failed.
Zhu Yu chimed in like a straight man in a comedy duo; the delighted owner gave her thirty percent off.
Learning she adored Bai Shuzhou, he threw in snow roses—the fan color—to set beside photos and look prettier.
After the princess’s ballet, everyone had sent these.
Zhu Yu brushed petals softly, breathed the rich scent, and felt she had picked up another shard of legend about Bai Shuzhou.
“Next time say you’re a princess fan—shops with snow roses give a discount!”
The owner spoke of Bai Shuzhou like a proud parent.
Being loved by a stranger was strange and sweet. Zhu Yu’s tight chest loosened, as if she could see love vaster and longer than any rose field.
When she saw Bai Shuzhou she would pass on the owner’s warmth. Bai Shuzhou would be happy too.
There were too many flowers. Zhu Yu pulled snow roses from the bucket for the driver and attendants waiting outside.
Please support our Shuzhou!
Infected by fan energy, she grinned and regretted not asking with fake casualness: So what do you think of Zhu Yu?
How wicked. Ha.
She carried the bouquet and the snow-rose bucket all the way, nutrient fluid swaying at the bottom, keeping everything fresh.
At the Academy gates—
A crimson S670 skimmer roared in, arrogant exhaust trailing. Attendants rolled out a carpet; the door opened.
A black heel emerged, elegant, touched ground.
The woman stood, glanced around with disdain. “How shabby. I always said Academy resources are mediocre. Too long off the front lines—no wonder you cannot care for Her Highness.”
Yu Yan, sweating, bowed. “Lady Gloriel, welcome. Everyone is waiting.”
Gloriel came from an old noble house that had monopolized medicine for decades before the Fengs rose.
Cross-field meetings were inevitable, but she always sneered at common-born researchers. Today she was half an hour late.
She glanced at Yu Yan and covered her nose as if smelling something cheap, disgust undisguised.
“Lead on, commoner.”
Noble blood meant purer pheromones. Old houses loved ranking people by scent.
Yu Yan’s waist bent lower without thought. She was used to it.
Gloriel walked at ease. S-class pheromones spread with each click of heel in the silent corridor. Chin lifted—she drank in gazes and fear.
But hurrying researchers barely looked up. Few greeted her.
How ill-bred!
A decade ago these commoners would not have dared meet her eye.
A world of predators—superior by birth. Only cowards gave power away.
The princess, strongest dragon blood, yet so frail—clearly infected with herbivore weakness.
If she won treatment rights and the princess in her palm… Gloriel smiled and drifted toward Bai Shuzhou’s ward.
Noise erupted behind her.
Gloriel turned. In the distance—a figure with a red bucket.
Country bumpkin. How had security let her in?
Before Gloriel could frown, researchers who had ignored her were greeting that “bumpkin” warmly.
The girl lifted the bucket with a smile and handed out snow roses.
Such cheap things—buying off researchers? They took them like treasure.
Gloriel’s eyes narrowed. Then she knew.
“Zhu Yu?!”
“My God—still here after what she did to the princess?”
“A D-rank waste. Didn’t His Majesty order retesting? No results yet?”
Yu Yan shook her head. “Not yet. Please go to the meeting room—everyone is waiting.”
Gloriel frowned. “Academy efficiency is pathetic. How does Director Feng run this place?”
She planted herself, hand on hip, scolding on her lips while her eyes never left Zhu Yu.
Yu Yan’s brow jumped. Bad feeling. She bowed again. “Please—the meeting is important. Talks with the Federation—”
Gloriel looked back coldly. “You’re telling me my business?”
“I wouldn’t dare. Young Director Feng is waiting—”
Mention of Feng Jiyan darkened her face. She could not touch those pests—but this upstart commoner?
Cruelty flashed. She raised her hand to slap Yu Yan’s bowed head.
Yu Yan shut her eyes, felt the wind, did not dodge—afraid to enrage her.
Pain never came.
“Why hit people?” A clear young voice.
The arrogant wrist was caught midair. Bone creaked under pressure.
Gloriel went white with pain. Zhu Yu dared this? “Let go!”
Zhu Yu set down the bucket. “Oh—sorry. Did I hurt you? I barely used force. I’ll be more careful next time.”
Apology in that light tone sounded like mockery. Gloriel’s wrist bloomed red. “Next time?!”
At Yu Yan’s frantic signals Zhu Yu opened her hand. “Fine. No next time.”
“You—!”
Yu Yan hurried in. “Misunderstanding. Your Highness, please go—we’re heading to the second-floor meeting room.”
Gloriel stabbed a finger at Zhu Yu’s nose. “What Highness? One signature from divorce. His Majesty was merciful not to execute you—what are you smug about?”
Years ago someone had run a pool on who would win the princess. Gloriel, sure she could not win, had bet five million on General Yzelia. A slum-born nobody had walked away with the prize.
Losing to a commoner was humiliation. Losing to a D-rank commoner was worse.
Zhu Yu met her eyes calmly—then laughed.
Too bad for you.
We are not divorcing.
Her triumph was obvious. Gloriel snatched the roses from her arms to smash them.
“Cheap trash for the princess? The smell is as low-grade as you!”
“Performing every day—aren’t you tired? Ridiculous!”
She released pheromones to crush Zhu Yu with superior scent.
Zhu Yu only frowned, unaffected, posture taut. “Give them back!”
Gloriel crushed the bouquet to her chest. Zhu Yu would not yank hard and hurt the flowers—only tried to peel her fingers away.
Near Bai Shuzhou’s room, snow-leopard knights intervened. “Her Highness just finished treatment. Quiet, please.”
Gloriel shrieked, “Can’t you see she insulted me? Drag this criminal away!”
“I will report to His Majesty—you neglect duty and let a wanted fugitive bring dangerous items near the princess!”
“If anything happens, can you bear it?”
The knights hesitated and tried to coax Zhu Yu back.
Zhu Yu had always been cooperative. This time she stepped back half a pace—and watched Gloriel slam the flowers down and grind them under a sharp heel.
Petals she had chosen with care were crushed, weeping color.
Her pupils contracted. Something in her shifted.
She and the florist had been pricked picking the highest, prettiest blooms—only those were worthy.
Body moved before thought. Zhu Yu seized Gloriel’s wrist and slammed her to the cold wall. “Get your foot off them.”
“I—won’t!” Gloriel lifted her chin and stamped harder.
Attacking a noble was a crime. Without the princess’s shield, how long could this peasant rage?
The knights shifted, pinned angry Zhu Yu under massive paws to protect everyone.
The emperor hated Zhu Yu; the princess was recovering—fighting here was folly.
A snow leopard nudged her: just roses. Not worth this.
Gloriel clutched her neck, breathing hard, sneering. “Make the peasant apologize!”
“She stole my flowers first! Give them back—you apologize!” Zhu Yu struggled.
Overwhelming force held her. Gloriel grew bolder, tearing the broken stems.
She looked down at Zhu Yu’s fury and helplessness and smiled in victory.
Class was set at birth. No matter how you climbed, it changed nothing.
A mixed blood who could not shift would never escape snow-leopard claws.
In that triumphant smile, rich woody scent threaded through the air and drowned Gloriel’s S-class pheromones in an instant.
Whose pheromones were those?
Gloriel’s face changed. She scanned the hall—then stared at Zhu Yu.
Impossible. How could it be her?
No commoner smelled like this.
She bent to probe the girl’s scent gland.
Zhu Yu lay pinned under fur, unable to move.
Fingertips stopped an inch away—then froze.
Cold exploded without warning. The corridor temperature plunged. Frost crawled the walls.
Rose fragrance—familiar, the princess’s own—yet never so cold, fierce, crushing. How could an Omega’s pheromones feel like this?
Something was wrong—
Gloriel stared at Zhu Yu again, disbelief raw.
Everyone dropped to their knees uncontrollably—except Zhu Yu, who stood up dazed.
In the frozen hall, that dominant rose wound around her fingers, gentle and irresistible, wrapping her woody scent tight and swallowing it whole.