Chapter 63

*Kiss-Mark Trap*
Zhu Yu doubled over. Her stomach heaved so hard she could barely stay upright; the tip of her nose was red, and her fingers dug into Nan Gong’s sleeve.
They were not close enough to accept each other’s vomit without shame. Nan Gong hated people with poor drinking manners. Her scalp crawled, yet she had no choice but to brace Zhu Yu’s shoulders so the situation would not get worse.
*Don’t—don’t puke here…*
In that instant she thought of many desperate things: the oath she had sworn beneath a banner, the cry of freedom echoing through a pirate auction hall. She was supposed to be one of the age’s chosen—so why did every meeting with Zhu Yu turn into something uncontrollable?
During the pirate incident they had obtained solid evidence through the cloud monitor on Zhu Yu’s person, and the mission had barely succeeded. Nan Gong had had more important work then. Watching the footage of Zhu Yu bound on the auction block had left a sour, complicated taste in her mouth—some guilt, some irritation. If Bai Shuzhou had not appeared that day, Zhu Yu would surely have died.
Then she remembered how much trouble the woman had caused them, and the guilt evaporated. That one night alone was enough fame to last Zhu Yu a lifetime. Everyone guessed she had lucked into a reunion with her ex-wife and a bright future.
Under normal circumstances, when they met again, she and Zhu Yu ought to have been enemies—provoke, recruit, and if that failed, kill her. No one wanted to leave a threat that large alive.
Something dim crossed Nan Gong’s eyes. The beauties around them did not dare pull Zhu Yu away; they only patted her back in anxious silence. The loose shirt outlined her butterfly bones. On camera the civilian Alpha had looked spirited; now she seemed unusually thin.
The road from the slums to the imperial capital must have been paved with thorns. Zhu Yu had put on a little weight lately, but under the shirt she was still hollow.
*Lotus from mud—surely the core is black.* Nan Gong had seen every kind of person and read hearts easily. Zhu Yu was the first who still surprised her.
Nan Gong never regretted anything—except inviting Zhu Yu to drink.
She had never been so wretched. She was ninety-nine percent ready to haul Zhu Yu up and throw her off the upper floor; an Alpha’s constitution would probably survive the fall anyway.
Then Zhu Yu suddenly stopped. She lifted a pair of eyes misted with tears yet strangely clear, as if all the starlight in the universe had gathered there. Her hot palm brushed Nan Gong’s skin without thinking—restrained, careful, half plea and half invitation.
Nan Gong’s heart softened a fraction. If she could bring Zhu Yu into her camp, that would be ideal; it was a necessary investment.
Zhu Yu stared at her for a long moment, then gripped her hem in grievance. “Why won’t you tell me anything? Why do you hide from me? Are you mute? You’re worse than mute—mutes can sign a heart with their hands. What about you…”
“I really hate you. I hate that you’re kinder to others than to me. Can you feel how I feel about you?”
“If marking is impossible, does it mean you only show love in bed? You clearly also—”
*Marking? In bed?* The expressions around them shifted subtly, flickering between the two Alphas.
Nan Gong’s eyelid twitched. She clapped a hand over Zhu Yu’s mouth and hissed, “Shut up. Look properly—I’m not Bai Shuzhou!”
“You’re not her…” Zhu Yu murmured.
Her stiff body finally relaxed into limp softness. The hand on Nan Gong’s hem slid away powerlessly, pitiful as a drowned kitten.
Nan Gong was about to breathe out and pull her hand back. Now that Zhu Yu knew this was not Bai Shuzhou, she stopped holding back and vomited in earnest, as if pouring out every grievance accumulated in recent days along with the gloom from the bottom of her soul.
*Not Bai Shuzhou—and not a trash can either!*
Nan Gong’s fine upbringing finally hit its limit. Her vision went dark. Through gritted teeth: “Did I owe you in my last life?!”
Fortunately the club sat directly under the presidential suite—not far. Nan Gong carried her up, dumped her onto the bed in rough haste, then fled to the bathroom and turned the water as hot as it would go, scrubbing until her skin burned red before she stopped.
Even when she had worked undercover in the Chaos Sector she had rarely waited on anyone. In a room, one snap of sleeping gas usually sufficed.
Now she had to change Zhu Yu’s clothes and wipe her down. Nan Gong recited her enlistment oath a hundred times, face twisted, hypnotizing herself: *All for the Federation. Necessary step.*
Facing defenseless Zhu Yu, Nan Gong raised her hand and traced a line beside her face, then smiled coldly and put it down. She took out a kit and pressed the thin needle to the vulnerable side of Zhu Yu’s neck.
She had to collect payment. Otherwise her heroism meant nothing.
Zhu Yu slept obediently, black hair soft against the pillow, curled into a ball like a tame little animal—nothing like her awake self, as if a tired beast had finally returned to its true form, furry only at the head.
Nan Gong rubbed her chin, thinking what to do next. Her gaze kept drifting back to Zhu Yu.
Right now Zhu Yu was at anyone’s mercy. The name and power attached to her tempted every bite. A child clutching gold was never a blessing.
Nan Gong ran through every fast, vicious method she knew. As long as the goal was met, means did not matter; history cared only for results.
“Thank God you met Nan Gong Xun,” she murmured, flicking red hair and shaking dew from the tips with a soft scoff.
In the end she only picked up the white shirt prepared for Zhu Yu. On the inside of the collar, where it would not be noticed, she twisted open a lipstick and brushed a faint, ambiguous red where the fabric would touch the gland.
Zhu Yu’s terminal had gone quiet. Not a single new message.
Peace in the suite; outside, the world had exploded because Zhu Yu had vanished.
Everyone knew she had clashed with Zhu Zhao and then disappeared into an empty alley. Not one faction could find a trace.
*We’re finished. Our careers are finished.*
While Zhu Yu slept peacefully, airports locked down, the military locked down, and everyone connected to her was isolated for intensive screening, terrified she might do something extreme in anger.
Those above were a little guilty about hollowing out her real authority. With no successor, Zhu Yu was an extremely useful blade. While Bai Shuzhou soothed her, she had shown nothing—and they had slept easy. Her sudden disappearance rang every alarm.
Had they gone too far?
Zhu Zhao’s temper was infamous, and she was at odds with the top over restarting the experiment. With Bai Qianze away, people reported nervously to Bai Shuzhou first. After all, Zhu Yu was her wife.
Since that night Zhu Yu had been strange. Bai Shuzhou had grown used to her warmth—morning kisses, games after dinner, occasional bedtime stories. Whenever their eyes met, Zhu Yu’s dark gaze held only her reflection.
Zhu Yu never stinted on love. She gave so much that it became as ordinary as the decorative flowers along a corridor—noticed only when it withered, and the ache of loss proved how precious it had been.
Bai Shuzhou had been born carrying ten thousand expectations, as if every star in the universe revolved around her. Before she could name the loss, a nameless irritation seized her first.
When Zhu Yu’s back slid inch by inch down a rough wall, the suffocating weight reached Bai Shuzhou in the Academy too. She frowned slightly; the porcelain teacup in her hand trembled, and a drop of pale tea struck the dark red tablecloth and bloomed like an ill omen.
In the moment her pale blue eyes focused, a servant had already read her mood and swiftly replaced the cloth. Gold cups bloomed fiercely; even the hand-carved patterns seemed fragrant.
“Did I say change it?” Long silver lashes hid her thoughts; her voice fell like ice beads.
The servant bowed in terror. Bai Shuzhou pressed two fingers to her brow, then smoothed her expression as if the cold had been illusion. She lifted a hand lightly. “Forget it.”
Even dull White Bird felt the low pressure. It played with its game console obediently and did not approach.
Bai Shuzhou opened her terminal. The chat box was empty except for one contact, the date frozen days ago.
A selfie in military uniform appeared—at first Zhu Yu had still been shy, eyes not knowing where to look, lips pressed in a green smile. In Bai Shuzhou’s mind rang a clear “Sister.”
The corner of her mouth curved without her noticing.
Zhu Yu was too busy by day. She had not looked this carefully at Zhu Yu properly dressed in a long time.
The girl’s face was too plain; her chest looked a little empty. Bai Shuzhou felt something bright and dazzling ought to sit there—why did Zhu Yu never wear the jewelry she had given her?
Come to think of it, Zhu Yu seemed never to wear anything valuable at all.
Her fingertip slid down to the bottom. Zhu Yu had sent nothing after that. Bai Shuzhou’s brow knit lightly.
*Only this much?*
*If I don’t reply, she won’t send anymore?*
Bai Shuzhou disliked text; efficiency was low. She preferred face-to-face talk, every detail reflected in the eye.
News of the Academy clash had already spread. Though the official line inside the school was still unified, anyone could see from Zhu Yu’s terrifying expression when she left that her parting with Zhu Zhao had not been peaceful.
Zhu Yu’s temper was usually soft, sunny, gentle. This was the first time she had shown such coldness in public. The contrast made everyone’s heart skip—something big was coming.
Some nobles stirred trouble, whispering that Zhu Yu’s mech slot had been rigged. Zhu Zhao was upright and fearless—why hate this civilian alone? Who knew how a D-rank Alpha matched a top mech.
By the time it reached Bai Shuzhou, the incident had escalated several versions, as if the two were already mortal enemies.
Combined with intelligence from her hidden lines, Bai Shuzhou’s heart sank. She dialed Zhu Yu’s holo call at once. The cold mechanical tone rang again and again, then sharpened into a busy signal.
This was the first time Bai Shuzhou had actively called someone—and the first time she had heard such an unpleasant prompt. Her eyes darkened. She ordered the snow leopard knight to search in person and bring Zhu Yu back immediately.
The knight had barely reached the door when a connection sound came from beside her—elegant hold music, chaotic meowing, a woman’s soft voice.
*Click.*
The snow leopard’s tail shot up; its ears twitched. Its stern face cracked. It knew that scent too well—the Princess was truly angry.
It raised the earpiece to relay the hunt order, but a cold voice cut in:
“Don’t search.”
“When she chooses to come back herself.”
Bai Shuzhou’s voice was always light; now it carried a chill that could freeze bone. Without turning, the knight could imagine those indifferent eyes narrowing into dangerous vertical slits. Gooseflesh rose. It bowed its head. “Yes.”
Someone was going to suffer.
Asleep, Zhu Yu shuddered hard, yanked the blanket tight, and rolled into a ball until bright sun the next day slowly pulled her eyelids open.
*Where is this…?* Her head split with pain. She rubbed her temples and stared blankly at the extravagant ceiling.
A woman’s lazy laugh came from the foot of the bed.
Zhu Yu shot upright, eyes round. Something at her gland still stung; she clapped a hand to her neck and stared at the red-haired woman. “You—you—I—!”
“I’m never drinking again!!”
Morning baijiu, then a long mix of everything else—even iron could not take that. She raked messy hair, left with nothing but regret.
Aside from a sore neck everything seemed normal—maybe she had slept wrong, or Nan Gong had beaten her while she was out.
She hurried to button her shirt, never noticing the clothes on her body had already been changed once.
Nan Gong found it amusing, half-reclined on the sofa, and offered a smile sharp with attack. “You owe me,” she said slowly, voice light and ambiguous.
The more terrified Zhu Yu looked, the wider Nan Gong’s smile grew. She stepped closer; Zhu Yu scrambled over the pillows on all fours like a crab fleeing disaster.
“Don’t bluff me! I remember—nothing happened!”
She shouted as if she had justice on her side, but panic ruined all persuasion.
Nan Gong arched a brow. “Nothing happened?”
As Nan Gong neared, Zhu Yu’s whole back pressed flat to the wall, misery written on her face.
*Who’s taking advantage of whom here?* Annoyed, Nan Gong flicked her forehead and sneered. “We’re both Alphas. Don’t act like I violated you.”
“You puked on me yesterday. Witnesses. How do we settle that account?”
Rested, Zhu Yu looked radiant—and felt only regret. She refused to admit anything and played dumb with a straight face.
The moment she remembered what she had said to Nan Gong drunk, embarrassment flooded her. There had been no romance at all.
*Stupid mouth. Why say so much. So shameful.*
Pouring out your heart while lost was like running naked; exposing the soul hurt more. Especially to Nan Gong…
Sober, Zhu Yu’s stomach twisted at the sight of her. Memories of pirates, ropes, and beatings were still fresh. She wanted only escape. Threats, bribes, Federation policy—nothing moved her. She behaved like someone kidnapped.
Nan Gong promised rank and wealth. Her gaze slid to the lipstick smudge on the collar. “What the Empire can give you, the Federation can give. What the Empire cannot, the Federation still can.”
“We never force. You’re free.”
“When you’ve thought it through, pin this brooch to your lapel.”
“Whatever you want—we can talk.”
Zhu Yu spoke carefully, very small: “I want Bai Shuzhou. I want her to love only me.”
Nan Gong’s brow rose. “Get out.”
This time she did not use stealth gear. She simply bundled Zhu Yu out of the hotel.
Thus Zhu Yu, missing a full day, appeared openly in the grand lobby of the capital’s most luxurious money pit.
She felt everyone’s stare was odd. She hurried to the academic system to request leave—and found someone had already filed it for her.
*Who’s so thoughtful?*
She wandered and hid all day until the artificial sun sank below the horizon. Only in the deep quiet of night did she slip back to the Academy.
The hangover wind blew half the fog away. Aside from headache she had gained nothing—only a burning pain at her neck. She still had to face what she did not want to face.
Bai Shuzhou’s schedule was regular. Zhu Yu waited until she should be asleep, sent the snow leopard knight away, and gently pushed the door.
Seeing Bai Shuzhou again, her feelings were tangled. She only wanted to watch her sleeping face—maybe given time she would find answers herself and swallow the sharp suspicion and pain alone.
But the moment Zhu Yu sat on the bed, the soft mattress dipped. The jade-carved beauty had not opened her eyes; green vines reached from the dark first, coiling Zhu Yu’s ankle, climbing her belly and arms, tightening in an instant around her slender body.
“Mm…!”
Vertical pupils opened in the gloom, blue as the strangest sapphires in night, coldly reflecting Zhu Yu’s startled face. A voice light and hoarse, rose scent at her ear:
“You know you’re back?”