Yun Xunlan’s susceptible period was approaching.
For all alphas, this was undoubtedly the most difficult time to endure.
During their susceptible period, alphas experienced unstable emotions, irritability, and heightened hostility towards other alphas. Their possessiveness over omegas they had marked would also surge dramatically, accompanied by significantly increased sexual desire. Coupled with difficulty maintaining clear-headedness and rational control over their behavior, most alphas chose to remain at home and avoid going out once their susceptible periods began.
Yet Yun Xunlan had already locked himself in his bedroom for three full days—even though his susceptible period hadn’t actually arrived yet.
In these three days, he hadn’t stepped outside his room even once, nor allowed anyone else to enter. His childhood friend Jian Wenxi couldn’t meet him in person at all and had begun messaging him via light brain to confirm if he was still alive—
[Jian Wenxi: Yun Xunlan, are you still alive?]
Yun Xunlan replied almost instantly: [Alive.]
[Jian Wenxi: Then can we set off today for the auction at Freeport?]
[Yun Xunlan: Tomorrow. Definitely tomorrow.]
[Jian Wenxi: ……]
[Jian Wenxi: You said exactly the same thing yesterday, the day before yesterday, and the day before that. You haven’t forgotten when the auction starts, have you?]
Yun Xunlan hadn’t forgotten.
The auction was scheduled to begin at exactly nine o’clock tomorrow evening.
But he still replied to Jian Wenxi with those same four words: Definitely tomorrow.
However, Yun Xunlan wasn’t deliberately standing Jian Wenxi up—he genuinely had no choice. After ending his conversation with Jian Wenxi, a second voice suddenly appeared in his previously solitary bedroom.
This voice was mechanical, devoid of any emotional fluctuations, cold as an assassin’s blade: “You didn’t complete yesterday’s daily task. Today’s daily task is also unfinished. Do you want to die—”
“—You will die.”
“I know.”
Yun Xunlan stared intently at the rapidly flashing text on his light brain. His voice was slightly hoarse but his expression remained calm, as if he’d long grown accustomed to such threats: “Just one more left. I’m looking now; stop rushing me.”
Everyone speculated about why Yun Xunlan had secluded himself for three days—perhaps he was seriously ill, heartbroken from a breakup, or depressed after a failed experiment.
Yet nobody knew that the real reason behind his refusal to leave the room was because he was waiting for a single comment insulting him.
This comment was crucially important—it related directly to the “daily task” mentioned by that mechanical voice.
Until he saw it appear online, Yun Xunlan absolutely wouldn’t step outside his bedroom door.
Because he couldn’t be sure—if he left this bedroom (which he’d already ensured was completely safe and free of danger) without completing his daily task—when, where, or how he’d suddenly drop dead.
Thus, at this moment Yun Xunlan was diligently searching for negative comments about himself online through his light brain—scouring StarNet for insults directed specifically at him.
Fortunately, after enduring two days of torturous near-successes and failures, heaven finally rewarded his persistence. At precisely six o’clock in the evening on the third day, Yun Xunlan finally spotted an extremely harsh insult directed towards him online.
Fortunately, heaven rewards those who persevere. After two days of agonizing failure, at exactly 6 PM on the third day, Yun Xunlan finally glimpsed an extremely vicious and cutting critique of himself on the galactic web.
Although it only existed for a second before being deleted, Yun Xunlan had the help of his virtual AI butler.
He had programmed the butler to automatically backup all text information he browsed and compile it into e-books. Thus, before the malicious comment was deleted, it had already been saved by the virtual butler into the “Bedtime Reading” category in the reading app.
Yun Xunlan quickly opened the e-book, eager to read this negative comment.
The moment he finished reading the last word of the critique, the mechanical voice appeared again.
This time, however, its tone fluctuated, as if suddenly infused with humanity and emotion, exclaiming excitedly: “10000/10000, daily task completed!”
Yun Xunlan clasped his hands together and sincerely expressed his gratitude to the netizen who posted the negative comment: “Thank you.”
He then opened the private chat interface, intending to send this user a red envelope as a token of thanks. However, after entering the amount, he found that the red envelope could no longer be sent—the private chat interface showed that the user’s account had been banned.
Yun Xunlan: “…”
He had even planned to follow this person to conveniently read their daily criticisms of him.
“Saving a life is more meritorious than building a seven-story pagoda,” the mechanical voice remarked solemnly, mourning the banned account. “Rest in peace.”
Yun Xunlan also felt regret for the account’s ban, but he was used to such disappointments by now. Not wanting to waste more time on trivial matters, he immediately messaged Jian Wenxi after completing his daily task:
[Wenxi, sorry for flaking on you these past few days. I can leave now. Let’s head to Freeport today.]
Jian Wenxi replied instantly:
[Alright, come pick me up at my place.]
Ten minutes later, an omega boarded Yun Xunlan’s spacecraft. The omega was fully covered—wearing a mask, hat, and gloves—with only a pair of dark, glistening eyes exposed.
Crossing his arms as he sat down, Jian Wenxi puffed up angrily: “I’m very upset right now—so angry I feel like cursing someone.”
Yun Xunlan turned his head sharply to look at him.
Jian Wenxi took a deep breath to suppress his anger: “I’ve never been so wronged in my life. If you weren’t my best friend, I’d definitely curse you out.”
Yun Xunlan hesitated and almost wanted to say: *Go ahead and curse me—the louder, the better.*
However, he knew Jian Wenxi would never actually curse him.
So Yun Xunlan apologized once again: “Wenxi, this was indeed my fault. I’m sorry.”
“Alright, I forgive you.”
Jian Wenxi’s temper was genuinely good—he could be easily appeased with just a little coaxing. He pulled out several round pins from his pocket and handed one to Yun Xunlan: “These are masks sent by the auction house. Once activated, they can hide all personal information.”
Yun Xunlan took the pin and attached it to his collar before activating it.
In the next instant, he transformed into a dense gray silhouette in Jian Wenxi’s view. Even though they were sitting close together, Jian Wenxi couldn’t make out Yun Xunlan’s appearance at all.
“I’ll synchronize our mask’s visual and audio channels so we can communicate normally,” Jian Wenxi said as he fiddled with his pin before handing over the remaining ones to Yun Xunlan. “These are for your attendants and guards.”
“Alright,” Yun Xunlan replied.
At this moment, the spacecraft was breaking through the atmosphere and entering orbit, preparing to dock with a long-range warp ship.
As an omega, Jian Wenxi’s physical constitution couldn’t compare to betas or alphas. He closed his eyes for a while to ease the discomfort caused by high-speed ascent before speaking again: “It might be late to ask this now, but I still want to know—does Her Highness the Crown Princess know about us going to Freeport for the auction? Is she okay with us leaving the Imperial Star?”
“She knows,” Yun Xunlan replied casually before asking back, “Why wouldn’t she be okay with it?”
Jian Wenxi opened his eyes, his gaze falling on the silver-haired young man to his left.
The young man had his eyes slightly lowered, his gaze fixed unwaveringly on the light screen of the virtual device in his hands, never once shifting away.
The amber glow of the evening sunset streamed through the glass, casting its light on his expressionless face. The long lashes and high bridge of his nose created small shadows, further accentuating the depth and sharpness of his nearly perfect bone structure. Even the red mole at the corner of his eye seemed more vivid under the glow, like a stroke of richly colored oil paint on a canvas.
As Jian Wenxi looked at Yun Xunlan’s face, he couldn’t help but think how much weaker an omega’s constitution was compared to an alpha’s. While he himself was feeling unwell, Yun Xunlan seemed completely unaffected.
Taking advantage of the fact that the warp jump hadn’t started yet, Jian Wenxi decided to strike up a conversation: “Isn’t there someone on the interstellar black market offering 3 billion star coins for your manuscripts?”
“What about it?”
Yun Xunlan raised his eyes and smiled faintly, causing the red mole to disappear into the crease of his eyelid. Beneath it, his golden irises gleamed like blazing suns. “Are you interested in taking up that bounty?”
“Just 3 billion?” Jian Wenxi shook his head. “Besides, my bounty is worth more than yours.”
Yun Xunlan replied softly, “True. They’re only offering a bounty for my manuscripts, not my head—so there’s no need to worry.”
Jian Wenxi thought Yun Xunlan had a point.
After all, Yun Xunlan’s bounty was merely for his manuscripts, while Jian Wenxi’s bounty was for his life. Clearly, he was the one who should be more concerned.
But since the auction was fully anonymous and Yun Xunlan was accompanied by so many guards—soldiers from the military no less—they were far more reliable than the mercenaries Jian Wenxi had hired. With their protection, what could possibly go wrong?
With that thought in mind, Jian Wenxi leaned back in his seat. “I can’t handle the gravitational pressure from warp jumps. I’m heading into the pressure-reduction pod. Call me when we arrive at Freeport.”
With that, he pressed a button on the armrest of his seat. A sealed pod rose around him, enclosing him completely.
Yun Xunlan, however, continued staring at the virtual screen instead of entering a pressure-reduction pod himself. He was racing against time to search for negative comments about himself online, preparing in advance for tomorrow’s daily task—because if he couldn’t complete it before returning home, Yun Xunlan had no doubt he’d make it out alive but wouldn’t survive the trip back.
A few minutes later, his personal attendant Ni Chun entered the passenger cabin from the service area. Bowing slightly, Ni Chun approached Yun Xunlan and said respectfully: “Your Highness Third Prince, the warp jump is about to begin. For your health… please enter a pressure-reduction pod.”
Yun Xunlan’s fingers paused mid-swipe on the light screen as he replied, “Alright.”
Ni Chun straightened up but remained standing nearby as if unwilling to leave until he personally saw Yun Xunlan enter a pod.
Not wanting to make things difficult for him, Yun Xunlan immediately shut off his virtual device and reclined into his seat before pressing the button to activate the pressure-reduction pod.
Just before the transparent enclosure sealed him off from the outside world, Yun Xunlan turned his head slightly to glance out of the circular window one last time.
He saw countless stars being born within vibrant nebulae, burning with breathtaking brilliance. He also saw massive starships either departing or returning as they silently navigated through the grand interstellar port—a new world where beauty and danger coexisted.
And how had he come to be here?
To explain that… one would have to start with his previous life.
