Chapter 20: Lin Jinxu

Yesterday they had moved into the new home, and to celebrate, Sang Ling had drunk a bit more fruit wine than usual.

The wine was sweet, with a milky note, and the alcohol content was low—but this morning she used it as an excuse anyway, and gloriously refused to get out of bed.

The sun was already high, slanting through the gap in the curtains, and she still kept her eyes firmly shut, refusing to rise.

Before school, Little Yao had made a special trip over to yank off her blanket and mock this immature aunt of hers.

After shooing the child off like an annoying little chick, Sang Ling lay in bed tossing and turning—only to discover that this body’s biological clock was far too healthy. She couldn’t fall back asleep at all. She could only sigh a melancholy sigh.

Today was Monday. She had to report to the military base and find Jiang Yunzhao.

Two lifetimes as a person, and this was her first time as a soldier. Sang Ling’s heart churned with nerves—the exact feeling of having played through an entire vacation without touching a single page of winter homework, with the first day of school upon her.

Thrilling. And a little terrifying.

Su Qingyue had described Jiang Yunzhao’s methods for training her subordinates to her, and even knowing it might not be entirely true, Sang Ling had been affected regardless.

She yanked the blanket irritably over her entire head, playing an ostrich buried in sand, the down comforter conveniently blocking out the sunlight too.

The young Alpha kept her head buried, refusing to acknowledge the reality that today was reporting day—until someone came to stand beside her bed.

It was Lin Jinxu.

Even through the white, fluffy down comforter, Sang Ling could recognize those footsteps as Lin Jinxu’s and no one else’s.

The pink-white plush slippers she wore were a size too big for her and wouldn’t stay on, so although the Omega’s walking posture was impeccable, the slippers still went pat-a-pat against the floor.

For some reason, Lin Jinxu had been unusually quiet since last night, and even her voice this morning, knocking to call her to breakfast, had seemed strange.

Sang Ling chalked it up to last night’s fruit wine being stronger than it tasted. It had gone down like sweet water—but who knew how well an Omega metabolized alcohol?

She let her thoughts wander aimlessly anywhere at all, absolutely refusing to lift her head out of this self-deceiving sand. As long as she didn’t get up, she didn’t have to go become a common grunt.

“It’s almost ten thirty. Get up and eat a little breakfast. Your train is at eleven thirty—if you don’t get up now, you’ll miss it.”

The person at her bedside said gently to the ostrich.

The ostrich’s heart lurched. She flung back the blanket, grabbed the Light Brain from her pillow, and looked—nine forty-eight.

Sang Ling lodged a formal complaint. “It’s only nine forty-eight. Why did you say almost ten thirty?”

“Would you have gotten up if I didn’t?”

Sang Ling’s eyes drooped, faintly melancholy. She smiled a small smile—but that trace of a smile was like the first snowflake of early winter, vanishing without a sound from her face.

Left with no choice, she got up, washed, and gathered her things.

Lin Jinxu reheated the food she had set aside for her. Beyond pancakes, milk, and eggs, there was one special addition: steamed dumplings, corn and pork filled.

Last night, Sang Ling had mentioned offhandedly the Ancient Earth saying “dumplings before the journey, noodles upon return,” and explained its meaning: the last meal a traveler eats before leaving home should be dumplings, and the first meal after arriving should be noodles.

Lin Jinxu had never made dumplings, had never even eaten one. But she had still bought a package of frozen steamed dumplings from her Light Brain, read the instructions carefully, and set them steaming.

Sang Ling loved them, exactly as expected—one bite apiece, eating happily.

After breakfast and washing up, Sang Ling packed an enormous army-green backpack with everything she’d need.

Regulations required reporting in uniform, so she could only reluctantly shed her bear-print pajamas and change into her military uniform with meticulous care.

The uniform had been mailed ahead by the Task Force. Unlike the white Major General’s uniform from the Chu Zhou commission, this one was entirely black. Military factory goods, solid quality, pockets everywhere designed for function—while still achieving an overall silhouette that was crisp and clean-lined.

An Alpha’s skin was already pale, and against all that black, she looked almost sickly.

She tied her hair back, put on the cap, and faced Lin Jinxu. “Well? How do I look?”

Her hair was always fluffy and unruly; now every last mischievous strand had been gathered and tucked beneath the cap.

Under the black brim, her face was clean and bright, her features sharp, the faint green undertone in her black pupils echoing the uniform.

This far-too-young Alpha, still in university—the face that always retained a trace of childishness whenever she did something foolish—had suddenly acquired a touch of grown-up allure.

Lin Jinxu stood in a sleeveless nightgown, bare arms hanging naturally at her sides, fingertips brushing her thighs. Her index finger stroked, unbidden, once across her middle finger.

She suddenly remembered: not long ago, she had still grown tense whenever Sang Ling was home, still hoped this dangerous Alpha would leave early.

But now, that feeling was gone.

She no longer felt joy at this person’s leaving. That was not a good sign.

“Very handsome,” she said, expression mild.

Sang Ling was not satisfied, and complained like a spoiled child, “You didn’t mean it.”

“Then it’s ugly.” Lin Jinxu said, against her own heart.

Sang Ling was left helpless, and could only change the subject.

“Then I’m off?”

She shouldered the enormous backpack and headed for the door, Lin Jinxu still in her loungewear and pink-white slippers, following silently behind her.

The Alpha stood at the doorway, already in her black, glossy military boots. One step and she could have been gone—yet suddenly she began to ramble.

“Did you memorize the door lock code?” Her face was grave. “The code is the fallback. Use it sparingly so no one can peek over your shoulder. The smart locks all have pupil recognition—just use that.”

Lin Jinxu: “Mm.”

“The security in this complex is good, but stay careful anyway. Don’t let strangers in the door. For deliveries, have them left at the guard post.”

“Mm.”

“There’s a conveyor belt at the guard post. It’ll bring deliveries right to our door.”

“Mm.”

“I’m off, but I can still use my Light Brain at the base. If there’s a Zerg attack, I’ll notify you the moment it happens—come straight home and hide. Don’t go pick up Little Yao. Kindergartens are key protected sites; their defenses are high.”

Lin Jinxu’s expression stayed flat. “Understood.”

“I transferred you some extra money. Eat well, put some meat on—you’re too thin; you couldn’t outrun a Zerg. Stock up on supplies at home too, in case of an attack and we can’t go out.”

The younger Alpha, ordinarily a woman of few words and brisk efficiency, had rambled on and on until even the ever-patient Lin Jinxu grew impatient. “I know all of it. Stop talking—if you keep going you’ll miss your train.”

Sang Ling smiled sheepishly. She didn’t actually know the correct procedure for parting from someone; she could only guess, and say goodbye the way she imagined it should be done.

She looked at Lin Jinxu, expectation and nervousness in her eyes. “Is there anything you want to say to me?”

Lin Jinxu was silent a moment. Then she raised her hand and straightened the uniform at the Alpha’s chest.

The Federation spared no expense on Alpha military fabric. Even for an ordinary soldier like Sang Ling, a single uniform cost a small fortune—fine wool, crisp and heavy, wonderfully soft to the touch, warm against the hand.

Even through the fabric, Lin Jinxu could feel the heart in that Alpha’s chest, beating steady and strong.

She patted away dust that had never existed in the first place, then raised her hand higher and straightened the collar.

The Alpha stood perfectly still beneath her hands, eyes fixed on her without wavering.

Lin Jinxu’s hand drifted toward Sang Ling’s neck, feeling the faint warmth. She lowered her gaze to the spot over the carotid artery.

She didn’t know why she was looking there. She could only remember that the carotid was among the most vital vessels in the human body—that all the rising vitality of the Alpha before her depended on the blood surging through that one fragile artery.

Her fingers curled slightly in the air. Her palm itched, inexplicably, to close around the scalpel that had accompanied her through so many years in the laboratory.

She finished straightening the collar, lowered her hand—and under the Alpha’s gaze, in the end, said nothing.

The bright Alpha eyes dimmed, little by little, point by point. She had not gotten the farewell she wanted.

Sang Ling was silent a moment, then said again, “Then I’m going.”

She turned and left, the enormous backpack on her shoulders, her straight trouser legs and glossy black boots sounding dull, heavy beats down the corridor, echoes flickering between the two walls.

She still had a young person’s frame—every ounce of nutrition spent on height, muscle insufficient. Her calves were strong but long and thin, leaving the straight black trouser legs hanging empty.

Lin Jinxu’s gaze traveled up from those long thin legs to the Alpha’s upright back—and she realized Sang Ling was even thinner than she had thought.

She’s leaving home.

Lin Jinxu hesitated a moment. Watching Sang Ling about to step onto the elevator, she opened her mouth after all, and called out: “Sang Ling.”

The young Alpha turned back, faintly lost. She walked back to Lin Jinxu.

“What is it?”

She stood before Lin Jinxu again, casting a small patch of shadow.

Lin Jinxu didn’t answer. Her hand went to the back of her own neck, and she unclasped the necklace she wore.

It was the very one she had used to accessorize Sang Ling last time—the opal necklace that doubled as a brooch, which Sang Ling had since returned to her.

“Head down.” The Omega issued the command with near-cruel composure.

Sang Ling obediently bowed her head and let Lin Jinxu fasten the necklace on her.

Once it was on, she grabbed the opal pendant, eyes lighting up again, and grinned. “Opals bring good luck. Is this your way of giving me a protective charm? So I get to have a blessing too.”

She was an orphan. She had long since grown used to going everywhere alone. She had never once seen anything like this.

“It hasn’t been blessed by anyone, you know. If you don’t want it, give it back.” Lin Jinxu’s face was stern—the same Lin Jinxu whose gentleness had always seemed almost unreal to Sang Ling, now speaking fiercely.

“I want it! Of course I want it!” Sang Ling clutched the pendant tight, as if afraid it would be snatched away.

Lin Jinxu didn’t know what to say next. She only watched as Sang Ling, still holding the pendant, suddenly undid the top two buttons of her uniform.

Pale, slender fingers brushed the ornately engraved buttons loose, revealing the white uniform shirt beneath.

Sang Ling explained, “The Task Force has grooming regulations. A necklace showing on the outside isn’t allowed.”

Lin Jinxu wasn’t hearing a word of it. Her eyes seemed glued to Sang Ling’s fingers, watching her undo another shirt button and let the pendant drop against bare skin.

That small patch of pale skin nearly blinded her.

The pendant wasn’t cold. It still carried a trace of Lin Jinxu’s own warmth—but her body temperature had always run low, and the cold, hard jewel settling against the hot skin of the Alpha’s chest still drew a sharp hiss from Sang Ling.

Sang Ling refastened the buttons. Her movements were quick, without any deliberate lingering—and yet to Lin Jinxu, those fingertips scattered like pale white butterflies, and in a blink the thick fabric had covered up that patch of skin that had stolen her senses, that cold and beautiful purple jewel.

In that instant—as if stung—she suddenly made a decision.

The Omega in her sleeveless nightgown turned and walked back inside, skirt hem swaying faintly with each step, leaving only one sentence behind her. “Come to my bedroom.”

Sang Ling, baffled, followed anyway.

Her black, heavy military boots sounded against the wooden floor, keeping time with the footsteps of Lin Jinxu’s pink-white plush slippers—like some strange duet.

The pink-white plush slippers entered the bedroom.

The black, wide-treaded military boots stopped at the Omega’s bedroom door.

Sang Ling looked at the room before her, not understanding what Lin Jinxu intended.

This bedroom was Lin Jinxu’s own creation. Now that she no longer had to share a room with Little Yao, it was filled completely with her personal style.

In broad daylight, the heavy curtains were drawn, and the room sat in dimness.

A hidden fragrance drifted through the air. Sang Ling couldn’t identify it, but it seemed close to the scent on the opal necklace Lin Jinxu had given her—a light, clean fragrance that tempted you to breathe deeper.

The bed was made up in pale lavender bedding, chosen together by Sang Ling and Lin Jinxu on their supermarket trip. Sang Ling had handled the display sample: brushed cotton, thick fabric, soft and yielding.

Lin Jinxu stood with her back to her, at the bedside. The Omega’s head was bowed, looking at the fluffy comforter and pillows, her snow-white nape appearing and disappearing between strands of black hair.

Sang Ling suddenly felt not quite at ease.

Lin Jinxu turned and sat on the edge of the bed, body angled, looking toward the young Alpha standing in the doorway in her black uniform—boyishness threaded with uprightness.

Her palm pressed lightly into the fluffy comforter, dimpling the purple fabric.

Feeling the gentle touch of the brushed cotton under her fingertips, Lin Jinxu’s fingers stirred, just slightly.

To Sang Ling, the Omega sitting on the bed was like an iris with bowed head—purple, silent, in bloom.

A silence that must have been brief, but felt endless, and exquisite.

At last, Sang Ling watched the Omega’s lips part. She seemed about to say something of great importance. Sang Ling had never seen her look so solemn, so hesitant—and she couldn’t help straining her ears.

But in the end, the Omega said only: “Go.”

The young Alpha’s eyes narrowed slightly. She was certain this was not what the Omega truly wanted to say.

She lingered at the doorway of that fragrance-filled bedroom, as if unwilling to let it end this way. But after standing a while, she said it anyway.

“Okay.”

And so the far-too-young Alpha left, drawing the bedroom door gently shut behind her.

The soft click of a lock catching.

Lin Jinxu fell backward, slowly, slowly, sinking into the embrace of the covers—and her two hands suddenly seized the fabric, crumpling that thin material.

She closed her eyes, her face perfectly calm, but her fingers exerting terrible force, fingertips taut.

She twisted and wrung that pale lavender fabric as if venting something—clenching, releasing, clenching, releasing.

And yet she made no sound at all. She vented in silence, until a faint sheen of moisture appeared in her eyes.

Her movements froze abruptly, fingers rigid in the air. A moment later, her hand sank down heavily, pressing into the soft covers.

Lin Jinxu opened her eyes.

The bedroom window opened without anyone touching it. Sunlight and a patch of shadow fell together across the wooden floor as someone lifted the curtain and dropped lightly into the room.

Lin Jinxu didn’t move. Didn’t turn to look. She only lay there, eyes faintly wet, gazing at the ceiling.

She had known long ago who it would be.

The Orchid Mantis landed light as a blade of grass. Seeing Lin Jinxu lying on the bed, her first words were, “Just as expected—us Zerg never miss. I told you yesterday: your Heat Period is coming.”

Lin Jinxu’s voice carried no inflection. “There’s still time before it truly breaks.”

“Is that enough time to find an Alpha willing to give you a Marking—and won’t keep you as her caged plaything?”

The Orchid Mantis snorted a laugh. “Considering you just let the Alpha in your grasp walk away.”

She said, “I’ve seen more of these stinking soldier Alphas on battlefields than I can count. Take my advice: that little Alpha of yours is already the best choice you will ever get.”

“Refuse her, and there are plenty of wanton Omegas out there who’ll take her.”

“In this world, where would you find another Alpha with a good temper, a handsome face—and above all, foolish enough to let you deceive her, foolish enough to obey you?”

Lin Jinxu stared at the blank ceiling. “She’s not stupid. Don’t call her stupid.”

The Orchid Mantis was utterly speechless. She pursed her mouth, nearly tempted to tell this human Omega the story of their Zerg matriarch, the Black Widow Spider.

She was exasperated beyond endurance. “Where’s the resolve you had back then, when you schemed Sang Chi into marrying you for legal status? If you’d just tricked that silly—apologies, not silly, merely sweet—Alpha into giving you a Marking, everything would be so much simpler now.”

Lin Jinxu raised an arm and laid it over her own eyes.

She was silent, as if asleep.

It can’t be Sang Ling. At the very least, not now.

The woman said only, flatly, “I use suppressants.”

The Orchid Mantis studied the graceful form lying on the bed—then suddenly arched a brow. “Then I have unfortunate news for you. You have no suppressants left. Your teacher won’t let me give you any more.”

Lin Jinxu bolted upright, eyelids lifting, and shot the Orchid Mantis a sideways look that made even the Zerg feel, inexplicably, danger.

The insect wings at her back manifested at once, bristling upright like a startled cat’s fur.

Only after the instinctive stress response passed did the Orchid Mantis fold her wings away again, her tone easing. “I told you yesterday there was a new task, didn’t I? Complete it, and she’ll give you the suppressants.”

Lin Jinxu’s teacher was the only channel through which she could obtain suppressants at all.

In this world that didn’t treat Omegas as people—only as toys and tools—how could suppressants for the Omega Heat Period possibly be sold legally? Those people wished Omegas were in Heat all year round; it made them so much easier to play with.

In this world, not even a pharmaceutical company was willing to research suppressants for Omegas. Only a handful of people knew the formula.

Lin Jinxu’s mentor was one of them—the only one she knew.

All her life, she had survived her Heats on the suppressants her teacher provided.

But now, her teacher refused to give.

She would have to earn them herself. She had to prove she was worth using before she could get suppressants—even if the price was dirtying her own hands, even if it meant filthy tasks.

The Orchid Mantis was already smiling. “Miss Lin—have you ever killed anyone?”

She launched into an excited account of the task’s details, while Lin Jinxu reached out and found the Light Brain at her bedside.

Her index finger tapped lightly against its metal surface. A strange itchiness rose in her—an overwhelming urge to message Sang Ling. The more the Orchid Mantis talked, the fiercer the craving grew.

It was so strong she had to clench her fist, driving her nails hard into her palm. Only after the pain passed did she set the Light Brain down.

The gorgeous Omega, eyes glistening with moisture, let out a long breath, cutting the Orchid Mantis off, and asked, concisely:

“Who exactly am I supposed to kill?”